Is Lent the Christian Version of Ramadan?

This was the topic of discussion that brought out a number of people to participate in Resto van Harte’s dinner in Schiemond last evening. Resto is a unique organisation whose aim is to create community in rather disparate neighbourhoods by hosting weekly dinners and conversations. The gatherings take place in a local community centre amongst Rotterdam’s crowded government apartments. Last night’s presentation was just as interesting and multifaceted as the diverse group of people who came.

The speakers included a Muslim Imam, Jewish Rabbi, Christian Pastor and a special address from Rotterdam’s first Moroccan mayor, Ahmed Aboutaleb. The Rabbi shared about the significance of Yom Kippur being a time of fasting for atonement, while the Imam shared how Ramadan’s fast helps a follower to attain virtues like humility, while the Pastor spoke about Lent being a time of reflection and prayer to prepare for Holy Week and the celebration of Christ’s Resurrection. It was hard to understand everything that was said (because it was spoken in Dutch and I am still struggling to learn) but I found it interesting that the Imam kept mentioning samenwerk, or team work as a theme of Ramadan.

The people I sat with were also full of colour and conviction. Across from me was a man and woman who became friends through a recovery home. Marion shared that she was from Surinam and had lived in Rotterdam for 36 years. She has four children she rarely sees because of her struggles with addiction. Otto is a young man who recently moved from the home to navigate his life from the perspective of sobriety. There were some older women at the other end of the table but the language barrier kept us from sharing. The three ladies were quite happily engaged in their own conversation.Seated behind me was a table of women, mostly related, from Morocco with their children. They were very friendly and open to sharing about their culture and faith. Each stated that they rely on each other for support since they live about 100 km from their families.

I asked everyone I spoke with what they felt was needed the most attention for change in their community, they all echoed the same frustration - crime and drugs brought to their neighbourhood by young men from bordering areas. They believe these young men leave their own neighbourhood because they fear their families’ punishment for their abhorrent behaviour. Most of these youths are out of work and spend their days on the street causing havoc and being especially tyrannical towards women. Otto said, “I would find it hard to be a woman living here, you do not have the freedom to live your life on your own without being bothered.” It seems to be pretty endemic to the poor urban centres throughout North Holland. Should Reckoning be invited to partner with organisations like Resto and GreenGraffiti I am sure we will have the opportunity to touch on this issue.

The evening was well worth the lengthy train ride. It was great to meet and share life with others and organisations that are trying to impact and empower communities. Resto’s weekly dinner program allows people an opportunity to come together in a safe environment. Jim Bowes was sitting at table next to an elderly man who recently lost his wife. When he spoke about being alone, Jim shared that the man seemed to fold into himself at the mention of solitary life. Resto is providing a platform for otherwise isolated or marginalised people to integrate with others. It will take time and effort for some to engage those who are “different” but it is good that Resto van Harte creates a place for all people share a meal and conversation.

Picture from Resto van Harte’s Picasa Gallery

A Wedding That Changed Hearts

Yesterday my dear friends Shawna and Naos were married in the typical Dutch fashion with a few twists.

In the Netherlands marriage has become a rare commodity in recent decades. Most couples live together without a passing thought about matrimony. For most people here, marriage has been stripped and reduced to the perfunctory signing of documents before a registered government official. It is costly and often without significance, so most couples do not see the point of subjecting themselves to a “meaningless” exercise. Having a wedding in a church is more ridiculous because it is an addition to the state mandated process. I live in a society where a large majority see faith more as a farce and have no connection to a parish. Argument over the matter is futile from this context as most can not imagine another viable alternative.

Shawna and Naos’ wedding was the “third option.” They deliberately brought the spiritual and sanctity of marriage into the ordinary process of a civil service. The ceremony blended two often opposing forces to create something beautiful and accessible to everyone, no matter their perspective about marriage. Instead of the usual 10 minutes of signing documents, the couple selected the largest marriage venue, which allowed many friends to come, and extended the ceremony to include an exchange of vows and readings by yours truly. The ceremony was informal and lively but deep with meaning.

Many of our friends who were adamant against or ambivalent towards marriage experienced a shift as they participated in the ceremony. Some expressed a desire to be married to their current partners or in the future. The ceremony also sparked many questions and conversations about spirituality, God, religion and faith. Revealing to people that marriage and unconditional love are symbolic representations of the relationship the Lord desires to have with humanity was profound especially to those who position themselves far outside the circles of faith.

Shawna asked me to share about marriage in the ceremony and it really seemed to strike a cord with people. Several have asked if I would be willing to speak more with them about faith and marriage and a few have approached me about speaking at their weddings. It was really amazing to be a part of such a beautiful moment. It is a blessing to know also that what was shared really resonated with those who came. I have included what has been deemed “the speech” below.

Many would consider marriage a mystery and wonder why people would do it, but I consider it a mystery because I see vast depth of meaning and symbolism. There is something miraculous about the declaration of marriage as it transforms a couple into something more than just a relationship between two people. Marriage is an invitation to the sacred. A declaration of marriage invites the rest of the world to witness something that is sacrificial, committed, unconditional even holy. This is why mystics have come to say that marriage serves as reflection of the love and fidelity between God and his people.

The love that Naos and Shawna share has brought them to this place of invitation. They are inviting us to lovingly support their union and encourage them believe the best in each other always. They are inviting us to witness the daily sacrifices they will make for each other that will enrich and strengthen their relationship and deepen their love. It is an invitation to Spirit of God to transform them individually and corporately as they rely on God’s love to lead them.

The fidelity and faithfulness of marriage transforms the “ifs” and “untils” sentiments of a relationship to “I am committed” and “I will” statements and actions required of unconditional love. Naos and Shawna’s love for each other gives us insight into the love of God.

"Love never gives up. Love cares more for others than for self. Love doesn't want what it doesn't have. Love doesn't strut, doesn't have a swelled head, doesn't force itself on others, isn't always 'me first,' doesn't fly off the handle, doesn't keep score of the sins of others, doesn't revel when others grovel, takes pleasure in the flowering of truth, puts up with anything, trusts God always, always looks for the best, never looks back, but keeps going to the end."

I have been watching Naos and Shawna love each other these many months. Two people from different worlds have managed to come together and create something that is unique and precious. I have seen Naos draw out Shawna’s fears by lovingly creating space for her to share her feelings without shame. I have watched Shawna encourage and support Naos’ dreams and desires without tiring. Their relationship is built on mutual trust and continually giving through circumstance and misunderstanding. The two have become one in unity and purpose. It is beautiful and disarming to know that they are willing to work past their differences for the sake of uncovering what is sacred in each other and deepening their love and commitment to one another. I consider it a privilege to witness this union and the beauty that will unfold in their marriage.

Desperately Seeking A Home

Today I hit the streets of Amsterdam to see the flats I had found online while in Portugal. My moving schedule was expedited by the coming nuptials of Shawna and Naos at the end of the month.

I went to see three places and I have to say that they went from worst to far worst. I had Shea with me for one of them and she was afraid to let go of my hand. Let me paint the picture; imagine the smell of a communal high school locker room times ten and that would come close to the smell of the small one room studio we saw. No windows, no carpet, no way! That was the highlight of the day.

So after my first day on these cobblestone streets, I have to say that I am a little discouraged but I will press onward. I know that there has to a place for me somewhere, I just have keep looking...apparently quite hard.

Where I Come From

My aunt wrote this article about my Grandmother at the request of an editor for future publication. This in no way fully captures all the history and drama that is “Grandmommy” but it does capture her essence. I am proud to descend from such a strong woman of colour and character. Enjoy!

ORELIA BUCKNER TAYLOR
Born June 26, 1926 in Oran, Missouri
Written by her daughter, Dorothy J, Evans

Born to parents Rev. Boyd and Mary Johnson Smith, Orelia grew up in Missouri and Arkansas. She had six brothers and two older sisters. Her mother was ill and died when Orelia was a young child . She had her children promise to one day meet their mother in Heaven. Partially raised by a father, sisters, and step-mothers, Orelia learned early in life the necessity of trusting in the Lord.
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My mother, Orelia, finished sixth grade and was done…not because she didn’t want to go further, for she loved school and did well. But, she grew up in the times where working on the farm and taking care of the males in the family were the most important tasks for females. When she asked her farm laborer father if she could one day go to college, he replied, “Yes, right down that row of cotton”. She quietly promised herself that she would never respond to her children that way. And she courageously kept that promise.

An uneducated woman, and eventually a single Mom, she accepted welfare and continued to clean the homes of wealthy white people to provide for her home and family of four growing kids. And what wonderful white folks they were! Barely worn clothing and shoes from fashionable stores were passed on to us. When my brothers graduated from junior high and high school, they accepted their diplomas in brand new suits, dressy shoes, shirts, and matching ties. Momma was loved by them for her work ethic, her generosity, and her Christian attitude.

We lived in the projects, We were on welfare. We often wore used clothing. But Momma never told us or allowed us to think that we were poor, nor to feel inferior to other children. Orelia Taylor taught her children to stand tall, to excel, and to never be discouraged and quit. Living in the projects was a remarkable experience. It was like a village. Every family knew each other, respected the rights and property of their neighbors, and disciplined and help to raise the children who dwelled there. It was a clean place, and values were taught, friendships shaped, leaders made.

A Christian and lover of God all her life, Momma brought her children up in the church. She didn’t send us to church…she didn’t drop us off at Sunday School…no, Orelia took us. She taught us early in life to bless our food, to thank God for the good times and the bad, to pray for guidance, to read the Bible, to yearn to make Heaven our future home. She could sing and was a longtime member of the choir. She was in the Mission and genuinely cared about others. She could not eat a morsel of food if she saw someone hungry. We would be sorely disciplined if we showed disrespect to any older person, whether they were right or wrong. We knew our place…we didn’t have the gall to argue with an adult or even pout or roll our eyes at them. Back then, the village was an integral part of our lives. Even if your parents didn’t see your disrespect, the village did, and they faithfully reported every offense to them.

When her second husband, Louis, was ordained as Deacon, Momma became a Deaconess. As the years passed, it became her time to become President of the Deacon’s Wives and Deaconess. She presided for many years, diligently performing her duties with a smile. When she was replaced as President by a younger woman, Momma did not pout nor complain. She stood by the new President and the auxiliary, lending a helping hand and providing guidance to her. Momma still is ready and able to assist wherever she is needed.

Three of Momma’s four children graduated from College. My baby brother is a Doctorate in the ministry; the other brother is also a minister and a retired principal with a Master’s Degree; my sister finished junior college, but decided to be an educated wife and stay- at -home mom. I became a teacher with a Master’s Degree. Momma’s inspiration and courage and belief in her children and faith in God were the forces that moved us to higher dimensions.

Even though my Dad and Mom divorced, he was a visible presence in the lives of his children. We knew our Daddy and celebrated holidays and special events with him. Momma never bad-mouthed him, nor made us resent him. When he grew older and lost his sight, Momma would help Daddy. We were working, so she took up the slack. Momma would say, “I’ve known him since I was fifteen and I won’t desert him.”

After her four children were grown, college-graduated, married, and parents ourselves, Momma decided to go to Adult School and get her high school diploma. She was a good student and the oldest in her class. The young people who had not applied their best in regular school, respected her efforts. She earned A’s and B’s in her subjects. During her graduation, her fellow classmates stood and applauded as her long-sought-after diploma was placed in her hands. What a proud moment for us all, but especially for Momma who clutched that precious rolled up paper and whispered a prayer of thanks to God for his goodness.

Momma is known around town as the cake woman. She makes mouth-watering cakes for people and gives them as gifts on their birthdays and other special occasions. People have gotten so bold as to tell Momma that their birthday is coming up and hope that they get one of her cakes. At funerals and celebrations, people who have tasted her buttery, light cakes ask, “Which one is Oree’s cake?”

A missionary in her own right, Momma freely calls and visit’s the sick and shut-in, usually bringing them something to read or eat. As sick as some of them are, they ask for some of her cake. For many years, Momma volunteered at the Braille Center, helping to feed the blind .

Momma has been the President of the Women’s Auxiliary to the Veterans of Foreign Wars for a lot of years. The membership is small and fragile, but she continues calling all the women and reminding them to come to the monthly meetings and to “please pay your dues“. The Post sponsors an annual barbecue dinner on Veterans’ Day each year and raises money for the Cancer Fund and for other activities. Momma is faithfully there in the kitchen, making sure the plates are presented to customers neatly and attractively.

In 2006, Momma’s knee finally hurt enough for her to submit to surgery. The surgery and post therapy went well. Mom was given crutches and an walker. I moved in with her during her recovery and caught her several times walking without support. She’d say, “Oh, I forgot about that”. The first Sunday I took her to church, everyone was glad to see her and amazed about how well she healed. Someone asked me where she was and I looked around to see the walker, but no Momma. She was on the other side of the church telling of her adventures. We put that thing away and she walked around like no surgery had been performed.


A true servant is what Momma is. She lives to wait on people. During dinners at her house, she can’t eat her own food for serving others. She takes leftovers to her friend across the street, who awaits with anticipation for the delicious food. She doesn’t like pets, yet she places discarded food in the alley for the dogs to feast on. The extended family went to a restaurant for a special occasion. One of her grandchildren announced to Momma, “Now, Gramma, don’t get up and help the waitress serve…they get paid to do that.” We laughed until our sides hurt.


Momma has graced this earth for 82+ years. She lives in her own house, has her own money, drives her own car (she passed her written test in 2008, so she can slowly drive a few years more. She doesn’t hear well anymore, but hates wearing those hearing aids! Instead of wearing them, she will blast everyone with the television super loud and utter “huh?” We tell her if she’d wear her hearing aids, she’ll better hear what people are saying. If she is in a cooperative mood, she’ll say, “I know”, but if she’s being spunky, she’ll say, “Sometimes I don’t want to hear what some people are saying”.

A strong woman. A godly woman. A woman full of love. That’s our Momma.

Carnival Portuguesa Style

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, the culmination of the carnival celebrations throughout February. Since I have been in Portugal for almost a month, I felt obliged to join in the celebration.

The Monday prior is “the” night to celebrate all that would be forsaken for lent. The collection of characters who became friends congregated at Silk (a club that boasts a beautiful view of Lisboa from their roof-top terrace), and I invited my new friend Christy to join me for a night of dancing under the stars until the sun dared to rise. I have not laughed so hard in a long time. The costumes ranged from tragic to magnificent, but everyone was jovial as they sang Portuguese songs. I had a great time dancing and singing along (when I could in Spanish). For more pictures go to my photo album.

Traffic Jam Cabanas’ Style

Life in Cabanas is slower than many places I have ever been in a while. It is really refreshing to live in “Praise of Slowness” (Shout out to Chris Holohan for letting borrow his book in SA) by cooking and heating the place with a wood-burning stove, working in the sunlight with the gatos (cats) and watching sunsets. Portugal is a place where business deals are forged and broken on the basis of the amount strain it generates between parties.

The most stressful thing I have observed in the town has been the afternoon grid-lock captured above. I am staying across the road from a sheep’s milk dairy and the afternoon grazing is about as busy as the roads get near the home. As you can see there is a real pile up around the orange tree that brings the flow to a grinding halt. The other sheep just keep on coming and the cascade of wool just increases around the tree. The sheep in the middle were trapped by the tree but they did not seem to mind it much. In fact I actually watched one sheep use the back of his brother to stand on to claim an orange (my battery died so I could not catch it on film but it made me smile). When life gave him lemons, he decided to make orange-aid out of those who held him captive.

Even though it is a stressful time with Reckoning deadlines, life around me is sending a powerful message to take things as they come and enjoy an unhurried pace of life.

Missing a Furry Face

I was hiking in the hills behind the house where I am staying and I came across a family of rabbits grazing. I sat and watched them playing. They chased and frolicked around the orange grove. It made me smile for a moment, but then I became sad because it made me think about dearly departed Sgt.Pepper.

Sgt. Pepper was the rabbit that lived at the Snow compound in Amsterdam. He was a fun companion to me. I spent many hours laughing at his adventures as he played with our neighbour’s cat. He died just before I returned from California last month, so I did not get to say good bye to his furry face.

Seeing the bunnies play became a sort of memorial for Sgt. Pepper. I know that he was “just” a rabbit, but for me he was a point of simple joy in my day. Every time I saw him I smiled, no matter how my day was going; for that I will always be grateful and miss him a little.