Testimony Part 2.

As I drove away from St. Stephen’s Anglican Church on that Friday afternoon my mind was racing. Why had I stopped? Why had I gone inside to enquire? What was happening with me? What was I going to do with the service times that I had gotten from the minister’s wife?

When Val arrived home I found myself announcing to her with all boldness and conviction that we were going to church on Sunday. Well you could have knocked her over with a feather. When she asked why, I told her about my afternoon, and said I don’t know why but we are going. Well I was anyway.

Sunday morning 26th August 1978. I will never forget that date! It was the day that turned my life around 180 degrees.

We arrived as a family at about 08:45 am. The sidewalk on both sides of the road outside the church building was packed with cars. I didn’t know that going to church was this popular. We parked the car and walked up the driveway to the small building. I noticed an elderly lady watching us as we approached. 

She had that same countenance as Ozzie and Ruth. A glow!

She came forward to greet us with outstretched arms, gave Val and me a big hug (what was with these people – just like Ozzie and Ruth), and introduced herself as Olive Bird. I introduced our family. After fussing over Nadia and Daryl she turned, looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Jack the Lord has a great plan for your life.”

Who is the Lord… my life? I was quite happy with the way things were. Nice home in a lovely suburb. Brand new Audi. Working for myself. What could be better? Little did I know?

Olive ushered us inside and I was planning a back row seat. No chance. That place was packed… wall to wall people. And man, what a vibe. I was always taught that you didn’t talk inside a church building. Maybe whisper if it was urgent. But this! These people were alive in the utmost sense of the word. There must have been about 180 folk packed in there and they were all talking at once, out loud. And happy with faces all aglow. Like a big family reunion.

Enter Batman. You know… the guy who dresses like mother but you call him father. I take it this must be Allan the minister. No formal procession, he just walks down the aisle greeting folks like he was one of them. They really seem pleased to see him and vice versa. I still did not know what brought me to this place but I was beginning to feel comfortable. This was… well nice.

Allan gets to the front, welcomes everyone, prays and then the next thing we have piano, organ and guitar breaking into an upbeat song. Spontaneously all jump to their feet, start clapping in time to the music and doing a sort of dance. Not the way I danced at parties and clubs. It was a sort of happy little jig. I found myself joining in dancing, clapping and singing along with them. The words to the song were projected onto a big screen, and just as well because no one could hold a song book in their hands.

The songs were all about Jesus and “Father God”. The tempo slows down after about three or four songs and the people seem to be awestruck. Raising their hands above there heads as if reaching out to Someone. It is as though they were singing a love song and it would not be many days before I would be doing the same thing. Fully understanding this act of love and adoration.

This was no ordinary Anglican Church. Oh they did some of the things I remembered from twenty years ago. You know like the announcements, the prayers for the sick, the collection, scripture readings and the sermon but they did them with feeling and meaning. Almost as though they were communicating with a real being some where. This was real, not recital. This was alive. This was exciting. This was doing something on the inside of me. I did not understand.

At the end of the sermon Allan said something like, “If anyone would like to know more about this Jesus that we have been talking about then please come back into the building after you have had a cup of tea”. He dismissed us with a prayer.

Pouring out of that building was a mass of joyful, bubbling people. The tea time was just as vibrant as the service had been. The people just could not stop talking about Jesus. Many folk came to introduce themselves. Genuine. Laid back. Nothing planned. I could sense a real loving concern for us.

Allan made a call for those who were interested to come back into the church. With no hesitation at all I started for the door with Val following close behind. I was on a mission not of my own petition. A jolly young man also dressed in his clerical garb invited us to take a seat or rather a pew. Rob sat on the pew in front of us, turned around and leaned over the backrest of his pew. With a big warm smile on his face he asked, “What would you like to know about Jesus?” Neither he nor Val were expecting what happened next.

Tears just started streaming down my cheeks and then I began to sob uncontrollably. Nadia and Daryl who had been playing with the other youngsters outside came in to see what was wrong with their dad. They had never seen me cry before. (This by the way, men crying or rather not crying, is a big problem in society. More about this in a later chapter.) Val reassured them that I was alright and they ran out to play again.

No one said a word as I just continued to cry for what seemed to be an eternity. When I managed to stop sobbing Rob said not to worry it was the Lord touching me. I don’t think he actually knew what to do or say. We left without any further words being spoken. I spent a very subdued afternoon and evening. No beers!

Monday morning shortly after eight o’clock found me knocking on Allan’s door. He immediately invited me in. I don’t know what he was busy with but I am sure that he realised that I needed answers. He was right. I wanted to know what had happened to me yesterday. Today I felt different. I just had this tremendous peace within me. But why? He gave me a little booklet entitled “The Gospel According to St. John” and asked me to read it and then come back to see him.

Without knowing it I was holding in my hand a portion of the Bible. I really was un-churched. I had never possessed a Bible or so I thought. Until in 2002 when I moved down to Ficksburg in the Eastern Free State I discovered a King James Bible in one of my boxes. On the fly page was this inscription, To Jackie, with love from Mum and Dad 1956. I have no idea what the occasion was and since both my parents have already passed away I cannot not ask. I was thirteen back then.

Well I read the booklet, going over passages and chapters again and again. I needed to understand what was happening. Over the next two weeks the penny began to drop. An understanding of being born again began to take root within me. I finally got to the end of the booklet and there was a prayer. I amsure you know it or something similar. On 4^th September 1978 I prayed that prayer and in so doing I verbalised the fact that I had chosen to make Jesus Christ the Lord of my life.

Olive Bird was right. God did have a plan for my life and it was not too long before he started revealing that plan to me. I was on the most exciting journey of my life.

The road has not always been smooth. I have experienced that scripture that says strait is the gate and narrow is the path… the two words narrow and strait in the Greek imply that the entrance and the path travelled are filled with obstacles.

Many Christians try by all means to bypass these obstacles but never with success. You see God put those there for a purpose. That purpose is to bring us to maturity in our walk with Him and in our dealings with people. Not to punish us.

Without this maturity we will never truly see God and experience all that He has prepared for us.

Today God our Heavenly Father is busy preparing a people who will become the Church that He has in His heart. The Church that Jesus is building. A church without walls. A church built upon the only true foundation… Jesus. A church where Jesus is the head and the Holy Spirit is in control. A church that overflows with the love of God which He continually pours into our hearts by the Holy Spirit. A church which knows no discrimination of any kind, where kings and paupers sit side by side bonded together by God’s unconditional love.

That is the church of my dreams. It is a journey into the Heart of God, there to discover His eternal plan for the body of Christ. I invite you to join me on this exciting journey.

May the love of God and the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you always.

With much love,

Jack.

Testimony

I really feel the need to publish my testimony here on the blog. While writing my testimony for publication a few years ago, I sensed the Lord saying that there was far more to it than just my experience of being born again. A book was birthed out of this, recording my walk with the Lord over the past 31 years. This from chapter two of the book, which is far from finished.

Each life yielded to the Lord and under the control of the Holy Spirit is another chapter in the book of Acts. It will only be completed when Jesus returns to fetch His Bride. And so it is with my life's story. The story of how God used an ordinary man to achieve a part of His purpose. His ways and thoughts are higher than ours.

Chapter 2 The Story Begins

Driving home one sunny, late winter’s afternoon in August, a sign caught my eye. It read “St. Stephens Anglican Church”. I had driven this route many times before but on this Friday afternoon I had an inner urge to stop. At the time I did not realise it but now I know that it was a divine appointment.

I think it was the “Anglican” bit that triggered it. My mind flashed back some twenty years to my confirmation in the Anglican Church. At the family “celebration meal” after the service my dad bless his soul, he is now with the Lord, said that I could now make my own decision about whether or not to go to church. We were not a church going family but did the “right” things.

My decision was made. A resounding NO! After all, I had gotten absolutely nothing out of it. When I got up from the altar rail on that Sunday I felt no different from the day our catechism classes started. I never even felt a sense of duty towards my parents or God. As a matter of fact all I knew about God was what I had “learned” in catechism classes and recited, rote fashion, in the creed.

Now twenty years later, I stopped the car, reversed and drove into the entrance of the property. Without hesitation and not knowing why, I got out of the car, went up to the front door and knocked.

A young woman, about my age, opened the door and politely asked if she could help me. For a few seconds I was phased. I couldn’t remember what you called the main man. “Could I see the err…” I stammered. “… my husband Allan” she helped me out. “Is he the err… “, she helped me again “…yes the minster, but he is not in right now”.

“Thanks” I said, “I will call again”. Whew! I was off the hook. But as I turned to leave she asked whether she could be of assistance. Before I knew it I was asking what time the Sunday services were. Seven am, nine am and six pm. I thanked her and made a hurried exit.

What was happening? I had not attended a church service, by choice, for twenty years. Why this sudden interest in church? Little did I realise at the time but God had been planting seeds in my heart.

About five years prior to this my dad, who now had become a regular church attendee, put me on a guilt trip about my two children. So to keep him happy, Val (my wife at the time) and I started attending the Free Church with my dad so that the kids could go to “Sunday school”. A month later my dad moved to the other side of town. Just the break I needed.

My decision was that on Sunday mornings Val and I would take turns in taking the kids to Sunday school. I am not sure what Val did on her Sundays but I would drop the kids off and having bought the Sunday Times newspaper on the way to the church, I would park under a shady tree and read. This only lasted about a month and then the novelty wore off. We stopped going. Do you know what? The kids never once asked if they could go again. They were just having too much fun on a Sunday at home as a family.

Then about a year before the St. Stephens episode another strange thing happened. One Sunday afternoon as I was quietly sitting and reading there was a knock at the front door. Upon answering I found an elderly lady quite distressed because her car had broken down. She asked if she could phone her husband and would I mind looking up the telephone number for her. Remember the days before mobiles?

Their surname was “van Schalkwyk” and I found the number at the address she had given me. I dialed the number for her and handed her the telephone. While she was chatting to her husband my mind started processing the info. The name Ozzie came to mind. When she had finished the call and thanked me, I asked whether she had a son about my age as the address she had given rang a bell in my mind. She said that she did and that he was married with two children. It turned out to be an old school friend that I had not seen since we left the army in 1962. It was now 1977. I asked her to give him my regards.

A few weeks later. Sunday afternoon. Enjoying a cold beer; knock at the front door. Sundays were beginning to get to me. What happened to the peace and quiet. To my surprise I opened the door to find Ozzie standing there. He was all dressed up in a suit. What was up? Had he been to a funeral? People don’t have funerals on a Sunday. No, Ozzie was on his way to church. I could not help myself, maybe the beer helped, but I burst out laughing.

Ozzie did not think it was funny. He had actually come to invite me along. I laughed again and offered him a beer. No thanks, he didn’t drink anymore. This time I almost cracked I laughed so hard. Ozzie did not think it was funny. This was definitely not the same guy I knew in the good old army days. Ozzie had been born again, whatever that meant. I declined his invitation and invited him to come around again, not on a Sunday, for a chat about the good old days. He left. Strange though, he never seemed angry or phased at all. His face was actually glowing.

I forgot all about that incident until… you guessed it, the next Sunday afternoon. Knock at the front door. Ozzie in suit inviting me to church. Me, beer in hand laughing. I decline, Ozzie leaves with peaceful look on his face. What is with this guy? He used to be a great buddy. Now he is hassling me.

Not again. Sunday afternoon. Ozzie suit. Me beer. This time I wasn’t laughing. I could see that he was serious about getting me to go to church. Did he know something I didn’t? Ok. I agreed to go once if he agreed to stop hassling me. Deal. He gave me the address and said he would wait outside for me just before six pm.

Val and I bundled the kids into the car and drove the five or six kilometers to find that the address was a Boy Scout Hall! There was Ozzie in his suit. I was dressed in an open neck shirt. Part of the deal… no dressing up. He greeted me like a long lost friend. He hugged me! Strange… a slap on the back would have been good enough.

Inside the building I found about sixty people. They were happy! Strange… I had never seen this in a church service before. There was even a guy up front with a guitar! Church? Then we were asked to settle down. We had to because the place was buzzing. Someone opened with a prayer. Ah! It was a church service. Then we were asked to stand to sing. Definitely a church service. Now what? People clapping their hands to happy songs… with a beat. Definitely not your normal church service. This I could go for. I had been a jazz/rock drummer so this part was good.

Then people started talking in strange languages. Weird or what? A man, maybe the minister, spoke about something from the Bible. But by this time I had gone into shut down mode. I couldn’t wait for it to end.

Afterwards, I thanked Ozzie for inviting me and said that I hoped he would keep his side of the deal. Do not invite me again. Sure he said with a big smile. That was that!

However about six months later our paths were to cross again. This time it was my choice. Val and I had been going through some serious marriage problems and once again the subject of divorce came up. A name immediately came to mind. You guessed right again… Ozzie. But I never had a contact number. Then I remembered the address I had looked up for his mom, found the number, called her and got a number for Ozzie. His name was actually Raymond according to his mom… I never knew.

I made an appointment to see him and when I arrived I found both Ozzie and his wife Ruth waiting for me. Ozzie could see that I was not happy to have a woman in on our discussion but he assured me that Ruth would remain neutral. Now this was the first time that we had actually spoken together since our army days. Apart from our greetings on the night of the church service, we never communicated.

To my surprise I found both Ozzie and Ruth to be very gentle. Ruth’s face was also aglow with that same peace that I had seen on Ozzie’s face. What was this? They read some passages out of the bible and explained how they applied to marriage. They started talking about Jesus, but I was trying to control myself from weeping. I never really heard what they were saying. Somehow I felt better about my situation and after they had prayed, yes prayed out loud for Val and me, I thanked them and left.

Strange meeting. Apart from a minister, I had never heard ordinary people pray out loud before. And when they prayed it was as though they were talking to someone who was in the room with us. I truly cannot remember what they prayed but somehow I knew that it was for real.

Our marriage stayed intact. I didn’t know why. And, I never saw Ozzie and Ruth again until maybe five years later. Why the interlude concerning Ozzie? I believe now that seeds were planted which bore fruit on the 26th August 1978.

Continued in next post. It is a bit long for one post.

With much love ,

Jack.

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