A New Song for Life

What do our young children remember most clearly about us? I was highly excited when I came home from the elders' meeting. I had just been invited to join the ranks. I certainly had the desire Paul speaks of (1 Timothy 3:1). Some of the other qualities that go with shepherding had come to the notice of the eldership, especially my visitation of the church family, usually in my own time. This was nothing new. I enjoyed pastoral visitation. In my case, I had adopted the unusual practice (to some of my mates) of spending some of the days of my school holidays, off on my bike visiting some of the shut-ins on our church prayer list, much to their delight as well as my own. The other love I had was that of teaching the Scriptures, which I had engaged in from a young age. My only difficulty was my “blind spot.” My becoming an elder and attaining the status of father both came at a young age. I gave my eldership all I had and most weekends I was engaged all day Saturday preparing a m...

My childhood memories include our nightly devotions. Every evening without exception, my father would read us a chapter from the Word of God and when I was old enough (about the age of twelve), the baton was passed on to me – intended to achieve the further benefit I'm sure of increasing my reading ability. Just a reading of Joshua 13 meant mastering everything from the Geshurites, Ashdodites, Ashkelonites and Maacahathites to cities like Beth Baal Meon, Kirjathaim, Sibmah, Zereth Shahar, Beth Peor and Beth Jeshimoth giving me plenty of practice. I remember distinctly how my sister and I would burst as I began to read us through the Song of Solomon. I would have to go into the adjoining kitchen and project my voice from there because the mere catch of each other's faces would send our young adolescent voices into uproarious laughter. In dutiful fashion, I transferred this custom to our home after marrying and the birth of our first three beautiful children. It brought back f...

From childhood, I have been fascinated with relay races – in the pool or on the track. The careful handing over of the baton without losing a stroke or a stride in momentum. The cheers from an enthusiastic crowd of spectators watching on. It took till I was much older before I heard the term mentor, or had any idea what it meant. I began to see some powerful pictures in Scripture as I observed team duos like Elijah & Elisha, Naomi & Ruth, Barnabas & Paul, Paul & Timothy. The wonderful energy and fruit that comes when one intentionally invests one's life into another. I have seen it with counsellors in training who my wife has taken under her wing. How quickly they have developed under her modelling and supervision. Yet for all this, I have been reluctant. I held back in offering any advice when as a young man in my mid-30s employed as a teaching elder in Christchurch, a friend some years my senior approached me one morning after I had spoken, and asked if I would ...

I was raised in a very loving christian home. There was no doubt that dad loved mum and mum loved dad, and they both loved their children. There was also no doubt who "wore the pants." Dad was a man to be feared and respected as he maintained his instant obedience regime throughout the house; "don't let me tell you twice" was his regular refrain. Mum too honoured and respected him, deferred to him as spiritual head of the home. In subsequent years, I came to see that the regime my dad had me under, while not totally out of step with the age (when one is born in the 1950s) was also his way of showing love. If I obeyed instantly, Dad would not have to give me a physical hiding. He did not want to have to lay a hand on me, which is why I guess I had the "benefit" of a verbal hammering instead. I am sure my dad also wished to give me some of the strong guidance he missed out on, when orphaned at the age of 12. His intentions were I am sure very noble. ...

We were ready for a new chapter in our lives. My wife and I had been preparing for this for some time, as I had been in the finance/banking industry for a good 16 years and like Elijah, it had felt as if the brook was truly drying up. When Cherith dried up, the Lord was preparing his heart for moving on. I had graduated in law the year before and we were wondering if the Lord meant to open up a pathway there although I held a secret longing in my heart to more actively be engaged in the Lord's work. Various people had been praying for us that we would have clarity on the next move when suddenly I received a call from chairman of the elders at Rutland St Chapel in Christchurch if I would engage in discussions with them about possibly picking up the role of Teaching Elder in the new year (1991). What a thrill to receive that call. God was on the move and it might even be in the direction I had long longed for but had never thought would ever be possible. Others were also excited ...

For several years, I had the delightful task of serving a hospice as a relief chaplain. This brought many rewarding hours and some wonderful conversations. My hardest memory is that of walking past an elderly lady obviously near her end, who had an anguished look as she turned her face towards me at the time she was passing. It felt to me she was in some spiritual desperation. My first instinct was to pray with her or in some other tangible way make myself available to her, but I sensed great resistance from her family as I moved in her direction, and so I passed on. Belatedly, I returned and spoke to a daughter who was at her side, suggesting she might like to share with her a prayer which I was able to leave with her on a pre-printed card. I don't know if she did this, or if her daughter might have shared with her, or spoken over her... Here was a dear woman who was entering the final moments of her life, without spiritual help or support. She had every right to expect this...

It was my 49th birthday, and I wanted to end the 40s in style. I know — a go-kart night. So, I rallied all my best mates, male and female, for the challenge. I was looking forward to it and well remember an occasion when I was much younger at Camp. I'll never forget the voice from the sidelines, “Did you see that? Wayne lapped him!” I couldn't wait to do it again. A pastor once shared in my hearing, “Never kill the boy in the man. If you do, you kill the man.” I rang to make the booking and thought the manager would be thrilled to get my booking — a group of about 12, for a couple of hours racing. Yet, even from the outset, I detected his difficult manner. It wouldn't be a good night because of another group who were coming in at 11p.m and they had a standard booking on Friday nights. Still I bravely pressed on, convincing him we would be a very accommodating group and out in time. At the back of my mind it occurred to me that there might be other options — ten pin bow...

For a long time, I was convinced the most effective opportunity I might have with a work colleague or a non-christian friend was to be alert each day, looking for and praying for a “bridge moment,” that moment that just led beautifully or glided naturally into a seeding moment, almost a back-door method if you like. I did not want to foist my faith onto anyone. It had to be comfortable for everyone, witnesser and witnessee (is there such a word?) alike. The conversation could continue to be built over time. The trouble is in my desperation for the perfect opportunity I so often missed it. Sometimes, the subtlety of the bridge moment just wasn’t there. Other times, I was waiting for perfect conditions that never came. “Why do those other two people have to always be in the lunchroom when Jack’s there? Next time Jack and I are here alone, I want to pick up with him on what I heard him say the other day…” Before I knew it, Jack might tender his notice and the “perfect moment” never arr...

Guilt has always come easy to me. I don’t know if it began when I took too much to heart my mother’s puppy dog eyes as they looked in my direction after some hurt or pain I had inflicted on her. Perhaps, it took up residence as a result of my bedtime ritual with dad to absolve my conscience by sharing all my “naughty stories,” from the day. And so it was I grew up to think this world was a place of earned happiness. There wasn’t any place for the luxury of a broken window. Whatever the origins, all my life, guilt has felt safer than grace. It was like a comfortable old shoe, my familiar ground. My accuser (Revelation 12:10) was my own self-talk, my own conditioning. Satan (the external enemy) was just in for the piggy-back ride. What really anchored it for me was my internal voice. The Lord will often speak to us through the people we rub shoulders with in our everyday working world. A lady called Lisa once looked me straight in the eye, “I’ve had the hardest 10 years of my life; it...

From earliest childhood, I held a great fear of the deep end of the swimming pool. It was very important for me to have my feet on something solid – to get out of my depth, to feel nothing but water under my feet threw me into near panic. My flawed attempts at swimming with any kind of ease contributed to my problems. I never seemed to master the art of taking my breath while stroking my way through the water. When I was a young teenager, there was an event at youth camp where an older person kept my head under the water (his idea of a joke). I thrashed about, struggling to surface and take a breath.  My anxiety only became further entrenched and I finally put paid to trying to develop my friendship with water. From then on, I made every effort to stay on terra firma. I still avoid the deep end to this very day. No doubt this fear has kept me from some interesting and exhilarating experiences along the way - scuba diving and water sports of various kinds. But my deep-end phobia...

Surgery loomed yet again – and big surgery at that! I didn’t yet realise how big it was going to get. Aortic incompetence from birth meant that throughout my lifetime my aorta would always be particularly vulnerable. It was 2009, going into winter. I had a consistently growing aneurysm on my ascending aortic arch. This would be my third open heart surgery and would eventually include the aneurysm repair, a further valve replacement (my third), a graft, a mitral valve repair and insertion of a pacemaker. For now, my focus was on the aneurysm. The internet is as much a curse as a blessing. Too much surfing the subject at hand threatens to dethrone God’s incomparable peace. When you are diagnosed with a growing aneurysm such as I had, you do not want to give too much air time to links on aortic dissection or what can happen when an aneurysm acts with a will of its own. I had just been to spend an hour with a professional, to help me track my emotions around our new health crisis and w...

This post is a little different from my others. It is a short summation of my Christian beliefs. In a nutshell, I believe that Jesus is the Way, the Truth and the Life. That no one comes to the Father except through Him. We were made to follow God’s leadership in our life. In fact, we work best this way. We have chosen not to and our lives are in disarray as a result. There were many trees in the garden that our generous God had in store for His created children (Genesis 3). Only one was out of bounds. Adam and Eve represent humanity. What they did, we would have done and continue to do. When we chose to eat the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, it was a declaration of independence. It was telling God to His face, we will choose what is good or evil, right or wrong for our life. Neither the Ten Commandments or the Sermon on the Mount are in evidence in our lives. Sin is most evidently seen in the attitudes of the heart. It has distanced us, set us apart...

Ever since I was young, I had watched with rapt interest as my father would tangle with every cult who came to our door. He would inform me that the other christians on our street who sent them away packing were possibly cutting off the only possibility these people had of hearing the gospel. I remember a Baptist lady who lived almost opposite us on our cul-de-sac. I had noticed that she was “one of those” christians who “sent them packing” and I found myself almost despising her for doing so. As I grew older, from late high school years on I found myself actually looking forward to their visits. I had prepared myself well and knew how to tackle them on all their glaring doctrinal heresies. Debates at school were my favourite pastime, and my cult encounters became almost an extension of this – until – one weekend as a married man, I was engaging with two Mormon elders at my door. I became very aggressive as they continued to refute the clear truth of the deity of Jesus Christ. I felt...

I preached my first message at the age of 14 years. As I went through my teenage years I had increasing opportunities to speak, as can happen in the open brethren setting. For me being raised in this environment was an incredible heritage of teaching, love of God’s Word, respect for the Lord’s Table and opportunity to grow and develop my gift in preaching and teaching. Initially, these opportunities presented themselves more in the evening gospel service where I learned to cut my teeth in public preaching. By its very nature, this preaching was evangelistic. I modelled myself on a strong evangelistic preacher well known in Auckland at the time, and internationally, and devoured any tapes I could find. The preacher I esteemed so highly gave a no holds barred kind of preaching. He made very clear the essential biblical truths of judgment and hell, and God blessed his ministry with a lot of fruit. I honour him for his faithful preaching of the gospel. Various churches around Auckland ...

It was our first year married – it was also the first time we had entered a polling booth together. I couldn't believe it. In chatting together on our walk home, I discovered she had actually voted differently than I had. I reacted. What was the point? Our votes just cancelled each other out. Naturally, I had assumed we would go into this thing like a team. My wife must have known what I would be voting. I had always imagined she would mirror my feelings on political issues. My mum and dad had always reflected each other on christian issues and political issues. Surely, if you harboured any thought you might change downtrack you needed to give notice during the courtship or engagement; sudden change felt almost a bit fraudulent in my thinking. A new song Over time, God challenged me powerfully on this. If a husband and wife were confined always to think the same, that made the relationship static. Didn't I want my relationship to be a growing thing? "Living things...

One day I stepped out of God's assigned orbit for me. I was in the middle years of pastoring my second church and believed I needed to approach an associate on a certain matter. I doubt on reflection that it was even my prerogative to raise the matter that I was raising, but little did I realise I was on even more dangerous ground than this. Our exchange was a disaster. My friend was so gracious at the time, but I learned subsequently my words had hurt deeply. The reality was I had not been investing in this relationship as I should have for some time, either as his friend or in our working relationship together. If this is the state of any of your relationships, be careful where you step! Take time to build into your life a new song. A new song Never challenge an unaffirmed person; conversely, only ever challenge an encouraged person. Build into the emotional bank accounts of your friends, those you work with and those you love. Only when you do this will you ever have the ...

I had recovered seemingly from my time in ICU. It was May 2009. Surgeons had just repaired an aneurysm in my aortic arch, replaced my aortic valve, repaired my mitral valve and done a graft. They had reopened my chest twice after the actual surgery due to excessive bleeding from a clot. A young doctor shared with me while I was still in intensive care that he had lain awake all night wondering what they could do for me. It was good to be in a ward with real, recovering patients, and yet I was nervous. So much had gone wrong. I was not the normal patient. Should I be leaving intensive care this soon? My wife was concerned at the way I looked. One night on leaving, she asked the nurse to keep a special eye on me. The nurse gave what sounded like the stock reply, they would look after me, I was in very capable hands. But it happened. At 3:30am I woke and had a feeling of tremendous weakness. I used my buzzer again and again till I had no more strength — the nurse finally came. Th...

One of the frightening memories of my young life was the afternoon dad called me outside and wanted me to confess to breaking up the concrete. I was only of slight build and around 7 years of age but apparently, if I had selected the right implement I could easily have done the damage and chipped away at the concrete path close to our back door. I had no idea how it had all occurred but was at least very certain I hadn’t done it. However, this small frightened boy would say anything to reduce the rage in my father’s eyes and so I owned up. A hiding followed for my serious misdemeanour. A few days later, all was revealed and dad discovered the villain of the story was in fact a little boy nextdoor. Nevertheless, I was comforted with the understanding that the physical discipline meted out on this occasion made up for other occasions when I should have got it but didn’t (sounded like an Edwardian tale to me). I also will have unwittingly left my marks on my children when it comes to ...

I went through a period of considerable self-doubt when we were into the third year of our church plant in the area of Shirley in Christchurch. The church had begun with a spring in its step but may have peaked too soon. After a year or so, it had already doubled in size. For some very legitimate reasons (job transfer, key couple called to mission, couple returning to their denominational roots, a family close to burnout, other families moving on after the demoralising impact of several church crises), we began to deplete seriously in numbers. I remember reaching a point where Sunday mornings, I would hover around the entrance, eyes stretching over the car park, almost frantic to see some familiar faces coming my way, hungry to share the Word of God but crumbling inside as to whether a critical mass would even show for worship. It never occurred to me that here was my opportunity – to simply adapt, to swap my plans for celebration to intimacy (gather seats around in a circle). There...

What is your favourite word – presence or presents? I know how my child-self would answer, how about the adult Wayne? I remember a brief holiday my wife and I had early on in our marriage at the idyllic town of Kaikoura, north of Christchurch on the road to Blenheim, in New Zealand’s South Island. We had only been able to snatch a few days and could never afford too many nights away, having only limited income. In the morning, we had been out shopping, that is, window shopping for us, and I noticed her spend a little longer over one particular item she saw. I made a mental note that before the weekend was over I would try to extricate myself and get back to make the purchase. Wasn’t she going to be surprised! As it happens in many relationships, while I was going down this track, she was entertaining her own thoughts of us enjoying a walk together, such as we rarely managed in our already busy family/church lives. The afternoon came to be our only available time left and she couldn...

I badly needed a haircut. As I was walking home, I passed a $10 barber's shop. Perfect! I didn’t want to spend too many of my hard-earned coins. As I walked into the shop, the proprietor greeted me warmly with, “What number?” My mind went to a small raffle. I am not a gambler but $2 a year for a good cause has never bothered me. I instinctively said two. I didn’t hear any more about it as he guided me to the chair. I began to relax and soon the barber’s razor was bearing its way through the hair on my head. After a few moments, I temporarily came out of my relaxed doze and raised my eyes to observe a near-massacre going on. Here was a man who I had allowed to approach my delicate scalp with such a lethal weapon as an electric razor going in for the kill, and appearing to enjoy every minute of it. How would I possibly explain the result to my family, much less my congregation on Sunday morning? My tongue was “tied.” Was it something to do with that wretched “two” word I had let s...