Ross Olivier

For a while now I have wanted to give tribute to Ross Olivier on this blog. Each time I begin I’m lost for words to describe what his ministry and guidance meant. With only two weeks left to ordination I’m running out of time so I’ve decided to simply say that Ross made a deep impression on me as a minister, he taught me how to care, how to give my best and how to not be afraid to aim high.

For now the best I can do to honour him is to share one of his sermons with you, which gives some idea of the wonderful; teacher, helper, preacher, minister he was. Still when I read it I can hear his voice and see him rubbing his beard for effect as he preached.

He is sorely missed.

 

T H E C R A Z Y FA R M E R

Matthew 13:1-9

“When a great crowd gathered, and people from town after town came to Him, He said in a parable, “A sower went out to sow his seed. As he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, were trampled on, and the birds of the air ate it up. Some seeds fell on the rock and as it grew up, it withered for lack of moisture. Some seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew and choked it. And some fell into good soil where it grew, and it produced a hundredfold. As He said this, He called out ‘Let anyone withears listen.’”

It’s wonderful listening to the sounds of worship and music this morning: the sounds of the congregation engaged, the sound of the music, of the bells, of the choir, of the children and the babies. They are all the sounds of worship.

Speaking about all these different sounds reminds me of the two elderly ladies sitting on a porch one evening, listening to the sounds around them. One was listening to the sounds of a ladies’ choir practicing in the church across the road in the town hall. She was completely enjoying the sounds of that ladies’ choir.

The other one was more tuned into nature, and she was listening to the sounds of the little crickets making their sound in the grass. The first lady, the one listening to the ladies’ choir, said “Don’t they make just the most beautiful sound?” And the one listening to the crickets said “You are so right. And do you know they do it by rubbing their legs together?”

It matters what you are listening for.

As we turn to our passage of scripture, I’ve sometimes listened to being preached - I’ve heard it preached on many occasions – and often as I’ve listened I’ve come away feeling dreadfully inadequate and sometimes very depressed. Sometimes I’m not sure whether the preacher and I are reading the same Bible.

More often than not, this passage is presented something like this: the preacher says “Well, there are four types of human soil. There is soil that is like a trampled path. It is hard, hard-hearted, unyielding; it’s a closed surface; it’s hard-crusted; it’s unreceptive and the word of God cannot penetrate such soil. The seed just lies on top and the birds come and devour it. Some of you are just like that soil. You are impenetrable; you are hard.” And then the preacher says “And then you get soil that’s like a rock. Its shallow soil, and hard underneath. It’s stony; it’s people with stony hearts; it’s people who have no depth. The seed lies on the hard rock and the wind and the rain come and they wash it off. Some of you are like that. You are as tough as a rock, and you’ve got no spiritual moisture.” The preacher goes on and says “Some soil is overgrown with weeds. It’s like a jungle out there. It’s a mess. It’s full of poisonous growth; it’s wild; it’s destructive. And some of you are like that. Your lives are platted and thorny and full of poisonous growth.”

Are you beginning to feel down yet? “And then, the preacher says, “and then there’s good soil. It’s ready, and it’s about to be prepared, and it’s been ploughed. Some of you, some of you are like that. You are ready, and you are receptive; you have potential for good growth. You are the good people. You are God’s people. All the others, the path, and the rock and the weeds, well... you are on your way to Hell.” You know the kind of sermon I mean?

Well, what’s the problem? Here’s the problem. It’s got the focus all wrong. You see, the focus of Jesus’ teaching – and in this parable specifically – is that it’s not about the soils, it’s about the sower. It’s about the farmer, not about us. It’s about God, and it points the way to the magnificent grace and generosity of this crazy, crazy farmer who walks about with his bag of precious seed, sowing it wildly, with gay abandon.

He’s a different kind of sower. Farmers are normally much more deliberate than that. Do you know any farmer who would sow seed except where the ground has been very, very carefully prepared, made fertile? Farmers don’t walk around with bags of seed and sow it everywhere. They don’t waste a drop of it. But the farmer in our text, he’s not like that. He just sows to the wind. He sows to every corner. He sows and he throws seed on hardened parts and rocky outcrops, and amongst the weeds with its undergrowth, and here’s the portrait – it’s a portrait of God; it’s the portrait of Jesus liberally and joyfully and generously sowing the precious seed of saving grace everywhere… and it’s a magnificent portrait. It’s a picture of wonder and mercy and graciousness and tenderness, and it knows no restrictive bounds. It doesn’t wait until it finds perfect soil before distributing the costly grace. It simply lets it go, and throws it out, and scatters, and here’s the miracle – somewhere, somehow, in the mystery and awesomeness of God’s grace, it takes root and begins to grow, even on hardened paths, even on rocky surfaces, even amongst the weed-filled patches.

In the midst of the most unlikely and improbable places, new life is formed and new growth begins to take place, and it’s absolutely beautiful. It’s the miracle of God’s love for us, and its good news. It’s really good news. For you see, the truth of us is that not one of us, not one of us, is a life that is perfectly tilled or perfectly prepared. None of us is perfect soil. Each of us is a mixture of all those soils. Every one of us has parts of our lives that are like that path.

A change will do you good

Change can be such a pain! Don’t get me wrong; I love an adventure, a new address and a fresh circumstance as much as the next person, but the actual change is not easy. As Isaac Asimov said, “Life is pleasant, death is peaceful, it’s only the transition that’s troublesome.” 

Maybe this is the real reason I don’t like change, because I don’t really know how to transition. It sounds common sense but I’m still learning that to change I have to actually leave the old before I can appropriately embrace the new. Every change in life requires this. When I got married I had to say goodbye to my bachelor life to properly welcome married life. As long as the bachelor Collin lived, the married Collin would not have a happy existence. Both Collins could not remain, one had to go. When Claire and I first had Grace it took us a while to transition from our old to our new way of life. Our old life had to die before we could receive parenthood with joy.

God forever compels me to change, to commit to a new way of being, but I put off the change I resist the transition and this is the most unhappy existence. I come across so many angry and restless people who live this painful reality; torn between being called to the new but too afraid, too unsure, and not ready to let go of the old.

How much time and energy we waste fighting for things that just aren’t any more, battling for the way things used to be. God’s wonderful promise is to turn every end into a transition to new life, relentlessly turning every dead-end into a new-beginning. But we must make the difficult choice, we must accept that new beginning for it to ever be a beginning at all.

At this time of year nature looks at its worst all hopeless and dead; if you look closely buds are emerging, the air is warming and something wonderful is about to happen. But for spring to come nature must let go of winter.

Maybe a change, even a tough one, will do me good.

Anyone who holds onto life just as it is, destroys that life. But the one who reckless in their love, lets it go, will have life, real and eternal.  John 12:25MSG

Phase One



North West Sunset in Utlwanang

I wonder if anyone who’s ever been through “Phase One” training will ever be able to prevent a wry smile from appearing on their face when they think back on their cross-cultural year. I know I won’t.

We were sent to Utlwanang township just outside Christiana in the North West province. Placed on the back of the backend of the world this area has no water, no hills or mountains, no grass, no trees, only goats and dust. I still wonder why people settled here in the first place.

Phase one had so much to contend with; learning a new culture, standing out like a white person in a township, coming to terms with being a minister, doing TEEC assignments and travelling 370km into Soweto every week for IST. I doubt I will ever go through a year like that again, filled with such a bizarre range of experience, from the ludicrous to the profound. It was a year packed with, tragic and comical situations, painful and joyful moments. Claire and I came out of it the way I imagine a person emerges from a tumble drier; disoriented and thankful to be out, vowing never to go back.

Now years later I look back with fondness on that year. Then it felt desolate, now I see it was the richest of times. Claire and I learnt so much about ourselves and God and the world around us. We were welcomed in and cared for by people we would otherwise never have met.

Next month towards the end of September, straight after my ordination Claire and I have organised a trip through the North West. We are going to meet up with old friends, show our children where we lived and be reminded of where and how this journey all began. I never thought I’d say it, but I thank God for my Phase one year.

 As you can see in Phase One I was pretty stoked about being a minister

Claire infront of the manse contemplating our new living arrangement

Washing dishes in our 'open plan' scullary

George Thibang, a good friend and amazing man of God. Goerge, here in his fifties, would still on occassion ride a bicycle 35km along gravel roads, to preach to a congrigation in Kudu Tlou. Something which in his younger days he did almost every Sunday.

In the year we spent in Utlwanang Goerge would patiently spend two hours with me every Friday giving free SeTswana lessons.

His favourite line was always, "Don't worry Maruti, just be free."

I'm most looking forward to seeing Goerge in September.

Thunzi, a dog we saved from being stoned by some local boys. She became our uninvited squatter and later a much loved pet.

Lambert, an olive tree planted to commemorate our first wedding anniversary. Barricaded with fencing, branches and thorns to keep the goats away - to little effect.

We do not expect to find Lambert alive in September. We have decided that if Lambert is no more it will not serve as a reflection on our marriage.

Two of the most annoying donkeys in the world who would regularly stand outside our window at 10pm and HHAAA HEEE!

Rodger Dodger the most wily rock pigeon on earth. He nested on the tin roof above our bedroom and loved scratching and banging at 4am every morning. Needless to say he had everything from sticks, stones, marbles and shoes, thrown, catapulted and shot at him without ever being hit once, not even nearly.

Claire standing outside the Kudu Tlou Church.

Me with the Kudu Tlou congrigation.

Still can't believe we all worshiped inside the building.

And last but not least the Jabavu lecture room where we did more waiting than lecturing

August a long month

Although it is undoubtedly the best of the twelve months and most outstanding people are born in it (Queen Elizabeth (4^th Aug), Napoleon Bonaparte (15^th), and Roger Federer (8^th) to name a few) August has always been the longest month. It is a waiting month and its days drag. In August you must wait for your birthday, wait for spring, and wait for ordination. Sometimes I wish I could just change the calendar and skip some days!

Julius Caesar used to do that, he loved messing with the year, randomly adding and moving months around as he pleased. But what goes around comes around, because it was while he was Caesar that people began to notice something very wrong with their calendar year. The seasons were moving. Summer started happening when it was supposed to be autumn and spring when it was meant to be winter. So Jules quickly consulted an astronomer who discovered that their year was a few days short of the suns cycle and had slipped 80 days out with the seasons.

To correct the mistake he created a calendar year with 365,25 days in it, and brought in a leap year which would have one day less to keep the calendar synchronised with the sun. This done they still had to correct the 80 day discrepancy so the Caesar just added the days on and in 46AD the Romans experienced the longest year ever, 445 days long it became known as the year of chaos! Riots broke out because people had to work 14.5 months for a year’s wages.

The funny thing is that Julius’s new system although much better was still out, but this time it was 11 hours too long. As a result by 1582 the calendar year was 10days behind the sun’s cycle, so in that year the people had to shorten the month of October which jumped from the 10^th to the 20^th in a single day. This must be the best pay day month in history!

So is there a point to all this talk about time and seasons? Well doesn’t time just drag when you go through something difficult or tedious, you just want it to end and you wish it away. Sometimes I think of my probation as the season of chaos. It’s been so long I almost can’t remember what life was like before probation. As with most long journeys the beginning goes quickly, you’re keen and rearing to go; but the end takes forever and every little bump feels too much to bear.

In times of hardship we risk becoming so selfishly focused on the difficulty and what we are going through that we lose sight of what God is doing with us. Time drags because we become so focused on our pain that we lose sight of all blessing, we disregard others needs and we throw ourselves out of sync with God. It’s like we bring a year of chaos on ourselves. Like a calendar year out of rhythm with the sun, a life out of rhythm with God tends to either be over or under compensating for something. When things get tough we must remember that there are seasons to life and that God is always in control even when life is not easy. God is able to use every moment to grow and nurture us, every instance for good even though we might never see or understand that goodness.

And so as I look back on my probation I have to say I would not change a thing. There have been moments that were cold and long but God has always had a plan, and spring is not far away. I need the winters, they strengthen my faith and they contain hidden treasures, there to be found if I’m ready to look for them. We must come to see that God has made all things beautiful in their time, and the things of August are more beautiful than most.

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;  a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace. What gain has the worker from his toil? I have seen the business that God has given to the children of humanity to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into men’s and women’s heart.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-11

Red balloons - sacrament

Last week I found myself outside ‘Function World’ in Port Shepstone, looking like a lummox while making a mess of trying to herd helium balloons into a car. A howling south-easter made the whole exercise all the more hazardous. Paranoid about losing my grip I imagined R500’s worth of balloons all slipping through my fingers and floating away into the great beyond. Adding to the dilemma it soon became clear that a Citi Golf does not have the capacity for 55 balloons.

Noticing my predicament a crazy homeless guy on the side of the road quickly came to my aid. With wild eyes and swinging arms he shouted a stream of unclear rebukes at the balloons, I think demanding that they behave. With my hands full, I was at his mercy as he pressed me into the car and forced the door closed behind me, to the sounds of balloons squeaking and popping in protest. Turns out a Golf’s limit is 51 balloons.

I was on my way out to a youth camp in Oribi Gorge and had a serious camp silence planned. I wanted to give the teens an opportunity to contemplate and pray and to write down things they wanted God to remove; like past hurts, sins and unhealthy attitudes, and then for them to attach these things to a helium balloon and let it go.

There were 47 campers and I was down to 51 balloons. Arriving at the campsite two over excited teens opened the back door without thinking, prematurely liberating three of my precious cargo. Now at 48 balloons my left eye began to twitch. I had to put on my grumpy-face to protect what was left. Thankfully, this together with a fearsome growl, got the rest of thel balloons into the hall unscathed.

Later with all the teens gathered I started explaining how the exercise was going to work. It was at this moment I heard a deep breath being taken from behind me. Tapping me on the shoulder a little fourteen year old mischief, asked in a helium induced screech, “what we going to do with these?” It took all the resolve I could muster to not grab him and squeeze him like one of my daughter’s squeaky toys.

I was beginning to lose hope that this plan was ever going to work, but thankfully in the end God brought it all together. Teens have an amazing way of surprising you. Just when they’ve annoyed you to the verge of your limit, just when you think they’re beyond reaching and never listen to a thing you say they do something profound.

With exactly one balloon left for everyone, as each person took theirs an almost instant quiet, or should I say stillness, came over the campsite. No more joking around, no more kidding about, they all went off in silence on their own. In time, when they were ready, balloons began to slowly take off; each being let go and disappearing into the distance.

 

After all had been released we came back together to break the silence. Then I don’t know who started it but spontaneously the teens began among themselves to turn to one another and, greet each other with these words, “It is finished they are gone, he has taken them away.” With that God’s forgiveness and release became tangible among us as though a heavy weight had been lifted. People’s faces shone.

Nothing like a group of teenagers and a few red balloons to be reminded of God’s love, reminded of God’s forgiveness, reminded of why I want to be a minister in the first place.

Inside Out

I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to being a minister in a small town. More than being slightly famous and having people talk about what you put in your grocery trolley; when you’re a dorpie dominee it can feel as though everyone’s pretending about who they really are; from the hairdresser to the mechanic, even strangers tend to behave unnaturally in your presence.

Like the other day a guy was telling me about a village enemy who had wronged him again. His emotions grew as he relived the situation. His arms gesticulated, his voice got louder, and then to his surprise… he let the ‘F’ word slip. Realising what he had just said and who he had said it to, he looked mortified. Shamefully jangling keys in his pocket, he blushed and apologised with ‘Agg sorry, excuse my French’. I tried my best to remain composed but it was just too funny, and I burst out laughing. I suppose not the most gracious way to deal with him, but I couldn’t help it. Perhaps because I knew of all the times I’ve came close to saying something I shouldn’t.

Bad words don’t just slip out, do they? They don’t just randomly land in our mouths by accident, they come from somewhere. Jesus would have us believe they are a mirror of what is really going on inside. Think about it, when regrettable words spill you’ve been thinking them all along hiding what you really feel, but then in that unguarded moment you forget to dress up your inner feelings and the true thought comes tumbling out your mouth. A friend of mine calls it ‘Foot in Mouth Disease’, but it’s really more like ‘Heart in Mouth Disease’ because, “Out of the overflow of your heart your mouth speaks” Mt . 15:8.

Our character is what we feel or do without thinking. I may say, ‘I didn’t mean that,’ but something in me did mean it. My true character ‘leaks’ when I’m not trying to impress anyone or when I don’t carefully plot how I should act in order to reflect Christ. When someone cuts me off on the highway my true character is reflected by whether I say “Bless you” or “@!#$% you”.  

So the way we live is actually a spiritual thing. As Dallas Willard points out, if we want to change anything about ourselves we must be changed spiritually. Spiritual formation is key because it is the condition of our heart that determines the people we will be. The way we treat others, what choices we make, the things we value, our moral standards and even our view of God; all spring from our spirituality. We need to cooperate with God and be changed on the inside; there is no other hope.

But here is the amazing thing, if we allow God to change us inwardly we won’t have to pretend to be kind and loving any more. If our inside is transformed we won’t have to try to love, unloving thoughts and actions simply won’t occur to us. Instead of being surprised by the curses that used to come out of our mouths, we’ll be surprised by the blessings we speak and the loving thoughts and actions that spring up before we’re even aware of them. Imagine smiling at an enemy without thinking, giving without counting the cost, sharing without hesitation, loving spontaneously!

If we’re changed from the inside out we won’t even have to worry about what words may slip when next we happen to be speaking to the minister.

Letters of Grace: A second salvation

Part of what I have had to do this year in preparation for ordination is reflect on my call to ministry. Since today marks 100 days till ordination! I thought I would share some of that testimony with you.

I gave my life to Jesus and came to know the love of God in a youth group at Boshoff St Methodist church. We were just a little band of teenage misfits (sorry guys) but it was here that I got my first real sense of being called. I praise God for the people I encountered there, people like Athole Davies and Cathy Bolleart who gave me their trust, friendship, affirmation, and guidance. It was here that the opportunity to teach, and pastor and disciple, stirred a desire to minister and a part of me came to life that I hadn’t been aware of before.

Resisting God’s call at the age of 18 I decided rather to study agriculture. These were definitely my wondering years, to call this an ‘interesting’ time in my life would be a kind description. Having done an unorthodox 8 month Bsc short course at UKZN (if you know what I mean) I graduated up the hill to Cedara ‘the college of knowledge’ where I completed a three year diploma and began working as a dairy manager on a jersey farm in Dundee. Although I really enjoyed farming and still think fondly of those days, even then I felt a call to ministry. Dairying is hard and lonely work and to pass the hours I would often think up sermons. At the risk of sounding like Angus Buchan, on some abandoned Sunday afternoons I would preach to the cows. Sadly none ever converted but they never fell asleep either.

From Dundee I went to the UK. It was my plan to work and travel and really just have fun. Again there was such a paradox in my life because I loved the work I was doing, I enjoyed the adventure I was on and the freedom of not being responsible to anyone or anything; but looking back it was the most lost I have ever been. My life had no meaning, no real reason. I still find it embarrassing to think of the person I was then; yet again God gave me friends like Oliver, Lyle and Wayne who were generous and understanding housemates. They still remind me from time to time about the things I got up to then.

It was during this time that a second salvation played out in my life. As I grew more and more discontented I began praying. I knew what God was calling me to do, but I didn’t really know where to begin and I didn’t feel I was worthy of it anymore. Finally I plucked up the courage and spoke to a close friend, until then it had been years since I last verbalised what I felt God was saying to me. I thought he was going to laugh at me, but I remember a loud beating in my chest and being flooded with hope when he said, “Finally, do you know how long we’ve been waiting for you to stop mucking about!?”He then asked if he could pray for me and prayed a simple prayer, “Lord we can see your call on Collin’s life, he seems ready to listen please show a way for him to honour that. Amen.” I felt a bit let down, there were no singing angels no booming voice or light from above just amen and we had supper.

The next morning I got the strangest letter in the post. During my stay in the UK I had moved twice, first from Hereford to Falkirk, then from Falkirk to London. This letter had been sent to Hereford, forwarded to Falkirk, and then forwarded again to London. It was from Alan Wright the minister at Wesley Methodist Church in Maritzburg. It said that they were looking for a youth pastor. He explained that he knew I had only spent a year overseas and might have other plans but that my name kept coming up for this position. He had decided to take a chance and see if I would be interested.

Now I don’t know how my life would have played out had I continued down the path I was on or had I never received that letter. I like to think that God would have got through to me some other way, but that letter is a deep grace moment for me, a crucial turning point. Because from there I began working as a youth pastor, met my wife Claire, candidated and now stand 100 days away from ordination. As I reflect I am in awe and I am humbled at the depth of God’s grace and grateful that that grace has never failed to find me.