Campus Life in the Netherlands compared to Canada

Student life is a very significant department at most Canadian (and American) universities. A positive housing experience, including a strong push by most universities that first-year students to live on campus, is also part of the Canadian university experience. Most campus ministers/ministries in Canada, with the exception of those closely associated with a local church, tend to be connected to Student Life, either through the ministry being recognized as student group or with the chaplain working directly with a division of Student Life, such as wellness, a mult-faith centre, or even international student support. 

In the Netherlands, however, student life is more likely to refer to "how you spend your leisure time at university" than look like a Canadian Student Life department. The exception to this is a growing focus on wellness, particularly with pressure being placed on universities in response to studies showing students are not doing well.

Furthermore, most universities in the Netherlands do not provide housing for students. The few places that do have 'student housing' available generally work with housing corporations and tend to limit the availability to international students. (Dutch) students are given free travel on public transit on either weekdays or in the weekend. This means that many students are at home frequently during their studies, either through living at home or by travelling home most weekends.

Given the significant differences in campus life, it should be no surprise that campus ministry in the two different countries looks quite different. At the same time, there were interesting parallels and opportunities to learn from each other, which I'll say more about as I continue to reflect on my Sabbatical experience.

The above has been cross-posted on the UofT Christian Reformed Campus Ministry website, which sponsored my sabbatical. 

Concerns and comments from the CRC related to campus ministry

Earlier this year the Christian Courier did a survey of the Christian Reformed Church. One article reflecting on that survey, And there’s more, highlighted some of the various comments of people in the survey. The following two comments at the end struck me for how they related to the work we do in campus ministry :

“Conservatism in Canada is surging in YOUNG PEOPLE. They want clear doctrine, a different, non-masochistic way of living, and are flooding the church. Ask yourself an honest question: what do the five thriving churches near you have in common? They aren’t ‘woke.’”

“The biggest question that I have heard within my church is, ‘Is there still space for me in the CRC?’ This question does not come from people who have a clear opposition to the CRC’s doctrine, in fact, some are aligned doctrinally with the CRC. The question comes from wondering if the CRC is still a denomination that invites complexity on issues, both theologically and in practice. They are concerned that the CRC is drifting away from the Reformed heart of wonder and investigation, with a healthy hesitation to pass absolute statements on how to live out biblical truths.”

Parenting and prayers

One of the things I've learned from my Sabbatical is a growing desire to write more, in the hopes that this helps me both process and share hopeful things that I've learned. It also means sharing wisdom that I've gained from others. The article, A Pray (The Banner) by Melissa Kuipers, a former campus minster, struck me:

“Can you do a pray?” my 3-year-old asks through the rustling of sheets...  I like the activeness of turning the verb into a noun. Sometimes a prayer is too formal. So often I reach for the most rehearsed cliché words in my prayers for him. But a pray reminds me I can be playful when speaking to God, I can be thankful for the pedestrian things my child cares about: gratitude for a shortbread cookie from a friend who visited and listened to his long story about all the highlights of his 3-year-life, grief about yet another yellow fallen leaf from the jade plant, blessings for our loved ones living a plane trip away. A pray is ongoing. A pray is an action noun, like a kiss or a game. A pray is on a child’s terms. 

Melissa continues to talk about the busy-ness of life and a child and the challenges of spending time in contemplation. At the same time, her writing and description of her child's developing faith (see here under) bear witness to being present in the moment. Bear witness to paying attention to how God is working. Or in her words, that "God is here in this moment, I think. My kids speak God’s words so often."

The following is one more excerpt from the article, which to me captures some of the delight of speaking about faith with children:

As I am about to start the bedtime “pray,” the 3-year-old suddenly transforms into an otter in the waves of the blanket. I wrap him in kelp for a few minutes, and then ask, “Shall I pray for you?”

He reaches over and takes my face in his hands. “Yes, Little One,” he says. 

“Dear God,” I begin.

“God is everywhere,” he responds.

“Yes.”

“God lived for a very long time.”

“God is still alive. God has always been.” 

“I wish we could see God.” He speaks the words of Moses on the mountain, pulling the sheet over his face like a cloud.

“Me too. ...”

Disillusionment and growth

Dana Vanderlugt, in the Reformed Journal recently wrote about disillusionment and growth in a way that resonated with this season of Sabbatical: of how letting go of our false beliefs (our illusions) is connected to (spiritual) growth. 

The following are Dana's words as given in her July 10 article, Straddling Worlds: Disillusionment and the Call to Discomfort - Reformed Journal. It includes a thoughtful quote from Barbara Brown Taylor's book, Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith.

Dana starts with her own story of her turning to God when she was far from home and when she was "questioning, disoriented, and uncertain:"

"Disillusionment is defined as the state of being freed from an illusion or false belief. It can be a letting go, rather than a disappointment. A dying, but in order to make room for new growth.

I’ve long been a fan of Barbara Brown Taylor—author of Leaving Church and Learning to Walk in the Dark. But recently, I came across a used copy of her 1993 memoir and collection of sermons, The Preaching Life. In its first chapter, “The Truth in Ruins,” she writes: 

Disillusionment is a loss of Illusion— about ourselves, about the world, about God— and while it is almost always painful, it is not a bad thing to lose the lies we have mistaken for the truth. Disillusioned, we come to understand that God does not conform to our expectations. We glimpse our own relative size in the universe and see that no human being can say who God should be or how God should act. We review our requirements of God and recognize them as our own fictions, our own frail shelters against the vast night sky. Disillusioned we find out what is not true and are set free to seek what is— if we dare. "

Sabbatical reflections

The Sabbatical has been a gift of perspective. It was an opportunity to be far enough and long enough away, so that I could let go of the regular burdens and weariness that I carried. And embark on this adventure that was a gift from my community and God. 

It was truly a Sabbath, a time away to help me let go of my sense of being needed so I could remember what was good. Those I left behind were more than able to care for things when I wasn't there. I had enough distance from the hard things to remember what I love about my job and our life in Canada. I know people have been praying for us as we've been gone, and we've received encouraging notes and many reminders that we are not the only ones looking forward to us coming home soon. 

I received so much hospitality: from the people who offered us a place to stay in the Netherlands to the many people who I could talk to about campus ministry or bibliodrama to the meals and childcare provided by my in-laws. How can I not return with a sense of wanting to share that hospitality, particularly after having my own cup overflow? 

We got to have adventures as a family: the kinds which involve trains, mountains, museums, castles, bikes, and good food. We connected with friends and family, delighting in our daughter's ability to communicate with others (part now in Dutch) and her getting to really know Matthijs' family. 

Like many of my projects, there are things I didn't get done. In these last two weeks, I feel pressure to work as hard as possible now to finish them off, forgetting that the projects of the Sabbatical were a means to an end: learning to practice listening to the nudges of the Spirit and pay attention to where God is working and how best to use my gifts and experiences. A Sabbatical won't make me a different person, so much as it has hopefully helped me be more content with who I am and the life that I already have, even as I hope to continue to grow and change in good and holy ways. 

The hope is that this blog (and perhaps other places) will be a place for me to write more about the Sabbatical: as a way of remembering and processing, as well as sharing this gift I've received with others. 

The above has been cross-posted on the UofT Christian Reformed Campus Ministry website, which sponsored my sabbatical. 

Eulogy for my father (June 2024)

My father wasn't one for fancy words, but if there's one thing my Dad would want you to know about him it's how much his faith meant to him. My Dad loved God deeply and sincerely and church meant a lot to him. He always prayed at our meals, ending his prayer with 'forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.' Dad wanted us children to love God like he did and so they sent us to Christian school even though couldn't always afford it.

Life for my Dad was hard at times. He was strong-willed and stubborn, which sometimes helped and sometimes didn't. He would often say 'my way or the highway.' He wasn't good at taking advice which meant he sometimes had to learn things the hard way. And while I know many of us enjoyed arguing with him, his need to share his opinion sometimes hurt others. But his stubbornness also kept him going when times were tough. He worked hard and taught us children the value of perseverence, as he changed jobs and careers as needed. 

We worried about him after Mom died, but that strength, along with the help of God, family, friends, and church community (many of whom are present here at this funeral), got him through and back to enjoying life.

And did he ever enjoy life! He loved camping, good food, joking around, dropping by for a chat. And nothing gave him joy like those tables stretching into the living room so there'd be space enough for all 25 of us. He loved having his family together, being with his children and grandchildren. And when he married Gerda, he gained a few more to love, enjoy, and help out.

Dad was always strong and independent. It was hard to see him this last while, unable to do the things he loved. But in these last months, we also saw his faith. He deeply appreciated our prayers, and he trusted that his life and death were in God's hands. We'll miss him, but we trust that he's in heaven, where he'll enjoy lots of opportunities to just stop by and have a chat.

Grief

The last few days I've been unmotivated and somewhat short-tempered. It took me until yesterday to realize that the out-of-sorts feeling that I had was actually grief. This time, grief has felt like an extra layer of clothing, something that gets too warm at times but otherwise you don't notice it even though you carry it with you everywhere. 

When we went through the death of my Mom more than 12 years ago, I wrote about how grief shows up in different forms. I don't why, but I expected this time to be different with the loss of my Dad. With my Mom everything felt so sudden, and the grief felt raw. With my Dad, he'd been in the ICU multiple times in the last five months. I'd become a semi-expert in his health conditions and had re-arranged my life on an almost bi-weekly basis so that I could visit him and help out where possible. I'd been prepared to say good-bye to him several times and so had already begun grieving the possibility of his death. I'd also started grieving my Dad's growing inability to live life as robustly as he'd like, including and especially gallavanting around and 'stopping by for a chat.' And yet, some of the grief of my Dad's death has been tempered by a relief that he's not struggling anymore and that we, his children, made it through this season of caring for him as well as we could with our relationships remaining as healthy as they have been. 

But grief is still grief. I'm feeling the loss of someone I care about, a loss of new memories to be made, and an emptiness when I think of how I'd like to turn to him. Not just about that funny sound my car is (still) making, but also to remember things, like the box spring he pretty much took apart to fit into one of our houses when we moved. We managed to get the other boxspring in with enough shoving. But with the most recent move into a new house, shoving wouldn't have worked. So we cut some boards and folded it in half. And Matthijs used the staple gun my Dad made us buy for the last boxspring adventure to get everything back to almost new. And the memory, which reminded me of how much my Dad desired to care for us, going the extra mile, made me feel his absence.