by Julie Hahn

‘Are you excited yet?’ we asked Otoli, Ariet and Jackson two months ago.

The immigration papers for their family to come from Dadaab Refugee Camp, in Kenya, were in their hands. To us, it was evidence that our prayers of four and a half years were being answered.

But to our question, ‘Are you excited yet?’ their answer was ‘No, not yet’.

Over the past couple of months, that question has been asked of them many, many times. When we knew that the medical checks had been passed; when the children had safely returned to the camp from their long and dangerous trip to the Australian embassy in Nairobi; when bribe after bribe had been paid to officials; when the International Organisation of Migration had accepted payment for the airline tickets; when the flight schedule arrived in an email …

Still their answer was ‘No, not yet’.

How could they dare to get excited, when for ten years they hadn’t seen their children? The children had been left with their grandmothers in Ethiopia when Otoli and Ariet had run for their lives, carrying little Jackson in their arms. They hoped then, that by splitting the family, at least one of them might survive.

‘Are you going to have a party?’ we asked Otoli in the few days before the plane was scheduled to arrive.

‘No. I would rather give thanks to God. And I want to thank the people at the church.’ He explained that at times when he felt as though he should give up hope that he would ever see his children again, someone from the church would ask, ‘How are things going? Are your children coming soon? We’re continuing to pray.’

When he looked forward to having their children come here a couple of years ago, there were not enough humanitarian visas available to meet every desperate cry for help. When it looked like they could come, Australia had a change of government and a change in policy; when it looked like they would come, a grandchild and husband were added to the equation (so that the process had to begin again). Every time his hope had run out, Otoli was comforted that others were praying. And he was encouraged to hope again.

Even as we stood together, watching the first of the passengers walking from the plane onto the gangway and into customs area below us, Ariet’s answer was still ‘No, not yet’. Otoli’s smile, though, grew wider and wider.

‘My heart is going boom, boom, boom inside my chest!’ he said. Jackson, now fourteen and taller than his dad, maintained his Aussie-teenager

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by Leigh Marcus

My daughter Alicia and I arrive at our lunch venue at 8.00 o’clock on Christmas morning.

Together with chefs Jim and Kerry, we set about food preparation. With things under control, at 11.00 am I grab some lunch flyers, and Alicia and I walk down the main street, just to see who is about.

Our lunch provides more than food … It provides listening ears for the lonely, builds connections into our community, and focuses attention away from us and squarely on the needs of others.

In a small side arcade I see a lady about 80 years of age, sitting alone on her gopher. We stop and chat. She says she’s been there awhile and intends staying through the lunch period. We tell her about our lunch and invite her to come down. We move on, but 20 minutes later we find her waiting at the venue for us.

Throughout the lunch, every time I see her she has a smile on her face. She stays until the 2.30 pm finish. At the end of the lunch everyone leaves with a present, some homemade biscuits, a full stomach and a warm heart. As my new friend is about to leave, she thanks our whole team and gives a donation. In the wire basket of her gopher, her day’s goodies are happily displayed. She quietly lifts a tea towel and shows me the two-day-old sausage roll previously intended for her Christmas lunch.

That is why we do what we do.

The idea was born as I watched the Christmas evening television news with my dad. I was then ten years old, and the Christmas news included (as it still does) a story of a Christmas Day lunch, shared by many people. Homeless, lonely, poor—who knows? Just people in need of a meal and companionship.

Go forward many years to 2009, and it was on my heart to carry out in Mount Gambier what I had seen on the news those many Christmases before.

We started from scratch. Would a lunch even work on Christmas Day? Would people be prepared to work and help? I estimated we would need about $2500 to cover all costs. Would I receive any cash donations? After much prayer we soon had more than enough helpers, enough cash and plenty of moral

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by Rosie Schefe

‘If I were in Africa, I would be very old’, Baindu loudly declares. ‘In Africa every day is hard work.’

‘You have to go bush to get wood before you can cook. You walk half an hour to get water. Anything you need, you have to walk long distance. You put wood on the fire all the time until cooking is finished. You sleep and you cook in the same place, very smoky’.

Not that hard work frightens this widow, mother of seven children and grandmother of ten. After seven years in Australia, Baindu is still working hard to give her family the best possible chance of success in this country.

The women are all from different countries; we all met here. We are building a foundation for each family.

Baindu comes from Liberia in West Africa, where bloody civil war is a recent memory. She took her children to uncertain refuge in neighbouring Sierra Leone following the death of her husband.

‘They would chase people for money. If you would not give them money, then they would kill you.’ Baindu and her family spent eight years in refugee camps in Sierra Leone before they came to Australia in 2007. ‘We came here and everything is good— even if you’re not married they help you a lot’, she says. For Baindu, whose own literacy is poor, education has been a top priority. While in Sierra Leone some of her children were sponsored to go to school, but when sponsorship ran out, they had to pay. Medication was also difficult to obtain without access to money. Now, she says, her children speak good English and the two still living at home are in school (a son in Year 10 and a daughter in Year 11). She has very high hopes for them.

I met Baindu over lunch at the Lutheran Community Sewing Group (LCSG), which gathers at Good News Lutheran Church in Albert Park, a north-western suburb of Adelaide with its own high migrant population. It was Baindu’s graduation day, an acknowledgement of her persistence and new levels of skill. Although she began to sew on ancient pedal machines in refugee camps, now she can use an electric machine, she understands the uses of different fabrics and can read a sewing pattern for herself.

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by Rebecka Colldunberg

When I was fifteen, I went through the obligatory Beatles phase.

I bought bell-bottoms. I invested in a lava lamp. I developed an opinion on the Vietnam War. I spent my nights gazing at my poster of the four Liverpool boys as I bathed in their music. Their lyrics told of men who claimed to be walruses living in a yellow submarine, who court a woman called Lucy because all they need is love—all dedicated to some fellow called Jude. Oh-bla-dee, oh-bla-da. I didn’t really get it all, but as a child of the 80s I tried pretty hard!

Ten (and a bit) years later I have dumped that obsession and caught up with my peers. But one Beatles song still occasionally runs through my head: Eleanor Rigby. The lyrics tell of a woman who is completely alone in life. The chorus sighs, ‘Look at all the lonely people, where do they all come from? All the lonely people, where do they all belong?’ The song finishes with the death of Eleanor. No-one attends her funeral, and the song ends on a cynical note, lamenting that no-one ever saved Eleanor from her loneliness.

It is a heart-wrenching song. I think of it often because, tragically, I see it often: people who somehow get lost down the cracks of our society and who are forgotten. Where do they come from? Where do they all belong?

In 1993 one man pondering these questions was Bob Lally, from Immanuel Lutheran Church, Gawler, in South Australia. He was tired of seeing ‘all the lonely people’ and decided to do something about it. He called an urgent meeting with a troop of women from his

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by Fiona Weckert

Young adults – who are they and where are they?

It can be difficult to define a young adult. The Australian Bureau of Statistics records young adults as between 18 and 34 years of age. Some would argue you’re a young adult at 16 and still a young adult at 38! Often the church refers to a young adult as someone aged between 18 and 24, but then where do you fit after the age of 24 if you aren’t a ‘young married’ or ‘new parent’ or are still living at home (a ‘kidult’)? It’s a challenging time for the church, but an equally challenging time for young adults.

Early in 2014 Lutheran Youth of Queensland (LYQ) conducted an online survey of young adults aged 18–25 to find out how they view themselves, their faith and their church.

Of the 321 persons who responded, 283 identified as Christian, 22 as non- Christian and 16 as ‘sort-of’ Christian. Two hundred responders had grown up in the Lutheran church and around 85 per cent of them still identify as Lutheran. Most (257 survey responders) attend worship at least monthly, with almost 72 per cent of them attending church each week.

It is important here to remember that this survey group is very small: the majority of them come from the 20 per cent of young people who have stuck with the church and with faith in some way. Other research tells us that we lose 80 per cent of young people who were connected to the church as children by the time they become adults. Christian researcher Phillip Hughes estimates that this is as many as 50,000 young people every year from Australian churches.

All survey answers were given anonymously. Questions were asked around several main themes, most of them with set options to choose from.
These included:

  • the experience of transition to new congregations and the extent of preparation for such an event;
  • the spiritual background and current spiritual activity of family;
  • aspects of a faith journey to this point, including youth group and Christian Life Week attendance, family devotions/faith talk and times of ‘wandering away from the faith’;
  • spirituality and current church attendance of friends;
  • for all regular and non-regular worshippers, two free-field questions:

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JASWANTH KUKATLAPALLI

Age: 27
Home congregation: St Paul’s Lutheran Church, Wellington, New Zealand Assigned to: Wodonga Vic

How did your call happen? First, the sickness I had as a child and miraculous recovery led my parents to commit me to God’s work. It wasn’t easy becoming a pastor in India, but God had a different plan. I ended up in Auckland, then in Wellington the call was renewed, which led me to Adelaide.

Any ‘aha’ moments during your pastoral minister studies? Given my faith journey consisted of worshipping in various churches (Lutheran, Church of South India, Pentecostal, Baptist), I had quite a few. To name one: an investigation of an article on justification helped me immensely since it answered most of my questions and doubts.

Your favourite meal: besides fish’n’chips (or fush’n’chups)! Hyderabadi Biryani at the Paradise restaurant in Hyderabad, India (if possible), or if not, Paradise restaurant in Auckland, NZ.

You get angry when: I have to do the same thing over andover again. For example, casting fishing line again and again and just reeling in seaweed gets me big time!


TONY CASTLE

Age: 46

Family: wife Helen and Bethany (12)

Home congregation: St John’s, Dernancourt SA

Assigned to: Gippsland parish, Vic

Any ‘aha’ moments during your pastoral ministry studies? There’s always plenty of ‘aha’ moments when you study God’s word, even the same texts. God never ceasesto speak to us as we grow.

Five words your ALC teachers use to describe you: Dr Zweck introduced me to a PNG pastor in pidgin. I can’t speak pidgin but I guessed what he said; ‘This one here is a very naughty boy!’

The Bible verse/s you turn to when life gets you down: Love the psalms … 23, 24, 46, 91, 121 …

Funniest thing you ever did: Fishing with classmate Jaswanth ‘Tangles’ Kukatlapalli would have to be a recent highlight!

Why you want to be a pastor: When I considered all of the things that I could study to become, the only thing that made sense was to help people receive the gift of eternal life from God through Christ: decision made

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by Ruth Brisbane

After many years of prayer, fundraising and hard work, the West Australian District and St Johns Lutheran Church in Perth have completed their major project: a striking modern building set next to the historic inner city church.

The Bible has endless stories and images, so I was in my element

The new building is multipurpose. Stage One provides a church hall, kitchen, meeting rooms and offices for the congregation and district, as well as lease income from its tenancies and car park. But it is the exterior walls of the car park that will serve as a statement of faith to passers-by.

When St Johns building committee learnt that planning regulations required one per cent of the project costs to be spent on public art, they seized the opportunity to present gospel images to the surrounding community. The striking metal artwork produced also serves the security and ventilation requirements of the lower level car park.

The sculptured panels were created by shaping and welding solid steel bars and plate, completed with a galvanised finish to create a silver-grey colour.

Artist Voytek Kozlowski was excited by the commission. ‘The Bible has endless stories and images, so I was in my element’, he said.

It was a joy for the St Johns committee and Pastor Andre Meyer to work with Voytek, who understood so well the message behind the images. Voytek was raised in Poland where, he says, his first exposure to visual art came within his boyhood church. As a child he loved to gaze at the wooden carvings that covered the walls, and these images continue to inspire him today. But these days Voytek is drawn to the permanence of working with metal. ‘When I am gone, this will still be here’, he said.

St Johns’ Pastor Andre Meyer described the significance of the images stretching across the six panels:

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by Bernice Koch

It can be lonely growing up in a one-child family. It was especially so for Claire, even though she grew up in China—with almost 1.5 billion people, the most populous country in the world. But modern technology can become a good substitute for human company.

Claire turned to listening to ‘all music, and of course, modern pop’ to counter her feelings of loneliness. By the time she was fourteen the music was going in and out of her consciousness without leaving any real impression. She ‘listened today, but tomorrow there was nothing left’. Tomorrow was another day when she could switch to another tune. It never left a lasting impression because ‘there was always new music coming’.

‘It was overwhelming; I was blown away. Previously, the music was nice, but there was no connection’

Claire selected music as her elective at secondary school. Her teacher liked baroque music, attracted to its structure. Many students were in the lecture hall when Claire heard the opening chorale of Johann Sebastian Bach’s St Matthew’s Passion for the first time.

‘It was overwhelming; I was blown away. Previously, the music was nice, but there was no connection’, she explained to me. Now her emotions were affected so deeply by Bach’s music that she had to go home. Claire listened to the music again and again. ‘My mind went blank. I never knew music could evoke such strong emotion. It was something greater than yourself. You gave yourself to it. You yielded to it. It was greater than any earthly being. Words are useless; it was so grand. It was really deep stuff. I had listened to Mozart and Tchaikovsky before, but I couldn’t relate to it’, she said.

Claire began to explore, using YouTube as her guide. She gradually learnt about JS Bach—as a Lutheran, as a German and as a composer. As Claire kept coming back to Bach’s motets, her knowledge of and love for the German language grew and developed. Claire had been studying English too—now her love for and appreciation of English literature also increased. She found it difficult to describe in Chinese Mandarin these new emotions filling her soul but found it easier to express them in English.

The beginnings of Christian belief further isolated Claire from her parents. Their aim for their daughter was for her to be successful in her studies. Chinese culture and her school environment did not encourage Claire’s emotional expression. Claire experienced feelings of isolation and detachment from the world around her. When she did try to explain her thoughts about the music to her teacher, it only resulted in anger. ‘I still wanted to be accepted, even though I felt so different and my thinking had changed from the others. It was a formative age,” she said.

Claire began to read about the different branches of Christianity and

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by Stuart Gray

What a joyous occasion!

On 9 November, more than 500 people were privileged to experience the joy and excitement of witnessing the dedication of a new church building, at Shepparton, in Victoria’s Goulburn Valley. Celebrations were particularly jubilant, as the congregation’s African choirs’ rhythmic singing exuded praise, thanks, honour and glory to God.

The opening of the new St Paul’s Lutheran church was the culmination of a wonderful story of God’s grace to a small, struggling congregation and to people who had fled their countries, losing all that they had owned.

They saw the Lutheran church as their ‘mother’

The emphasis of the day was not on the journey to get to this point but on the new beginning that the dedication of St Paul’s represents.

Rev Matt Anker of St Paul’s summed it up succinctly: ‘The building is complete, but the journey has just begun’.

But the journey towards the completed building is a story worth telling.

Before Pastor Matt took up his call to Shepparton in February 2007, he was advised by then St Paul’s chairperson, Bev Schumacher, that a couple of Africans had been worshipping with them for a few months. African refugees had begun to arrive in Shepparton and, because they had come to know Jesus in the Lutheran church back home and were then cared for in refugee camps run by Lutheran World Service, they saw the Lutheran church as their ‘mother’. They wanted to be part of the church in Australia too.

First were Baharti and his family from the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC)—and they alone increased the size of the congregation by one-third. Then came more families—from the DRC, from South Sudan and Burundi.

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by Rosie Schefe

It’s not yet mid-morning, but already a hot sun beats out of the white-blue sky, bouncing around the farmyard and making the long, bleached grass even drier.

Inside the century-old barn things are cooler, the light is diffused and the fine coat of sawdust which covers almost everything somehow blurs hard edges away. The stone walls reduce the outside wind to a gentle breeze in here, making it a pleasant place to sit and think or talk.

This is the Woodenmind workshop, on a seemingly remote farm that is not really so far from the small South Australian town of Eudunda, in the hills dividing the Barossa Valley from the Murray Plains.

No precious, high-shelf keepsake this. These figures are made to touch, to play with, to pick up and move about.

 

Carpenter Peter Voigt, who has owned this farm for nearly 20 years—almost as long as he’s been a cabinet-maker— describes the farm itself as ‘an excuse not to work’. In the workshop, though, it is obvious that plenty of work is going on.

A computer-guided router and its associated dust-collector hum away at one end, occasionally changing pitch as the drill hits resistance in the piece of wood it is transforming into a series of figures. Peter himself sits on a chair, quietly talking to me, his words accompanied by the constant scratch of sandpaper over wood as he smooths the curves of the object in his fingers.

Nearby, tables and shelves are filled with similar figures in various stages of completion—from fresh off the router to partly or almost fully sanded. Each one has been lovingly sanded by hand; the curving, rounded shapes offer few opportunities for using machine-made short cuts.

Peter is making the figures for a nativity set. Each set comprises fourteen pieces: the baby Jesus and the manger; Mary, Joseph, a shepherd, sheep, lamb and cow; a donkey, a camel and three wise men. The final—and largest—figure is the risen Christ.

No precious, high-shelf keepsake this. These figures are made to touch, to play with, to pick up and move about. They are robust and solid, finished with a skin-friendly coat of beeswax and

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