Stories from our time in Africa

Recently, all the mission workers who have served in Africa with the African Independent Churches (AICs) were asked to submit stories of their experiences as contributions to a book being written on 50 years of Mennonites working with AICs. This is my contribution.

Upon arrival in Botswana in September of 1985, Diane, myself, our daughter and son (still in the womb) were whisked off to our village live-in to learn Setswana. After three months in the village of Mmadinare, we moved to the city of Francistown in order for Mark to be born. All the while, we didn't really have a job description, other than Bible Teaching with African Independent Churches. Jonathan Larson, a long-term mission worker in Botswana, invited us to consider youth ministry. A relatively new AIC movement was needing some help. This was Bopaganang Basha ba Semoya (The gathering of the youth of the Spirit). I said yes.

I was introduced to the youth leaders who were working together from a number of AIC groups. As I was in Francistown, I got to know these leaders the best, and they became my friends. I have learned that Bopaganang is still going strong and some of these leaders are still involved today. I am so encouraged that AIMM now has Melanie Quinn assigned to continue to come alongside this ministry - 25 years after we were doing it.

My closest colleague and best friend became Golwelwang Paul Mogomela of the Diphapo Christian Church with its headquarters in Letlhakane. His father was the bishop of the church, a position which Golwelwang later was granted. In fact, Golwelwang and his wife, Onkabetse, were granted the opportunity to visit us for a month in Canada some years after we had returned. On this visit, they became known as Paul and Betsy.

I could not find photos of Mogomela and myself working together in Botswana (things were probably no different back then than they are now, in that I usually think of the camera long after I have left home - just as we arrive on a scene that would make a great photo). The photo below from Botswana is of Archbishop Israel Motswaosele and his brother Joseph (the prophet) of the Spiritual Healing Church. These two were key connections in receiving the blessing to work with the youth of their congregations. The second photo is of Paul and Betsy, but it is in the Zoar Mennonite Church in Langham, SK - when they came to visit us in Canada. The two youthful Caucasian people featured in the photos are, you guessed right, Diane and me.



Paul and I travelled to many villages, generating interest among AIC youth groups to come together. We would arrive in a village and meet the church leaders, then they would take us around to other churches to meet their leaders. By the end of the day, or by the end of a couple of days, we would have a concert pulled together. As is commonly known, for AICs, the youth group is the choir. For youth to come together, they come as choirs and put together an impromptu concert as a friendly competition.

I have three particular memories of the Bopaganang ministry. I remember that we would often have Sunday afternoon meetings. We would always have a scheduled time, such as 2:00 pm. Mogomela (in case you didn't know, in Botswana we most commonly speak of people by their surname) and myself would dutifully be there at that time. After about a 1/2 hour or so, he would start to show disgust at the others not showing. Then as the afternoon progressed, he would continue to show occasional outbursts of frustration. By around 3:30 pm, the first person would arrive, then by 4:00 a few more, and by 4:30 or so, everyone was there and we had a meeting. After a few rounds of this process, I took up the courage to ask my friend why we scheduled the meeting at 2:00, yet it didn't get started until 4:30. Well, he said, the time is set for the foreigners, so it appears as though there is a prompt and early starting time. For the African brothers and sisters, they know there is a meeting that afternoon and they are committed to being there, but the starting time is irrelevant. That there will be a meeting; this is what matters. Suddenly I realised that all the disgust that my brother was showing for the tardiness of the other committee members was a show put on for me because it was thought that I was upset that nobody else was on time. Once this was established, I could also relax into the confidence that the meeting would happen, and that it didn't really matter what time it began.

My second memory is of the power of light. There was no electricity in the residential areas of the villages where the churches are. So, when we would get a concert together, it would already be after nightfall when it began. I remember coming into a church building that was a big square, basically empty, building. There would be a table and a chair at the one end (we needed this to run the concert). Then someone would light a single candle on the table, and as the light filled the room (and as my eyes adjusted), it was amazing how that one candle provided sufficient light. As the evening progressed, youth choirs would arrive from all over the village. The church would fill up with people, the leader would bring it to order, and the concert would begin. What a great time of fun and singing!!

My third memory is of a weekend where Mogomela and I went to Letlhakane (his home village). We did our routine of meeting people and pulling together a Saturday evening concert. But what I remember was the Sunday morning worship service. His home congregation was the Diphapo Church, but on Sunday we were asked to preach in the Spiritual Healing Church (and I do mean "we"). I was given the text to preach on, and he was my interpreter. The Holy Spirit was so powerfully there. The word that the Spirit gave to me just flowed out. Then the interpretation that Mogomela rendered was so dynamic and powerful. It was the most amazing time of ministering in the Spirit. And then there was the singing. The women were dancing and singing their hearts out at the front, and I could see the joy of the Lord in their eyes. It is my greatest memory of our three years of ministry with Bopaganang. What a blessing!

In the joy of our Living and Loving Lord,
Garry and Diane Janzen, Botswana, 1985-88.

A Peek into the Past

Where were you on the day Nelson Mandela was released from prison?


My daughter, Jill, has been reading a book about the story of Nelson Mandela. After she the read the stories from Botswana posted in another blog entry, she commented on how much fun it must have been recalling memories of ministry from 25 years ago, and then asked me if our time in Southern Africa had any connection to the story of Apartheid and Nelson Mandela. What follows is my response to her. She was 2 years old when we went to Botswana.

Hi Jill,
Yeah, it was fun calling up those stories again.

Yes, you did say something about reading the story of Nelson Mandela. The reality of it was that he was still in prison when we were there and Apartheid was in full swing. Because MCC workers had advocated for black people in legal matters, Mennonite workers were not allowed a multiple entry visa to South Africa. (We were fine with that because we agreed with the actions of the MCC workers.) What this meant is that we could get a single entry visa, which meant that we could go into South Africa for, I believe, 48 hours, and then we had to leave.

Now, South Africa had created a number of Homelands. Each tribal group was given a homeland, so there was: Siskei, Transkei, Bophutatswana, Kwazulu, etc. South Africa considered each of these to be an independent country, although no place else in the world recognized them as independent countries - every other country in the world recognized them for what they were, i.e. provinces of South Africa. The purpose of these, as we understand it, was to divide and conquer. If the apartheid government could cause each tribal group to develop a national pride in themselves, then they had no unified voice to stand against apartheid.

So, we played by South Africa's rules. We could go to Johannesburg and stay at the Baptist Guesthouse for night. Then we could continue on the next day to any one of the homelands and we were then in another country. We had a lovely vacation in the Transkei one time. There was a beautiful resort on the Indian Ocean that we stayed at for a week. Then we could go back the same way. By the world's standards, we were in South Africa for more than a week, but not by South Africa's standards. The downside of the single entry visa is that we never got to see Capetown because we couldn't go that far in a day.

My greatest memory regarding Nelson Mandela was listening to the drama of his release - live. It was February 11th, 1990. We had come back from Botswana in August of 1988, so we (or I) were going around speaking in churches about our work there. I was still doing this a full 1½ years after returning to Canada. The Sunday that Nelson Mandela was released I was going to do a mission presentation and preach in a little country church at Superb, SK. It was a 2 or 3 hour drive from Langham, Saskatchewan, where I was pasturing at the Zoar Mennonite Church. CBC radio broadcast the whole event. I listened to the lead up to his release as I was driving out. I preached, we had lunch together, and then I continued to listen to the drama of his release on the drive back. I think it happened mid-afternoon Saskatchewan time. Wow, what a moving event to take in, even on the radio.

Love,
Dad

To be at the Olympic Torch Run - It's not about being patriotic.

I am rather proud to be wearing my hockey jersey from the 1972 Canada-Russia hockey series. It was the first time that the top Canadian players from the National Hockey League played the top team from Russia. For those of us who follow hockey, it may seem strange, because some of the top players in the NHL are Russian, but back then there was no such thing. In fact, there was quite a mystique in the Russian players coming out from behind the Iron Curtain, and then the Canadian team going to play behind that curtain. Anyway, at the end of a series filled with much drama, controversy and entertaining hockey, Canada won! I know exactly where I was to watch that final game - and it was in the middle of a school day at a Mennonite High School in my hometown in Saskatchewan. Yes...the whole country shut down to watch that game!

So, what does that make me? A patriot? No, it makes me a person who loves hockey at its best, and someone who loves to cheer for the home team.

By-the-way, the dog bearing his teeth in the background of the picture - he's unpatriotic! Or maybe he just doesn't like hockey...or maybe he doesn't like Paul Henderson (who scored the winning goal in that final game, and whose number 19 is on the back of my jersey).





Now about the Olympic Torch Run. For those of you who don't know, thousands of different people carried the Olympic Torch across Canada, with it arriving and lighting the Olympic Cauldron yesterday. It was carried through and celebrated in many towns and cities, and it came through our town of Ladner, BC on Tuesday of this past week. It was a big deal, although I don't actually know who the person is that was carrying it on the stretch of the journey that we saw. For Diane and me, it was just a one minute walk from our home.

Again, I experienced lots of emotion. Was that patriotism? I guess to say that I am happy to be a Canadian, would be true. Would I fight to defend my country or encourage someone else to do so - absolutely not. Why? There are two reasons why I wouldn't go to war for Canada. One is that violence isn't Jesus' way of accomplishing his intentions. Secondly, the results of violence are not an improvement. Violence brings on more violence and to bring an end to conflict by violence is domination, not peace. Domination never sits well with those who are being dominated, so again, it often provokes people to new, creative forms of violence.

So, for me to celebrate the torch run with my community and for me to wear the colours of Canada may be an encouragement to some of you and a disappointment to others. This is a reality of the complexities of life. But, I hope I have been able to give a window into my understandings of how this works for me. Blessings.

Preaching Hope

Today I was at the office of a prominent Member of Parliament (MP) representing the people of Vancouver in the area where my church is. I was with my friend from Iran who is seeking to bring his wife and daughter to Canada after seven years of separation. Last night he had spoken with his wife on the phone, and she expressed hope that something good would come out of our visit, because today is the holy day in Iran (Friday is the Muslim day of worship, as Sunday is the Christian day of worship.) I don't understand how this all works among the faiths that believe in one God, but I do know that they pray for God's will to be done, and so do I. As we pray, our common hope is that this family may be reunited. I also know that my friend has a love for Jesus and appreciation of the church. Our hope today was that the MP would offer a letter to Canadian Immigration asking that this family might be reunited on compassionate grounds. As my friend's story was told, it became clear to the MP that more work needed to be done in order to convince the Canadian Immigration that my friend and his wife are married. A letter from an MP would not make a difference at this point. It is sobering to understand how serious the repercussions of an error in judgement more than seven years ago can be. This morning's hope may have been dashed, not by a dead end wall, but by disappointment and more work ahead. (Greater detail has been withheld simply because of the public nature of this medium.)

The girl praying in the photo above showing the place in which we find our hope. Our prayers to a living and loving God through his Son Jesus Christ are the way to the hope of the Good News that he proclaimed and lived out. We sometimes live with having been shamed by people in authority. Yet, in Jesus, our hope is found in the reality that we are in Christ, that we are in Christ's body, and the God is for us. We sometimes live with the guilt of our own sins. Our hope is also found in God's forgiveness of our sin through the death and resurrection of Jesus. May our prayers find their hope in the completed work of Jesus.

I am preaching on hope this year. So far, I have been leaning on Romans 5:1-11 as my text. As the year progresses, I'm sure that other texts will arise. I invite any of you who read this blog to tell your stories of hope and to share places where you have found hope.