Over land and over seas, by car, by air, by train, and by foot, there is nowhere I can go where the Lord has not already been. Some are new places to me, and some are old haunts. But whether new or old, God has always been there. Infact, here in Israel, his feet have actually touched the same earth as mine do now. To those places I have already been, my return has been no surprise to him. There have been a few moments actually when it has felt like he's been preparing events and meetings in anticipation of my arrival.
Much has changed and much remains the same. New buildings and new babies; older faces and older friends.
These last few weeks of travel began with a short car ride from the comforts of the Chicago ex-urbs to the idyllic coutryside of the Frank Lloyd Wright colony near Kalamazoo, Michigan. There my old friend Ken Potsic is rearing his toddler while maintaining his burgeoning buisness as one of America's youngest and best bassoon repair specialists. It was time for my Heckel's bi-annual check-up, and high time I paid Ken a visit at his new (rented) home, a Frank Lloyd Wright original. Ken has a workshop out back in the wooded meadow. He knows it will be hard to leave when his wife, the executive director of the Kalamazoo Symphony, will likely move the family out to a bigger city for a better orchestra. But Ken knows this also will bring with it new adventures and new rewards, so he is content to bask in the blessings that come to him at present--especially lots of uninterrupted time playing with little David in the sunshine that pours in through the semi-circular wall of plate windows that overlook their meadows. If all goes as planned, I'll return at the end of my travels this summer to pick-up my newly tuned bassoon. Hopefully, I'll have a picture for you then of the idyllic life he's living.
My brief visit to Ken was followed by a week in Londonistan. I was stunned by how many women there were dressed in black burkas, seen almost everywhere in the capital city of the British Commonwealth. The only uniform more prevalent were those of the redcoats-- though unintended, I arrived just in time for the Queen of England's Diamond Jubilee, a four-day holiday celebrating her 60th year as Queen. Only one other English monarch has reigned so long, Queen Victoria, so large-scale celebrations seldom seen were in order. Last-minute re-arrangements in my lodging led me to stay with my Dad's former Intervarsity colleague, Barbara Barron, and her international student ministry expert and enthusiast husband, Alasdair. Though Barbara is an American citizen, she is married into the Commonwealth, and is as loyal a subject of the Queen if ever there was one. Barbara is quick to point out how public the Queen is about her faith. Though the highlight of the celebrations for me was the military cavalry and band procession with the royal family in tow, for which we woke up at the crack of dawn to get a front row view, the Queen's decision always to celebrate her droit du Dieu with worship of Christ is also remarkable. As part of the celebrations she has given away something like a million copies of the Bible, in the hopes of leading England back her One True Lord and Sovereign King.
Other highlights included a visit to St Mark's Church in Finsbury Park for Sunday worship. My friend Jane played cello as part of the worship team, pastor Stu gave an excellent evangelistic exposition of Isaiah 6:1-9, and I made fast friends with a Sri Lankan member of the congregation who went to great efforts to persuade me that the game of cricket is actually like the Gospel. I was delighted to hear Stu say in his sermon something I've been hearing more in my own church recently, that knowing lots about God is not the same thing as knowing God. Stu went on to recommend Packer's book by that name, as it is his favorite book only after the Bible. He felt affirmed when I told him later that I had actually brought this book with me to read on my trip. My church is actually asking all its congregants to read the book this year.
Following my week in England, I made my way back to Scandinavia to visit old friends and investigate a little further whether I should think more seriously about returning there eventually for ministry. After a few long delays, I arrived into Malmö at 2 AM on Saturday. As i exited the station, there before me was a fashionably dressed man staggering to keep his balance while relieving his stomach, surely after a night of binging on cheap alcohol in Denmark. This is a picture in miniature of the spiritual darkness that hangs over Scandinavia. Cool and fashionable in appearance, but alone and twisted on the inside. A friend in Bergen yesterday reminded me of a comment I made to him long ago which I had long forgotten but which has stuck with him: though bemoaned by many, the excessive rain in Bergen is actually something to be thankful to God for because it washes the streets and sidewalks so we don't have to watch our steps so carefully.
My friend Kristina Furbacken graciously stayed up to get me from the train station even with all the delays. She and her husband Janeric took special care of me when I lived in Malmö, showing exceptional hospitality to me and concern for my needs as I struggled with work as a bassoonist in Sweden. It has been four years already since Janeric took me to the train station and said good bye, encouraging me to look toward the future and not to look back, as I was then leaving Sweden with no job to return to and my confidence badly shaken. Little did I know at the time that the rest of the world would also be reeling with similar shocks only a few months later when the housing bubble would finally burst. A Christian family of entrepreneurs, artists and musicians, the Furbackens have much in common with me.
After staying a few days with the Furbackens, my friends Anna and Andreas Giger invited me to stay another few days with them and their 18 month-old son Aron. Andreas was my roommate five years ago, and after finishing Bible school he has become the youth pastor for our church in Malmö. A like-minded thinker theologically, we had a good time watching Aron and talking shop while Anna was away at work.
My time in Malmö afforded me the chance to meet many other old friends from church as well. Dinu, a musician also, informed me that my boss who had unlawfully denied me tenure five years ago had actually gotten fired himself not long after I left-- a rare thing in Sweden's socialist system which virtually guarantees job security. An answer to prayer since he was doing so
much harm. I was also able to minister to an oboist friend of Dinu's who was visiting for an audition and was feeling miserable after failing to win yet another audition, now his 52nd. He in turn passed on some valuable tips to me about reedmaking and reedknife sharpening! Good oboists are fanatical about that stuff.
My beautiful and charming Indian-Swedish friends, sisters Madeleine and Priyanka, also made a special effort to see me. When I was alone in Sweden for Christmas four years ago, they welcomed me to their family celebrations for a few days. Madeleine has finally found a vocation she is surprised to enjoy as a surgical nurse-in-training, and she is still funny-as-ever, a great storyteller and comic impersonator. Priyanka is also sharp. She knows what she believes and is warm hearted but not afraid to argue her viewpoint. Needless to say, conversation with these ladies is never boring!
From Sweden I boarded a Norwegian Airlines flight to Bergen. The picture on the jet's tail is indicative of how loved the musical arts are in Norway. Ole Bull is famous as a Norwegian violin virtuoso from the turn of the last century.
Arriving in Bergen, I was greeted with the midnight sun and the sunny face of one of my best friends, singer-songwriter Klaus. I stayed with him over the last few days, picking up where we last left off, encouraging one another. It was fun--and great exercise-- for me to walk up Mount Fløyen like I often used to do, and to take a good look over Bergen again from the top. It was such a beautiful, refreshingly cool day. Some gregarious and gamine young women asked me to take their picture on the way up. The beauty of Bergen is a bittersweet experience for me. It is a taste of joy but one which I cannot keep. As C S Lewis wrote, in joy there is a stab of pain because it holds so much longing for more; it is like an echo of the real thing, a refreshing draft from a tributary of the eternal spring where joy endlessly gushes up crisp and pure.
I ran into the former Bergen Orchestra committee chairman at the supermarket. He informed me that the position I was holding temporarily has finally become available. Later that day I surprised my friend Ilene, also from the orchestra, dropping in on her and her partner at their home unannounced. Never one to bridle her enthusiasm, it turned into a big feast, but not after first showing me her new instruments-- a collapsable carbon fiber
Alp horn blows from her porch to startle passers-by, and a terrific Steinway grand piano from 1917 which she found on the Internet for the ridiculously low price of $6,000. She really wants me to come back to Bergen and audition for the orchestra.
On Sunday, yesterday, I went to Salem Church in the morning and Bergen International Church in the afternoon, as was my custom when i lived in Bergen. At Salem I met several old friends and happened to sit next to the chair of the church board. When I told him I was considering coming back to Scandinavia to do ministry, possibly even to play with the orchestra in Bergen, he became very interested. Because the church is growing it needs to think about having a music pastor, someone who can utilize and oversee the musical skills and talent that exist in the church body, while at the same time shepherding them spiritually. He wants to think this over as it is all hitting him so fresh, and I told him I would be praying about it as well.
The last three days have brought me to Israel finally. I arrived in Tel Aviv, a modern city on the coast much like Miami Beach. The next day we looked around Joppa, Caesarea, Mt Carmel, the Jezreel Valley, and the cliff where an angry mob in Nazareth tried to push Jesus over. (See me standing near the edge.) Today we drove around the Sea of Galilee, visited the ruins of Hazor, Dan, and Bethsaida(?), while also driving near the Syrian border in the fertile Golan Hills. (Notice the UN encampment and Israeli military fortifications.) It is a tense time for Israel which now faces imminent danger from both north and south, given the possibility of civil war in Egypt, over the election and military dictatorship, and the brutality and threats of Syria (and Iran).
My general impression is that Israel is all much more expansive, dramatic, and lush than I had imagined. It is more earthy, and not so flannelgraph!
Just finished off the day with an evening dunk in the Sea of Galilee. It was warm and green, much like it would be in any lake back home.
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