When we first started our church in Amsterdam, and people would ask us to describe our “church,” we would often describe our ministry space.  “It’s kind of like a café.”  Comfortable couches, café tables and chairs, careful consideration for lighting and ambiance.  Or we’d describe our weekly worship gatherings.  “It’s kind of like a concert.”  Some music, some spiritual story-telling, just sit back and enjoy the show.  People were intrigued by these explanations.  They would remark that they’d never heard of a church like that before, and that they might like to come and visit sometime.  And sometimes they would come.  Often, they’d like it.  They’d keep coming back, and over time our church grew to the point where people were overflowing into side rooms and staircases, coming to enjoy the “café church,” the “concert church.”

As much as we enjoyed some of the strengths of the “café church,” with time we’ve also come to realize some of the weaknesses associated with it as well.  And close to the top of that list of weaknesses, one of the most obvious results of a “café church” is a congregation of “customers” or “consumers.”  The café is the place where you go to sit with friends, soak up the gezelligheid, and order food and beverages, prepared by a cook in the back room and served directly to your table by a waitress.  If you’re treated well, you keep coming back, tipping the waitress -- maybe even recommending the place to your friends.  But if you’re not treated well (maybe simply because you came during a time when the place was under-staffed), you’ll scoff and find another café.  Because that’s the way it works.  It's the same thing in the concert business.  If you put on a good show, you sell lots of records and merchandise and tickets for future shows.  But if you don’t deliver a good show (maybe simply because the lead singer had a head cold), you’ll scoff and spend your entertainment euros (or dollars) elsewhere.

Do you see how problems could develop when the café or concert model is applied to establishing a church?

How weird would it be if the cook comes out and asks the customer if they might be willing to step back into the kitchen and help prepare the refreshments for the other customers?  Imagine the awkwardness if the waitress reveals that she’d really like you to help with serving the other customers?  Can you imagine the customers having their commitment
implicitly questioned when they stop coming around (or come around
less)?  It’s no wonder that a “café church” like ours has had a hard time getting people to help with “serving” or volunteering to help with various ministry responsibilities like making the coffee at the beginning of a church function, keeping kids occupied during worship gatherings, and cleaning up afterwards!  Yes, of course everyone realizes that coffee and childcare and cleanliness are nice amenities within a church context -- not to mention good music and good messages -- but when the service economy model is applied to Christian community, th e situation can be very challenging if not downright counter-productive.

Today, we’re re-envisioning our understanding of what the church is and how we operate.  These days, we like to think of our church community more as a “family” or a “home.”  Yes, we still welcome others into our “living room" or "dining room,” but they are as guests in our home, not as customers within our franchise location. We do our best to keep the place tidy and welcoming -- perhaps needing to explain unique traditions in our family.  But we don't rearrange all the furniture and put up false pretenses about who we are (dysfunctional families do this, of course, but we strive to maintain a healthy home environment!).  We're a family, for better or for worse.  Those who regularly sit at our table and share meals with us typically help with preparing the meals, clearing the table, washing the dishes; this is just part of being a family.  Even when we're out and about -- around the city, at work, in school, or wherever -- we're still a family.  But we also like to spend time together, hearing stories about what's happening in each others' lives and simply enjoying each others' company.  As our children grow up and become mature, we bless them and release them to start their own families (not franchises).  We keep in touch and celebrate special occasions together, but we do not practice "quality control."  We are a family, and we trust in God's ability to develop successive (and overlapping) generations.

This "family church" concept also has its strengths and weaknesses.  I'm sure of that.  But I'm content forour church to experience those as we go.  To me, the distinction between a café and a home is a helpful one.  How do I plan for family events?  How should I treat a guest in my home?  Do I talk to the person who prepares the meal as if he or she is the Maître d’ or the Mom?  It's a big difference.  Don't you think?

I thought you might like to see some pictures, after the fact, to go along with my most recent posts about my Casual and Critical Observations of Berlin and growing up as Children of the Cold War. 
I didn't bring my own camera -- but here are some pictures, taken and generously copied for me by
my friend Anthony Testa, of our time in Berlin.

The traffic lights (above) were, apparently, deliberate throwbacks to the days of East Germany's different ways of doing things.

The sculpture for remembering Berlin's victims of war and tyranny (above) was very powerful...

Not much is left of the old Berlin Wall (above) -- but still just enough for photo-tourism.

It was a good group of men, leaders from various GCE churches throughout the Continent.  We had some very fruitful discussions and had fun while doing it...  In case you're interested, there are a few extra pictures from Berlin posted in the Zolder50 Pictures section of the website.

In addition to Anthony's pictures from Berlin, I thought I would also link to some of the pictures of Marco and Claudia's wedding, taken by my friend Timo de Winter.  I had written about this Full and Complete European Wedding Experience a couple of weeks ago -- but I just noticed today that some pictures were now up on Timo's Flickr site.

A special note to the above pictures is that the bakfiets (bicycle) pictured as the "official bridal couple vehicle" was in fact our own family's everyday bakfiets!

Above, you can see some of what it looked like in the church, during my sermon...

And here to the left is one of the many beautiful shots of the beautiful couple on their special day.  I hope I'm not stealing Timo's (or Marco and Claudia's) thunder in any way, by referencing these photographs.  I just saw them "go public" earlier today and enjoyed them so much that I figured I'd pass them along...

If you want to see more images from Marco and Claudia's wedding, I would again heartily recommend a visit to Timo's Flickr site.

It happens once a month, the first Monday of every month.  I ought to be used to it by now.  But for some reason, I still have a visceral reaction every time I hear the sounds of Amsterdam’s air raid sirens.  I feel fear and anxiety.  Adrenaline fills my system.  Yet there’s really no good reason for such angst.  I have no conscious memory of anything bad ever happening to me, after the sounding of one of these sirens.  I’ve never lived in a battle-zone.  War has never been a part of my day-to-day existence.

Unless you count the Cold War -- which, come to think of it, may have a lot to do with my reaction to the air raid sirens.  I remember growing up back when it was the USA versus the USSR.  We watched movies featuring American heroes fighting against cold-hearted, iron-jawed Soviets; and we learned to hate those villains with their exaggerated Russian accents.  We cheered for the Red-White-and-Blues over those Reds with their insidious Hammer-and-Sickle CCCP uniforms, while witnessing the “peaceful” contests of the Olympic Games.  At school we learned the terrors of the Communists and their nuclear missiles.  I even recall a Trivial Pursuit question during that era asking which Communist nation lay is closest geographic proximity to the United States of America -- and I remember turning the card over to realize, horrified, that the answer was not Cuba or somewhere in Eastern Europe, but “Mother Russia” herself, just across the Bering Strait, close enough for one of those steroid-pumped Russian body-builders to toss a missile initiating the nuclear holocaust that would consume us all.  I remember Mr. Dorka, in particular, talking to us about the cataclysmic chain of events that would occur should a fly sneeze in Washington or Moscow, missile silo after missile solo discharging their poisonous arrows of death, eye-for-eye, tooth-for-tooth, until there wasn’t a blade of grass left standing in North America or Eurasia.  Mr. Dorka also explained to us the long-term effects of radiation poisoning, with shockingly graphic descriptions.  We even watched a Hollywood movie (though I can’t remember what it was called) which dramatically demonstrated the aftermath of a nuclear holocaust -- vomiting blood, flaking off charred skin, waiting in the darkness to die -- which seemed to be a statistical inevitability for us all.

As absurd as it seems today, I even remember safety drills at school -- trying to prepare ourselves for a nuclear attack, should it ever come to rural, southwest Wisconsin or north-central Ohio (strategic Cold War battlegrounds, if ever there were any).  For fire drills, we were taught how to exit the building in an orderly fashion.  For tornado drills, we were ushered into the central, windowless hallways of the school building and told to tuck ourselves up into the corner of the wall with our hands (or even a book) behind our necks protecting our heads.  But if ever we were to catch wind of the Communists launching a missile attack in our direction, well, we were to crawl under our desks, protect our heads and necks, and pray to God that the white-hot radiation from the bomb blast would pass us by.

It’s odd to think about it now:  now that the situation is so much different, now that we’re so far removed from that period of history, from that period of my life.  But as I reflect on those years, it makes more sense as to why I’m so affected by something as simple as a routine test of the city’s air raid sirens.

It’s amazing to realize that it’s been 20 years now, since the beginning of the end of the Cold War.  Today I arrived in Berlin for a conference, and I walked past (and over, and around, and through) the places which were once such poignant reminders of the Wall that separated the West from the East, the Capitalists from the Communists, the “Good Guys” from the “Bad Guys.”  Within the next few weeks, they’ll be celebrating the 20th Anniversary of the Berlin Wall’s collapse.  Twenty years.  Wow, I’m getting old…

What’s funny is that there are still plenty of Communists around:  China, Cuba, Vietnam, North Korea… In fact, the People’s Republic of China will also be celebrating a special anniversary within the next couple of weeks (its 60th).  But for some reason, it feels like the big tension has evaporated.  Europe is less conflicted, I guess, and so somehow the rest of us are less conflicted, too.  Today China’s elaborate military processions inspire more awe than fear, in me -- much different from the old May Day parades in the USSR.  I’m intrigued (though maybe slightly confused) by Chinese people; I’m not generally scared of them like I used to be of Russian people.  I can see Communism as being a legitimate form of social organization (though I’m still personally concerned about the lack of religious freedoms in many Communist regions); indeed there’s something to be admired about Chinese society over the last 60 years.

Still, I can’t help but wonder and worry that things might change in the coming years.  How will the relationship between the United States and China and the USA work itself out over time?  Could it become like the USA vs. the USSR again (only this time with the PRC)?  Will American Free-Market Capitalism one day face the same fate as the old East-German Communism?  Could North Korean nuclear armament suddenly bring us back to the days of the Cold War?  They’re interesting questions to consider.  It’s probably impossible to know these things.  But I do know this much for sure.  If ever caught on the scene of a nuclear attack, I don’t think I’ll be trying to climb under any desks this time.

We had a magnificent party for Olivia this afternoon.  Exhausting, but magnificent.  In case you might like to see more pictures from Olivia's birthday festivities (and Cor's, too, for that matter), you can visit the Family Pictures section of the website.

Dear Olivia Corrinne Asp,

Happy Birthday!  Did you notice that I called you by your full, official name just there?  I didn't try any of that silly nicknamey stuff like I sometimes tend to do -- none of that "Livi-girl" or "Little Chippy Chuppy" ridiculousness -- no, not on an occasion as special as your fifth birthday.  I've got to say that you have a unique sense of decorum, Olivia.  Just like a princess raised with the finest manners of court.  It's really amazing to see.  Yes, of course you still have your crazy-silly moments (and even times when I can get away with some little nick-name!).  But you are remarkably aware of your surroundings and the coordinated sense of propriety for each sphere.  In school, we speak our "school language" (known to the rest of the world as "Dutch"), and we meticulously follow the classroom procedures set forth by your teachers.  At home, however, we speak "our language" (a.k.a. "English") and have our own ways of doing things like setting the table, brushing your hair, and such.  When we're being silly, just about anything goes.  But when we're not in a designated silly zone, I should just call you your "real name."  And now that you're growing up so much -- now a whole five years old -- well, I suppose I need to take your sense of decorum seriously.  And this little concession of sticking to calling you Olivia Corrinne Asp (which is, truth be told, a fabulous name) is the least I can offer to you, as a birthday present.

If I may say so, Olivia, you are remarkable.  You really are like a majestic little princess.  Not just your sense of decorum -- but your exquisite beauty, your sparkling charisma, your incredible power and energy... just the way you carry yourself.  Do you remember the way you looked at Claudia when you first saw her in her wedding dress -- gleaming white, swishing and swirling like a fairy, beaming an impossibly-wide smile, and (oh, the breath-taking joy of it!) a delicate silver tiara (which you called a "crown," of course)?  Do you remember that feeling of wonder and awe?  That's how I feel about you, Olivia.  Pretty much all the time.  I'm totally serious.  If I ever stop and think about it, Olivia, you take my breath away.

There's one moment every day when I take special notice of your magical magnificence.  It's on the stairs at school each morning.  After the loud bell rings and the children all tumble into the building, after dropping off Elliot in his classroom on the second floor and ducking through the crowds of kids from groups 3 and 4 hanging up their coats and chattering like monkeys, after passing back through the door to the stairwell and starting to descend to the ground level via the broad, red steps of the school's central hall.  It's in that moment that I freshly realize how wonderful it is to have a girl like you, Olivia.  It feels like it's just the two of us (nevermind the stragglers still traipsing up to their classrooms).  It feels like we're arriving at a royal ball.  I take your hand, and you hold onto the black railing with your other hand, and we float down to the main atrium.  Your mouth is closed and relaxed.  Your blue eyes soak up the light from the big windows overlooking the school-yard.  Your golden-brown hair, too, reflects all available light.  And I am simply in awe of the tremendous treasure that God has entrusted to our family in the form of our little girl.  Though you may not be able to articulate it, Olivia, I think that you, too, sense the sacredness of that daily descent of the school stairs.  You hold my hand gently-but-firmly, letting me guide you freely.  You let me speak to your briefly in "our language" (even though we're at the school).  You let me whisper, "I love you, Livi-girl" and you don't chide me in the least.  You let me ask, "Did you know that you're my little girl, Olivia?" without any cross reminder that yes, you already know that.  You just let me behold you.  It's probably one of my favorite moments of the day.

Then, of course, we reach the bottom of the stairs.  You jump the last two (sometimes three) steps -- and then we're off and running into the rest of the day, the rest of our lives.

I love you, Olivia.  I hope you know that.  Indeed, I know you know that.  But I desperately hope that you can always remember it.  Now that you're a five-year-old, and for the rest of your days, too.  I hope you'll always remember that God loves you, too -- even more and better than my love for you (which is pretty hard to imagine!).  I know that God is for you and with you... yet I have to admit that I worry sometimes, when I see you noticing, more and more, the world's insidious lack of decorum -- causing you to worry about pock marks and sweaters that make you "feel too fat" (your mother and I were floored when we heard you say that last month).  It's ridiculous for anyone in the world to so much as insinuate that an old, rapidly-fading scab from your chicken pox could in any way obscure your remarkable beauty!  But it seems like, somehow, these pressures are already creeping in.  Resist them, Olivia!  Resist them with everything you've got!  Please listen to me, your father, instead -- and to your Heavenly Father, who has made it abundantly clear that you're pretty-darn special (see Ephesians 1:3-8, if you want to read it for yourself).  We know better, Olivia.  It's clear that the ways of this world can be quite messed-up (whatever did happen to people's sense of decorum, anyway?).  But don't let their insistence and invasiveness be mistaken for truth.  I thank God for your clear-headedness, Olivia -- that you usually have your wits about you.  I just hope and pray that you can hold tightly to them for all of your days.

You're a wonderful daughter, Olivia.  I'm so glad that you've been a part of our lives for a whole five years now.  Happy birthday, my girl.  I love you a million, billion, jillion.

Yours,

Daddy

In my line of work, it's something that is probably inevitable.  I've heard stories of several others going through similar experiences.  But this afternoon I got to experience it for myself for the first time:  preaching with a nasty stomach-flu.

It wasn't much fun.

It really is a tricky situation, though.  A sermon is something that takes several hours of preparation and is intensely personal.  It's not the kind of thing that can easily be handed off to someone else (either trusting that they can whip up their own sermon within a couple of hours' notice -- or handing them a stack of your own notes to try and work up into presentable form).  But at the same time, it's not something that can easily be accomplished, either -- considering the physical energy required to stand in front of the congregation for the better part of an hour, considering the need to be animated and engaging.  It's choosing the lesser of two options.  And after much deliberation (even thinking up a plan to send Marci to teach in my place, after having been briefed by me!), I decided that I would go ahead and try to do it myself.

And I'm still not sure if I made the right choice or not.

My teaching was two parts, with kind of a workshop exercise in between.  And after a good bit of rest and a lot of prayer, the first part of the teaching went remarkably well.  Not that I was in top-form.  But at least passable.  However, after the ten-minute workshop time, it went down-hill quickly.  I started teaching and almost immediately needed to sit down in a bar-stool that I had set aside if just such a need would arise.  But then I started sweating.  My back, my shoulders, my forearms, my forehead.  I kept talking through it all.  Then I started to feel light-headed and my vision blurred; people later told me that the color visibly drained from my face.  Still I kept talking.  At one point, though, I felt so miserable that I needed to stop and take a drink -- and at that moment, I noticed that just about everyone in the room visibly (and nervously) smiled and nodded in an overly-exagerated way, obviously having been made quite uncomfortable by my own level of discomfort.  It was embarrassing.  But after gathering myself for a moment, I finished the teaching and managed to hobble off to the church office where I crashed on the couch.

In the end, I made it.  But I genuinely wonder if anyone will remember any of the content of the teaching -- or if it will only be remembered for the circumstances in which the message was delivered.

It was a frustrating experience.  I know that the sickness was beyond my control, and I'm not beating myself up about being sick.  But I was frustrated and discouraged by the whole experience.  I was teaching on Luke 5, the story of the Big Catch, for goodness sake!  Teaching about applying faith in the areas of our failure, trusting that God can turn around our shortcomings (which, in my case, just so happen to be church leadership and Sunday preaching).  I prayed for the strength to make it through the teaching -- and I know that several others were praying for me, too... So what does that mean if God didn't answer those prayers?!?  I'm standing up there, trying to "rally the troops" for a new season of ministry -- speaking to a discouragingly-small crowd, by the way -- and I can't even present the content that God laid on my heart without my human frailty dominating the sermon!  What am I supposed to make of that?!?  So yeah, you could say that it was a frustrating experience...

I guess I really have no other choice but to entrust myself -- and my church -- to God.  Again.  And again.  And again.  Faith and patience must be applied in spite of (or perhaps because of) doubts and long periods of time.  And like I suddenly feel well enough to sit at a computer and write (after three hours of laying in my bed, covers drawn up around me against the fever as I curled up in a fetal position against the pain)... I have to hope that God will move us forward in His time and according to His plan.

In Jesus' name, Amen.

Every time I see this guy on one of the tram or bus stops in Amsterdam, I can't help but smile.  I know it's juvenile.  But whenever I look at these posters for H&M's new fall fashions, I find myself wondering why they've hired out their modeling work to a homeless guy.

Am I the only one who sees it that way?

Yes, of course it has to do with the beard; that's the most obvious thing (that you don't usually see with other fashion models -- at least not in the Netherlands).  But it's not just the fact that he has a beard.  If you look at the posters closer (the pictures from my camera phone really don't do it justice), you can see that it's a really wiry, seemingly-unkempt beard.  The guy is also quite gaunt (which is not unusual for fashion models) -- and I dare say his eyes even have that certain something which shows a hard life of living on the streets.  But the clothes they've picked out for the poor guy to model don't help.  To my (admittedly untrained) eye, they seem like mismatched items -- as if they could have been drawn from a dumpster -- and they seem unusually frumpy or oddly-sized (the one with the scarf -- or is it a sweater? -- especially), like you'd wear if you were worried about having to sleep under a bridge that night.

I don't know.  Perhaps I'm just being silly.  But it all reminds me of the movie Zoolander, where the evil nemesis fashion designer introduces a revolutionary fashion line named Derelíct (which is basically homeless fashion).  To me, the movie seems to be coming to life, here on the streets of Amsterdam.  Don't you think?

I was talking with my friend Marc this afternoon about formal titles.  It was fascinating to learn of some of the intricacies of the Dutch language.  For instance, the most proper for of address for a mayor in the Netherlands is De hoogedelgestrenge heer.  Thus, if addressing an official letter to Amsterdam's mayor Job Cohen, you'd address it to "De hoogedelgestrenge heer Cohen."  Literally translated, that means "the highly-noble-very-stern Mr. Cohen."  Isn't that awesome?!?!?  The principal of the high school (let's pretend this one is a woman) would be "De weledelgestrenge vrouwe __________" -- "the definitely-noble-yet-stern Ms. ___________."  Seeing that I serve as the leader of a church community (which tends more towards the Protestant end of the spectrum than the Catholic), it may not be too far-fetched to think that I could be addressed as "De weleerwaarde heer/vrouwe Dominee Asp" -- "The Definitely-Honorable Mister-Reverend Asp."  Sounds kind of nice, huh? :-)  You can find a specific title for just about any role in society on the Wikipedia page about "Aanspreekvorm."

Then I found out about the English equivalents.

To my surprise, there were almost two times as many forms of official "honorifics" in the English language!  Most of us probably know that the President of the United States is officially addressed as "Mr. President."  Or that a judge is typically called "The Honorable Judge __________" (addressed as "Your honor" in a court-room setting).  But did you know that there's also a special form of address for the King of Hungary ("His Apostolic Majesty")?  Or that a bishop in the Church of England should be addressed as "The Right Reverend and Right Honourable _________?"  Crazy stuff, isn't it?  In case you're interested, you can also find more information about English honorifics on the Wikipedia page about "Manner of Address."

I love this kind of stuff in theory.  I hate this kind of stuff in practice.  Good thing almost everyone I know is content to simply call me "Eric."  But if you really wanted to try out "De weleerwaarde heer Dominee Asp," well... I'd be willing to give it a try. :-)

It's one of those classic cultural differences that I'll probably never completely understand.  Dutch kids ride around on bicycles every day in a highly-regulated traffic environment -- but hardly any of the little blond heads are helmeted (which would be paramount to child-abuse in the USA).  Frankly it seems that nobody in society gives it a second thought.  But then when it comes to swimming lessons -- there's a strong, not-so-implicit pressure put on parents to put their kids through expensive and time-consuming swimming lessons so they can earn their swim diploma, "in case the little tyke falls into one of the many canals around here."  Seriously.  I've heard this line of reasoning from multiple sources -- and it's quite clear that one of the requirements for obtaining one's "swimming diploma" (not joking!) is jumping into the pool fully-clothed, and going through the motions to properly rescue oneself in case such a calamity should ever happen (though I've yet to witness the first such incident here in Amsterdam).  So clearly, there is a cultural value expressed here:  Preparing for life-threatening bicycle accident = not so important / Preparing for life-threatening fall into the canal = extremely important.

We've made our peace with the bicycle / helmet thing (our kids don't wear helmets if they are riding in the nearly-impossible-to-tip bakfiets; but they do wear helmets if they ride on the back of my or Marci's two-wheeled bikes or if they're biking on their own).   But we're still trying to figure out what to do with the swimming lessons thing.

I have absolutely no problems with teaching my kids to learn how to swim.  That's a part of growing up, I realize.  But you see, the swimming pools in Amsterdam have tapped into the societal parental angst about potential drownings -- and they've developed a highly-lucrative business selling these lessons designed to help children earn these coveted "swimming diplomas."  The pools charge entry fees (just for the use of the pool), plus lesson-fees (for the instruction), plus other miscellaneous charges.  And there's even a market in the city for greetings cards designed to congratulate a child upon the receipt of their "swimming diploma" (available in almost any gift shop -- again, totally not joking).  Elliot and Olivia were enrolled in a class at our local pool for a few months last spring, but the progression of the class was so slow that we figured out they were on a trajectory to get their "swimming diplomas" after about two or two-and-a-half years of weekly lessons.  Marci and I calculated the economic implications of this fact and realized that it would cost somewhere between €600 and €700 ($875 to $1000 U.S. Dollars) per kid, to get obtain these precious "swimming diplomas!"  Suffice to say, we pulled them out of the lessons... And we haven't gotten back to re-enrolling them yet.  We've also done some research on "sprint-courses" (where you can get more personalized attention, over a shorter, more intense period of instruction) and private lessons -- but the long and the short of it is that it doesn't seem like it will be possible to get a "swimming diploma" without at least €600 being paid out for the privilege.

That seems ridiculous to me!  I resist such an idea to the very core of my being.

But here's where the whole immigrant-parent angst kicks in, you see.  I realize that we've challenged our children's social status enough by simply choosing to live as U.S. citizens in the Kingdom of the Netherlands.  We eat funny foods, talk with funny accents, celebrate funny holidays (at least this is the way we imagine that we are perceived by other families at our kids' school, for instance)... so what does it do to our kids' social standing to withhold them from this "swimming diploma:" this Holy Grail of Dutch elementary-school safety???  Am I committing social homocide by not having my children on the fast track to get their swimming diplomas???  But then again, what if I'm just misreading the cultural cues (it's certainly happened before)?  Could it be that 50 percent of Dutch kids opt out of swimming lessons these days, too???  Or are there situations where it really will be awkward for Elliot or Olivia if they don't have that "swim diploma" at Marije's swim-birthday-bash?  This is my dilemma...

Can anyone help me to sort out the facts from the fears?  Any insight or personal anecdotes (especially from my Dutch friends) would be greatly appreciated...

The big wedding this weekend went really well.

I'm afraid I don't have any pictures to show for it all (if anyone else posts some pictures from Saturday, please let me know so I can link to them); but rest assured it was a great experience, for me, for our family, for all the assembled guests, and -- most importantly -- for Marco and Claudia.  You could really see that they were having the time of their lives, so happy to finally be joining their lives together.  And that's such a beautiful thing to see on a couple's wedding day.  I wish them a long and happy life together.

Officiating the ceremony in Dutch was really not a big deal.  The sermon part, in fact, felt totally normal to me.  It was really only when I read the longer Bible texts and pronounced the official vows and blessings that proved to be a bit challenging, linguistically, because I was reading someone else's words (and formal, kind of old-fashioned words at that).  But really, all in all, I think it came off pretty smoothly.  In case you might be interested, you can even see the text of my English translation of the ceremony...

As for observing the sociological / anthropological / cultural differences, it was interesting to be a part of the Family Dinner Reception.  It was, in certain ways, very similar to an American wedding's rehearsal dinner -- at least in terms of the types of guests who were invited (all of the immediate family and special out-of-town guests, plus anyone else who had some sort of role in making the actual wedding happen) and the fact that a special meal was enjoyed together.  But it was different in that there was no rehearsal of the wedding events themselves (though everything seemed to turn out all right, even so); in fact, it was more like a prelude to the church ceremony.  The bride and groom appeared in their full glory (whereas in America, the "revealing of the bride-in-her-wedding-dress only happens at the church).  And there were a lot more speeches.  And not just dry monologues -- but entertaining multi-media shows and funny story-telling as well.  The Germans seemed to especially love the speeches and sketches. :-)

After the Family Dinner Reception came the photo shoot.  The bride and groom had gotten some shots with just the two of them earlier in the morning (after Marco had come to officially pick up his bride -- another unique European tradition that I won't get into); so the afternoon photo shoot was more for the group shots.  This, by the way, felt exactly like any American wedding photo-shoot that I've ever been too (way too long, awkward jostling of family members, cheesy jokes about saying cheese, etc.)...

Once the photo shoot was over, Marco rode our bakfiets (the mini-van of bicycles) to the church -- with Claudia riding in the front (believe it or not, this is already the second time that our family bicycle has been used as a wedding carriage).  It was quite the sight!  Everybody cheered and shouted congratulations and snapped pictures.  And when they got to the church, we arranged a few last-minute details and then retired to a back-room to pray.  It was just Marco, Claudia, me, and Timo (who was serving as the photographer) -- and I have to say that was one of my favorite moments of the day.  Eventually, the time came for us to emerge into the beautiful old church sanctuary and begin the Church Ceremony.  This had almost all the same elements as other weddings that I've been a part of in America:  music, sermon, vows, rings, kisses, prayers, and such.  But they were arranged a little bit differently.  For instance, the flower girls only played their part at the very end of the ceremony, when the couple was exiting the church.  Also, there was the dual language thing (everything said in Dutch, then translated into German, with English written translation provided for the select guests who couldn't understand either of the other two languages).  But here's one of the coolest things that I've noticed about Dutch weddings (not just Marco and Claudia's):  the couple gets to sit down for most of the sermon!  Isn't that a great idea?!?  Why haven't we thought of that for American weddings, huh?  Anyway, the ceremony was cool.  God was honored.  Marco and Claudia were honored.  It was beautiful.

And then there was the After-Party.  Pretty much exactly the same as an American reception -- except without the formal dinner.  Toasts, a couple of (short) speeches, silly games, drinks, music, and dancing (lots of dancing, in the case of Marco and Claudia's wedding)... It was a lot of fun.

The only other intriguing difference that I noticed with this weekend's wedding (which also seems to hold true for other Dutch / European weddings) is the role of the Ceremoniemeester (Master of Ceremonies).  It's kind of like a cross between a wedding coordinator (in that he keeps everyone on schedule, and makes sure that all the details are taken care of), a DJ (in that he's the primary communicator of any logistical announcements that need to be made), and a groomsman (in that he's a good, trusted friend of the couple who serves as a volunteer rather than as a paid professional).  The person who serves as the Ceremoniemeester occupies a place of distinct honor -- thus it's not just any, random acquaintance who happens to be good with organization -- but it doesn't seem to be quite as "high-ranking" on the honor scale as a groomsman or bridesmaid.  It's hard to explain... but I think it's an interesting (and useful) role.  Another thing that maybe more Americans should consider building into their wedding culture... :-)

So yeah, it was a good wedding.  A good Dutch / European wedding.  I'm glad that I got to be a part of it all.

This weekend, I'm taking part in my first full European (Dutch / German) wedding.  I've been to bits and pieces of other weddings here in the Netherlands, but this is the first time that it involves someone sufficiently close to me -- my dear friend and spiritual brother, Marco -- that I've gotten to share in all the fun and adventures from beginning to end.

It's interesting:  many of the elements of a European wedding overlap with those of an American wedding.  Of course, there are pieces of the wedding which are totally different.  And then even those that are sort of similar have intriguing differences as well.  From what I can gather, I'd say that the main parts of a European wedding are (1) the Bachelor Party, (2) the Civil Ceremony, (3) the Family Dinner Reception, (4) the Church Ceremony, and (5) the After-Party.  And, for the sake of comparison, I'd say that an American wedding typically includes (1) the Bachelor Party, (2) the Rehearsal Dinner, (3) the Church Wedding Ceremony, and (4) the Dinner Reception / Party.

Last Saturday, I got to join in Marco's Bachelor Party.  The concept for a European Bachelor Party is similar to that of an American Bachelor Party -- have fun with "just the guys" in the last week or so leading up to the wedding -- but there are also a number of interesting differences.  For one thing, the group of people involved seems to be smaller than many of the other bachelor parties that I've seen in America.  For an American wedding, just about every guy that has any kind of personal connection with the groom is invited -- often resulting in a group of two or three dozen guys.  But for a European wedding, it's only a very select group that's invited to the Bachelor Party; we were with a group of just nine for Marco's party, and it was interesting to note that not every person from among Marco's roommates or or Marco's family or Marco's church friends or Marco's school friends was invited.  Just a small hand-picked group (and no one seems to really get offended by this, like they might in the USA).  And the other significant difference with a European bachelor party is the costume.  Almost always, the groom is expected to wear some ridiculous outfit and prance around the city looking like a fool.  In Marco's case, we were pretty easy on him -- just giving him a white T-shirt that said "Ich bin ein Berliner" (since the bride is from Germany) with a picture of a Berliner-style donut on the back.  But other than the size / make-up of the group and the costume, I'd say that European bachelor parties are pretty similar to American bachelor parties.

Yesterday, then, was the day of the Civil Ceremony.

According to Dutch law, a couple must first be married at City Hall -- and then, only after the requirements of the law have been fully met, may they have a church ceremony (or not).  I was informed recently, as officiant of the church ceremony, that I am legally liable if this requirement of the law is not met (punishable by a hefty fine)!  So, to say the least, I'm glad they decided to do the Civil Ceremony ahead of time. :-)

I guess that the Civil Ceremony is actually not all that dissimilar to the process of picking up a marriage license at the county courthouse in the USA.  Both of the people getting married have to show up, present legal identification to allow the government to make sure that they're both citizens in good standing who are not already lawfully married, and then go on record as a couple.  The difference is that it's actually accompanied by something of a ceremony -- performed by an anonymous justice-of-the-peace -- and a intimate gathering of friends and family is also typically brought along for the fun (Marco's parents, Claudia's parents, and a small handful of other friends -- a total of about a dozen people).

When everyone is gathered, they're ushered into a small court-room.  There are some standard words of welcome, verification of personal information, and then a brief set of vows that are exchanged, followed by the signing of the legal documents.

Both bride and groom must sign -- along with two witnesses (usually the couple's closest friends -- about as close as Europeans get to the American concepts of bridesmaids and groomsmen).

After the documents are all signed and in order, they are given the blessing of the government and considered lawfully married (though most Christian couples consider the day of their Church Ceremony -- when they take their vows before God and all their friends and family, with the big white dress and the church and music and everything -- to be the official start of their married life together).

After the Civil Ceremony, we took some pictures (I was actually asked to serve as something of an event photographer!), and then we went to the apartment where Marco and Claudia will live to share some refreshments and conversation.

Tomorrow, then, we get to experience the the Family Dinner Reception, the Church Ceremony, and the After-Party -- which seem like they might be sort of like the American Rehearsal Dinner (without any kind of formal rehearsal), the Church Ceremony (which, I can say, is almost exactly like American Church Ceremonies), and the Reception (though it seems like it may have some interesting differences).

Of course, I've had some interesting personal reflections throughout this process as well, seeing one of my closest friends walk through this experience.  But for now, I thought it would just be interesting to share more of the sociological / anthropological / cultural observations (along with some pictures, of course!).  If you'd like to see any more of my pictures of yesterday's Civil Ceremony, by the way, you can go to the Zolder50 Pictures section.

You know that pesky H1N1 virus that's been filling up headlines for the last several months?  It now seems that it's not quite the killer that it was once rumored to be (in fact, I can now say that a personal acquaintance of mine has suffered from -- and safely survived -- the virus); however, I think it still serves as a very interesting sociological study.

You see, in the United States of America, the virus has become popularly known as the "Swine Flu" (since it was originally carried by pigs).  Pigs are presumably innocent, morally-neutral characters in American society -- so nobody is really offended by the label "Swine Flu."  But if anyone were to call it "Mexican Flu" (which is the most popular European name for the disease) -- well, that's borderline racism.  "What?!?  Are you saying that all Mexicans are dirty, disease-carrying mongrels or something?  I can't believe that you would stoop to that level of racial stereotyping!"  So no, no... We'd better call it "Swine Flu" (or better yet, "H1N1").  The poor piggies can't help it.  And believe it or not, the American health authorities have waged a very deliberate PR campaign to make sure that the sickness does not enter the American-English vernacular as "Mexican Flu."  Because there are enough tensions already between whites and Latinos in the United States.  No one wants to go around riling things up based on a name for a flu.

But in the Netherlands, it's interesting to note that the same virus has become (as previously noted) known as the "Mexican Flu" ("Mexikaanse Griep") -- since, well, the virus seems to have originated in Mexico.  And Mexicans are presumably innocent, morally-neutral characters in Dutch society -- so nobody is really offended by the label "Mexican Flu."  But if anyone were to call it "Swine Flu" ("Varkensgriep") -- well, that's just plain culturally insensitive.  "What?!?  We can't have this disease linked to pigs!  Can't you imagine the shame and disgust among the Jews and Muslims, who are very careful never to touch anything related to pigs?  I can't believe you would stoop to that level of cultural insensitivity!"  So no, no... We'd better call it "Mexican Flu" (or better yet,"H1N1").  The poor Mexicans can't help it.  And believe it or not, the Dutch health authorities have waged a very deliberate PR campaign to make sure that the sickness does not enter the Dutch vernacular as "Swine Flu."  Because there are enough tensions already between whites and Muslims in the Netherlands.  No one wants to go around riling things up (or hindering effective treatment of the disease) based on a name for a flu.

Isn't that fascinating?  One culture's good is another culture's bad, and vice-versa.  I've seen it many times in the last several years of living in Amsterdam (my second culture) -- but perhaps never so clearly, and so clearly inverted, as with the naming of the dreaded H1N1 virus...

I tried something of an unconventional approach to teaching an introduction to the Gospel of Luke yesterday, presenting the four songs of the first two chapters as a musical.  Have you ever noticed that the first couple of chapters of Luke actually read something like a musical?!?  Seriously!  There’s a paragraph or two of narration, and then someone breaks into song... Then there’s a bit more narration, and then someone breaks into song again.  Mary, Zechariah, the Angels, Simeon... A lot of singing.  They're absolutely beautiful songs, too.  And since I've always enjoyed the way that musicals provide beautiful stylized examples of story-telling, all set to music and rhythm -- often causing the stories and songs to get stuck in one's head for hours (or even days) afterwards -- I actually attempted to do something of a "musical sermon," with bits of story-telling and analysis mixed with new musical adaptations of the four songs from Luke 1-2.  Perhaps it sounds a bit ridiculous (and perhaps it was a bit ridiculous!), but I thought it was an interesting idea.   And what’s really cool is that the songs from the introduction to Luke are not just dopey little songs about “Doe, a deer, a female deer” or “I Feel Pretty.”  In fact, they’re incredibly meaningful songs that have implications for understanding the rest of Luke’s story about Jesus’ life and ministry!  So with some help from my brilliant musical friends, Leslie and Eva (offering original musical arrangements of the songs), we did our absolute best to get the four songs of Luke 1-2 stuck in our heads -- preparing us for the rest of our 16-week series studying the Gospel of Luke.

The worship gathering (including the "musical sermon") actually came off smoother than I might have expected.  A lot of people remarked that they enjoyed the message, afterwards.  But to be honest, I couldn't tell if they really enjoyed it (and were genuinely benefitted by it) -- or if it was more of the "new haircut" phenomenon.  You know what I mean?  A lot of times, if you get a new haircut, people will often say "Hey, I like your new haircut" -- when what they really mean is "Hey, I notice that you have a new haircut!" (and either the jury is still out on the actual opinion, or the old hair style was genuinely preferred).  And I wondered if people's compliments were simply a way of saying that they noticed a difference, or if they really enjoyed it.

I had to ask myself:  Was any meaningful truth communicated?  Were people genuinely motivated to continue studying Luke?  Would the four songs from Luke 1-2 actually get stuck in our heads?

This morning, however, I received one of the best assurances for which I might have hoped.  I woke up, took a shower, unloaded the dishwasher, and then opened up the door to the kids' bedrooms to signal "the beginning of the day."  And instead of the sleepy-headed curmudgeons that I'm used to seeing at the crack of dawn, Elliot popped right up in bed and proudly presented me with a piece of paper.  When I asked him what it was, he told me just to read it.  So I walked out into the living room, where there was more light, and there I read Elliot's hand-written verse representing his own adaptation of Simeon's Song and the Angels' Song from Luke chapter 2.  It was largely based on pure Bible text, copied from his "Kids Adventure Bible" -- but it also demonstrated a clear and undeniable sense of Elliot which made it, well, awesome.

Turns out Elliot had listened to the "musical sermon" and indeed gotten those songs and stories so stuck in his head that when he went to bed that night, he had looked up the Biblical texts for himself and spent time mulling over them until he came up with a song that he wrote down to share with me in the morning.  And in that moment, I knew that the unconventional teaching approach had at least had one significant effect...

And frankly, one is enough for me.

Just one more week until I perform my first wedding ever.  In Dutch.

I feel surprisingly at-ease about the occasion.  My text is already prepared (and Marco and Claudia have been extremely enthusiastic and encouraging about what I've put together).  Public speaking engagements don't freak me out any more.  I've even preached in Dutch before (though you could count all such occurences on one hand -- or even one-half of one hand!).  And more than anything, I'm just really excited to be given such a role of honor for these two people who I really love and appreciate...

But I've been thinking about how strange it is that I've gotten to this point in my career without ever having performed a wedding before.  I've been in full-time ministry for over ten years now -- working primarily among young people (who are notoriously famous for that whole falling-in-love thing) -- and I've even been in a position of primary church leadership for almost eight years.  And yet, next weekend will be my first opportunity to preside over a wedding ceremony.

It just underscores the fact that my roles in ministry are evolving and changing.

Up until recently, I've always had another co-leader who's typically played more of the "mouthpiece" role.  Matt Hilderbran in Bowling Green.  Steve Bush and Todd Watkins, here in Amsterdam.  And even though God has blessed us with an awesome group of up-and-coming men here in Amsterdam, who are playing the role of volunteer-preacher as often as they can fit it in around their other jobs and personal responsibilities -- it seems that I'm currently being put in a position to serve as more of the "default communicator."  At least for now, for this season of life and ministry.

In the past, I would have been genuinely uncomfortable in such a position.  Not that I don't feel like I can or that I'm necessarily bad at it; it's just that I haven't really wanted to be a preacher.  I went into ministry for the one-on-one, having-coffee-and-talking-about-life stuff.  Or for small group ministry opportunities.  I've always thought that the 20 hours it would take me to prepare a message could be much better spent having 10-15 individual appointments with people, interacting one-on-one.  And indeed, this is the way that my ministry has developed over the last ten years.  But in the current situation, with the church I lead being kind of "between preachers" (after Todd and before the next batch of guys is fully developed), my ministry is evolving.  And what's strangest of all is that I don't actually mind all that much.  With these new "ministry assignments," God has given me grace to see and experience the ways that He can and does use me -- even from behind the "pulpit" (though, in our case, there's no actual pulpit or lectern involved!).  I even feel (dare I admit it?) a little excited about the opportunities to preach at occasions like Marco and Claudia's wedding... like the series on the Gospel of Luke that we're about to begin as a church this weekend...

Truth be told, I'm still hoping that it will be just a season of filling this more traditional church leadership role.  But even so, it's good to know that God is with me -- and that He can use me.  I can be tempted to pull out the ol' "Moses excuse" (that's the title reference, by the way, from Exodus 4:10).  But at least for today, I'm trusting God when He says, "I will help you speak well, and I will tell you what to say."  At least for today, I'm forgning ahead with God's staff in my hand and His name on my lips...

Dear Cor,

You, my boy, are an absolute joy.  This is the first thing that comes to my mind, as I sit here to write this letter:  You bring an incalculable, inexplicable sense of joy with you, wherever you go.  Everyone notices it.  Everyone talks about it.  It’s so obvious.  It’s such a part of you.

And what a great association!  I can think of few traits that could servea s a better distinguishing quality.  This world is in great need of more joy.  And a rather elementary application of the mathematical principle of substitution makes it equally clear (if joy = Cor and Cor = joy):  this world is in great need of more Cor.  I guess I can’t speak for the rest of the world -- but I can speak for myself.  I can hardly get enough of you, my boy.  Your whole-hearted hugs and relentless appetite for wrestling and rough-housing.  Your deep belly laugh (often reacting to one of Elliot’s crazy antics).  Your twinkling blue eyes and your wide smile (even when it’s one of your cheesy put-on grins).  Your richly-intoned questions and exclamations (indecipherable though the words may be).  These all bring such wondrous joy to my heart.  To have you hurl yourself into my arms, with your fluffy golden wisps of hair brushing against my cheek is to experience the smile and embrace of God Himself.

Of course, I realize that your palette of emotions is much broader than this singular expression.  I’ve seen you sad.  I’ve seen you angry (oh boy, have I seen you angry!).  I’ve seen you scared.  I’ve seen you contemplative.  But even in these other emotions, I’m impressed with the way you go about things.  It’s a wonderful thing about being two:  you have unadulterated access to all these emotions.  You don’t put on airs.  You don’t pretend to be something you’re not.  You live in the moment, freely quaking with fear in the vicinity of the big dog tied up outside the grocery store, openly sobbing when your feelings are hurt by a sharp word or tone; and I really do think there’s a joy in that kind of emotional accessibility.  And when you show signs of happiness, peace, and contentment -- which is, quite frankly, the vast majority of the time -- then we can know, beyond the shadow of all doubt, that all is well.

I don’t expect it to stay that way forever (so don’t feel any undue pressure to freeze your emotional development on my behalf!).  I’m just appreciating you for what you are, right now.  And having been given the luxury of already raising a boy and a girl through these stages of development, it’s a nice place to be;  enjoying the moment.  I see now that I don’t have to be anxious or impatient for what’s to come (in a way that I couldn’t have seen it earlier).  I can just soak up the joy of my CW as a toddler (which is what I fully intend to do).

In the coming year, I can see that you’re going to become a lot more communicative.  You’re going to gain the ability to more fully articulate exactly what’s going on inside your head.  Already your words are acquiring greater and greater definition.  Even now, you’re starting to string words together.  And I have to say:  I’m very interested to observe how this will shape your personality.  Will your physicality start to play a lesser role?  Or will you always be something of an athlete (I can totally see it, given your already-incredible abilities in throwing, kicking, dancing, and such), even as your verbal abilities increase?  Will you show a more intellectual side?  Or will you be silly?  Will you tend to be funny or philosophical?  Will you be a mixer or a peace-maker in conversations and arguments with your brother and sister?  Or will you somehow manage to do both?  What unique observations will you have to bring about the world?  Or about our family?  I’m very curious to hear what you’re going to have to say, C-Dubs.  I have confidence that you’re going to turn out to be a wonderful person, in any event.  It’s such a privilege to have a front-row seat for the Cor William Asp Show!

Now, I also have the feeling that we’re going to have to do some work on your sense of obedience and submission to authority in the coming year.  It sounds so strict and authoritarian to put it down like that, in black-and-white.  And truth be told:  these are not popular concepts in our (Western) culture.  But I really believe the importance of Ephesians 6:1 and Proverbs 1:7.  “Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.”  “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and discipline.”  I have every confidence that you’ll learn these lessons with time, Cor.  But I also have a sense that you may be something of a tough nut to crack.  You’ve got a good, strong will -- different than what we’ve seen with Elliot and Olivia (though not necessarily in a bad way!).  Combined with your natural physicality, you seem more prone to be a hitter and a tantrum-thrower.  And I hate to tell you this (on your birthday and everything), but that’s just not going to work.  It’s not going to be beneficial for your life or for anyone else’s.  We’ll still love you, of course, when you throw tantrums or swing fists.  But we’ve got to learn how to channel your energies towards better things.  I’ve had to learn these lessons for myself, of course -- and I still can’t say that I’m done with learning my lessons!  But we keep learning and growing, don’t we?  And if we can get your to stop hitting your mother and stop flopping your bottom to the floor when you don’t want to come -- then at least we’ll be off to a good start. :-)

Just know, Cor, that I’m praying for you.  I’m praying for you, and I’m doing my best to partner with God in bringing you up to be the best and brightest expression of God’s joy and delight that you can be!  I don’t expect it to be a perfect process -- but I’m committed to you through thick and thin.  I love you, Cor.  I love you so much I feel like I’m going to explode, sometimes.

Thanks for being the wonderful little person you are.  You’re my boy!  And I’m forever…

Yours Truly,

Daddy