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.

The Spirit makes me uncomfortable?

I wrote the following in the summer of2020 (and posted on the Campus Edge ministry blog). As we are looking at 1 Peter as part of our study at Graduate Christian Fellowship, I thought it might be helpful to post it again: 

As we were reading 1 Peter 2 and 3 this past week at study, a student noted that the text made her uncomfortable. As the text was talking about slavery, women, and submission, it was easy for me to understand why she felt uncomfortable. As we noted in our study on Colossians a number of years ago, too often those of us who’ve grown up in the church have seen how submission has been used to validate abuse, or, at the least, make women second-class citizens.

It would be easy thus to dismiss this text as no longer being culturally relevant to today. Yet, to do so would be to lose an opportunity for the Holy Spirit to work to challenge what assumptions we might bring to the text, whether that be errors in our own perception or unhealthy assumptions that we have learned from church/Christian culture and/or society at large.

For instance, the dominant voices of our society invite and encourage us to put me first and not let anyone hold us back from unleashing our inner potential. Might our discomfort with the word submission be because such a narrative of me first leaves little space or validation for submission of any sort? What picture of God’s love might we show when we actively choose to let go of some of our own personal wants and desires for the good of others?

Yet, might our discomfort with the word submission be a misunderstanding of the word submission? Might our submission be less of a diminishing of self and more of a living more fully into who God has called us to be, including through challenging systems of oppression, as Walsh and Keesmaat propose in their book, Colossians Remixed?

While dismissing the text might be the easiest way to get rid of the discomfort brought by the text, it is worthwhile to sit awhile with the text and acknowledge that discomfort. Through consulting wise teachers and allowing the Spirit to work (sometimes also through our peers), God can use our discomfort to help us grow in wisdom about the biblical text and ourselves.

Less agency, less pressure, more grace, more hope.

Jonathan Haidt, made infamous for his article on trigger warnings and coddling of the American Mind, was recently in the news again concerning the well-being of teens and young adults (see article, and Haidt's own words in article1 and article2). The argument once again points to social media as playing a significant role in the well-being of youth (see also Twenge's now famous article on whether smartphones have destroyed a generation).

Another part of Haidt's argument about the decreased well-being of young adults is his articulation that certain ways of thinking, "say identifying with, or privileging victims and a victim status, tends to disempower people because it puts someone else in charge of your life." (Robinson) While we should acknowledge that many of us, and some more than others for various reasons, have been and continue to be victims of unjust behaviour and/or institutions, the problem comes not from recognizing that we are victims, but by allowing being a victim to become one's sense of identity. Victims have limited agency and there is limited focus on resiliency. Without conversations about resilience and agency, people are more likely to become depressed.

While this is an interesting conversation to be had in terms of how such thinking is affecting young adults, especially at university, it's also an interesting conversation in wondering, like Robinson, "if there is some cross-over to all this in churches." Have we lost our sense of agency in the church? Or, more accurately, have we forgotten God's agency?

Robinson notes that in the "more liberal and progressive church context, there’s a lot of emphasis on the problems of the world, and on what you should be doing about it. Which begins to sound a lot like law, not gospel. It’s all about what you should do or feel or think. If God is in the picture, it’s about what God needs us to do, demands that we do. There’s little emphasis on what God has done or is doing on our behalf or on God’s capacity to bring good out of or in the face of evil. So it’s kind of all on us."

That sounds exhausting and debilitating.

In a world where so many are exhausted and overwhelmed, when we feel like we have too little agency and too much responsibility, church can't be a place that tries to give us more of that. Church - and all Christian organizations - need to be places of grace and hope.

Please pray with that I, along with the Christian Reformed campus ministry at the University of Toronto (and broader) might indeed create spaces where we extend grace and help people hope.

Cross-posted at the blog for my work: http://crc.sa.utoronto.ca/2023/04/less-victim-less-pressure-more-grace-more-hope/ 

Jury Duty

Last May I received a summons to report for jury duty, something which I've never had happen to me before (but apparently is a fairly common experience for people living in Toronto). I couldn't make it then and was asked to choose a week in early 2023 when I could be available for jury duty. In the week after Easter and the semester ends, I'm not particularly motivated to do much of anything, so it seemed a good week to make myself available for something very different.

Leading up to the experience, I was hoping to get out of jury duty. After all, if I did, I'd then have the rest of the week free to catch up on all the odds and ends leftover from the semester! But the evening before, as I watched the recommended video about jury duty, God convicted me enough to help me be open to serving God and others in this way, recognizing that such an openness to serve is how I want to live my life, even if jury duty wasn't entirely my ideal for doing that. 

 

Monday morning I showed up at the Toronto District court at 8:30 and then I waited in a room with about a hundred other people. Around 9:30, they explained the process, and around 11:30 all of us received a questionnaire that let us know about the trial - it named those involved as well as the nature of the case (sexual assault) - and asked us for our connection to either, as well as asking about whether we had any hardships that would prevent us from being able to serve for 7 days on the jury, the anticipated length of the trial. (Note: Court is held from 10-4:30 each day, and the jury goes home at the end of each day, except at the end of the trial if they are still deliberating after the day ends). 

Around 12:30 we moved upstairs to the courtroom, the accused pleaded not guilty, and the judge addressed the potential jurors, explaining the whole process to us. The judge reminded us that though serving on jury would be likely be a hardship in some way for all of us, that this is a way we could serve our country (and there weren't many other ways that we were asked to do so). It felt a bit like being lectured by a teacher (with a bit of a parental guilt trip mixed in), but it was also part of the process of helping me to be open to serving God in this way. 

Potential jurors would be slected to appear before the judge in a random order of selection. As each potential juror appeared before the judge, the judge would look through their questionnaire to see if there was any significant reason they should not be involved in the case (the more detail we provided in the questionnaire, the fewer questions the judge would need to ask which would then be public to the lawyers and accused). If the judge thought they were fit to serve, the person would be asked a series of questions by the judge (to check for bias) and then each of the lawyers had the opportunity to choose to reject or accept the juror. This would continue until 12 people were chosen for the jury (along with 2 alternates).  

After convening for lunch, we returned to select the order in which people would appear before the judge for selection. People's juror numbers were chosen randomly. When the person came forward to get in line, their profession was announced (I was the only pastor in the first 60 people chosen). I was chosen 46, so I figured my chances of being chosen were about 20 percent. 

I spent the afternoon waiting again in a small courtroom with about 30 others (and wondered a bit about the inefficiency of the system). About 40 potential jurors went before the judge before finding enough people to serve. Those of us not chosen were then released around 4:30 and could go home, free from being called to jury duty for the next 3 years. 

I left, mostly thankful at being released, as it would have been an emotionally exhausting experience. But it was also a bit disconcerting and tiring: after a day of waiting and uncertainty and trying to open oneself up to the possibility of having to serve in this way, I had to let go of all those emotions and possibilities and return to regular life. 

Reading Ezekiel 16 and 23 in the Red Light District

A variation of the following was published in Global perspectives on the Old Testament (2014), edited by Mark Roncace.

Calling someone a prostitute is generally considered a great insult. In Ezekiel 16 and 23, however, Jerusalem is called more than a whore: she is considered to be worse than a prostitute as she scorns payments and bribes her lovers to come to her. Furthermore, the descriptions of her prostituting would make many readers blush. The prostitution of Jerusalem is clearly shown in the text to be a metaphor for Jerusalem’s chasing after other gods, but that hardly abates the prostitution motif. The question asked here is whether a fuller understanding of prostitution as a social phenomenon affects how the reader understands these texts.

When I moved to the Red Light District in Amsterdam a number of years ago, I was immediately confronted with women behind the windows who were selling sex. Wanting to know and understand these new neighbors of mine, I read studies on prostitution, read prostitutes’ own stories, and even had short conversations with the women as I helped bring coffee with the Salvation Army. I also tried to see my neighbors: from the skinny young blond model type to the Eastern European with limited Dutch knowledge to the grandmotherly types who seemed like they’d be more at home entertaining in the kitchen. It soon became clear to me that prostitution is complicated, just like the text of Ezekiel.

Based on its use in Ezekiel 16 and 23 it would appear that to act as a prostitute is unambiguously wrong and deserving of punishment, even death (cf. also Deuteronomy 22:21). However, the stories of prostitutes named in the Bible paint a different picture: Tamar was declared righteous (Genesis 38), Rahab was the only one rescued from Jericho (Joshua 6), and Gomer was bought back as Hosea’s wife (Hosea 2:5). Prostitution in the Bible, then, like the phenomenon of prostitution in society, is not simply seen as all bad.

Those working behind the windows in Amsterdam perceive their prostituting themselves in various ways: a necessary evil, an interesting and even enjoyable job, or one’s worst nightmare come true. For some, prostitution is seen as the only option (whether by force or general circumstances) and for others, prostitution is hardly their only option but the one they still choose because of the opportunities it presents. The description of Jerusalem and Samaria in Ezekiel 16 and 23 falls into this latter category, what is sometimes referred to as the “happy hooker.” In such an understanding of prostitution, the person is so infatuated with sex that prostitution would be considered the “ideal” and he/she could not imagine doing or wanting anything else. Jerusalem fits this category through her longing after foreign men, bribing them to come to her. Yet, describing Jerusalem as happy in her prostitution is going too far: she is constantly thirsting for more and despises the men after she has been defiled by them. The judgment depicted in the text—that of being stripped bare and stoned—further clarifies that, irrelevant of any claims made about Jerusalem’s willful intention in prostituting herself, she experiences too many “bad tricks” for her to be described as a happy hooker.

The other extreme is to see the prostitute as being inherently a victim—no one could willingly choose to have one’s body used by so many different men. Human trafficking, pimps, and loverboys have most likely forced and sometimes brainwashed the women into selling their bodies. Abuse, lack of self-worth, political unrest, addictions, and/or a love of money push women into prostitution. Seen in this way, Jerusalem and Samaria would be understood as having been brainwashed by these other gods: these are loverboys who had promised her their love, but ultimately just abused her and pushed her into turning to even more gods. This understanding clearly shows Jerusalem’s need to be rescued by God; yet, it seems difficult not to hold Jerusalem responsible, since her blatant guilt is one of the main points of these chapters.

Very few prostitutes fall into either extreme: For many, prostitution is seen as a means to an end. While few of them would consider prostitution an ideal job, they have made some choice in either becoming or staying prostitutes, even if leaving is exceptionally difficult. Few would argue that prostitution is healthy or good for them; it is harmful for their body, it messes with one’s emotions, and it is often demeaning. Yet, few are rushing to leave the life: the money is too good, the other options are lousy, and this is the life they know. It is in this context—the complicated reality of prostitution—that one can better understand Ezekiel 16 and 23. As despicable as the description of her actions is, Jerusalem cannot be simply despised and dismissed as a deviant woman. Rather, she is a complex character in a messy and complicated world, much like each of us and much like the women in the Red Light District. To some degree, Jerusalem was lured into prostituting herself by the other gods, unaware of the dire consequences, and she became a victim of her own bad choices. The text depicting her story is intended to shock the reader; the shock is even greater when we realize that we are being asked to identify ourselves as the prostitute in the story, as people who also whore after other gods. This identification allows us to turn away from condemnation and toward hope for restoration for both Jerusalem and ourselves. Jerusalem and Samaria have been promised that their fortunes will be restored in order that they, and those who identify with them, might remember and be ashamed.

In the years that I have lived in the Red Light District, one specific topic of conversation stands out. Visiting the women with a cup of coffee often leads to simple conversations about the weather, business being bad, children, and house pets—fascinating conversations, but it is not always easy to sense that the regular visits serve any kind of pastoral function. Yet, when a person decides to leave the work, then no matter how short or mundane the conversations previously were, there is no holding back in sharing this good news. There is a great joy in finally leaving—not only having survived the physical and emotional dangers of the work, but also anticipating the start of a new and different life. It is that joy and wonder that is missing from these chapters in Ezekiel; that part of the restoration comes only later in the biblical narrative.

Preaching while Female

As a campus minister, I don't preach that often. Yet when I do preach, I travel around to different locations. This can provide several challenges as Beth Carroll describes in this article: No Shoes, No Pants, No Service 

People aren't always sure what to do with the fact that I have long hair and choose to preach in a dress or a skirt. The sound person that I work with is usually male, and they're not sure what to do if the headphone set gets stuck in my hair (because I didn't think about putting it up). Most are thankful when I remember to wear a dress with a belt, on which the microphone pack can then hang. Others are grateful that I'm okay with a standing microphone instead of risking a 'wardrobe malfunction' because the weight of the microphone pack might be a bit much for the skirt I chose to wear that day. 

But other than the awkwardness of getting me set up to preach, I've rarely had people comment on what I've worn. I'm thankful that I can choose to preach in clothes that feel comfortable while also appropriately dressy for the context to which I'm preaching. 

I don't want my clothes to get in the way of people hearing the message I believe the Holy Spirit has invited me to share with the church. At the same time, while I want to be respectful in how I dress, I also do not wish to hide the female body that played a role in my receiving and preparing the message. I certainly do not wish to be a distraction, but I also believe that hiding my body by conforming to a male-dominated standard and expectations is also an unhelpful distraction from how God speaks in and through different genders.