Columnist Kevin Robertson, or 'Kev the Rev' as some people call him, is a gumboot-wearing-chainsaw-wielding-farm-hack and pastor-of-people at Te Awamutu Baptist Church in the beautiful Waikato region. Salt of the earth: it's what Jesus says we are. Paul the Apostle encourages us to season our conversations with salt. This column is about that: telling stories of salty people, inspiring us to imagine something we haven't thought of before, or helping us taste something differently. Porridge is better with salt!
He arrived at church one Sunday, helped himself to a chair from the religious row of chairs, took it down the back, plonked it down and parked himself on it for the whole service. He wore his ‘colours’ discreetly, which those in the ‘know’ appreciated. He didn’t stand when all the people stood. He never put anything in the offering, but then again, he never took anything out either! He was polite afterwards, but it was more than obvious that the ‘normal’ congregants were a little, to a lot, uncomfortable. Was he a fish out of water or just another pilgrim wanting a place to belong? Would he come back, or had he seen enuff?
He came back, and he kept coming back. After his second escapade into this middle-of-the-road church, he approached the Pastor and requested an appointment. Next day, he arrived punctually, was polite and entered the pastor’s sanctuary, called his office. What a story. He shared the bones of a story that wasn’t shocking in that he showed every step of that journey in his appearance. But if the comfortable middle-class church heard it, some of them would be in shock, and some would be in disbelief, or both. He kept talking; the Pastor kept listening. Poverty, broken family, violence, drugs, abuse, gangs, prison, and an epiphany. A meeting between him and Jesus in prison made him want to change and want to belong. When he had finished sharing his story, his skeleton of the tale, the Pastor prayed. Then and only then did he say, “Pastor, I know that at times in the life of a church, people treat the Pastor bad, so if you need any help sorting people out…I’m your man! Let me know who you want sorted, and I’ll see to it”. Great offer! But considering he’d just shared that he’d been the ‘enforcer’ in his gang for a couple of decades and had just been released from prison for aggravated assault – wounding with intent to cause injury, the Pastor decided he wasn’t the man.
He kept coming. Some befriended him – most, at best, avoided him. He’d arrive on his pushbike and plonk himself down at the back on the chair that he had rescued from the religious row. But there were difficulties. He still had an addiction problem. He’d hide from his past in a haze of glue fumes. One of the hero elders of the church took it upon himself to monitor the level of intoxication and gently guided him home when it was just too much to handle. There were good days, and some were not so much. He was likeable in his roughness. He loved talking about Jesus. Then, one Sunday, it all turned to custard. He grabbed something that wasn’t his to grab. The lady in question was full of grace – didn’t want to press charges – but was concerned for her and other’s teenage girls, so action had to be taken and taken quickly. All welcome, but not that welcome! A trespass notice was drawn up. Two years of not allowing him to come onto the church property, thus excluding him from fellowship and the place he felt he was starting to belong to. All welcome, but not that welcome!
The Pastor (#1) had a mate, another Pastor (#2). This other man was running a small church locally for those who …let’s be honest… weren’t welcome in our middle-class gathering. Pastor #2 had a mixed bag coming to his church: those with longstanding mental health issues, ex-cons, those struggling with addictions and even some street workers – the sort of people Jesus hangs out with. So the two men hatched a plan – Pastor #1 would exclude, and Pastor #2 would include and embrace! They went around to where he lived. He knew something was coming coz as he walked out towards them, he put on the ‘intimidation stance’ and clenched his fists. The notice was served by Pastor #1 – anger, commitment that it was a mistake and would never happen again, aggression, anger, defiance. Pastor #1 thought, ‘Where was that ‘protection’ he’d offered at that first appointment?’ Time for Pastor #2 to step up – a welcome, followed by an explanation that this church offered something that couldn’t be offered in the first – a place full of people who would welcome. The deal was struck, and Pastor #2 picked him up that evening to head off to his new church. It went well – really well. Hope restored. All Welcome.
Our friend made progress in this new worshipping community. So well that our enforcer ended up on their worship team. The haze started to lift, but then the memories of the abuse he received as a child increased. Sadly, this came to a head, and this bloke saw no other option but to end it all by taking his own life. Pastor #2 led his memorial service. Yes, gang members were present, and patches were respectfully left at the door. The gentle, worshipping enforcer was honoured. The gang honoured the church. Tears flowed. But the hope of the resurrection of those who had met Jesus, repented, and loved the Lord was proclaimed, and hope was active. And the enforcer stepped past the sign at heaven’s gates… All Welcome.
