Did you know that today is Ascension Day -- the recognition of the day that Jesus rose to heaven in view of his disciples?

I realize that readership of my blog is pretty evenly split between Europeans and North-Americans (with a few other international readers on the side) -- thus often one person's "Oh really?!?" is another person's "No duh!!" -- but I think it's ironic and interesting to notice which group is likely to know the religious significance of this particular date on the calendar.

By and large, I would absolutely say that North America (and especially the United States of America) is considerably more "religious" and more "Christian" than Europe (well, at least the Netherlands).  Considering everything from church attendance figures to popular music to political debate to bumper stickers and T-shirts seen on the street -- I think it's pretty clear to see God, Jesus, the Church, and Faith in general are much more public and prevalent on the west side of the Atlantic.

And yet, when it comes to celebrating holidays, Europeans are much more "Christian" than Americans.  Eight out of ten national holidays in the Netherlands are Christian holidays:  Good Friday, First and Second Easter, Ascension Day, First and Second Pentecost, and First and Second Christmas.  The only "secular" holidays are New Year's Day and Queen's Day (with an official recognition of Memorial Day thrown in every fifth year)... Oddly enough, when looking at the list of American holidays, the percentage of religious observances is almost exactly the opposite (depending on how you count, i.e. depending upon whose list of holidays you might be looking at).  Employees of the U.S. Federal government get eight secular holidays (New Year's Day, Martin Luther King Junior Day, Presidents Day, Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, Columbus Day, and Veterans Day) and only two religious holdays (Christmas Day and Thanksgiving -- the second of which is only implicitly/historically religious).  Some employers in the United States give extra time off for Good Friday or Christmas Eve or the day after Thanksgiving -- but even so, the point remains that the observance of holidays represents an unusual flip-flop of cultural priorities, when it comes to the subject of religion and Christianity.

I'm sure there are rational explanations for why the holidays have developed as such in Europe and North America... But I don't understand it.  And in any event, I find it ironic.  I'm not saying that one culture's take on things is more or less correct than another's -- but it's definitely interesting to notice.

People in the Netherlands -- just like people in the United States -- enjoy a good practical joke on the first day of April. But whereas American jokesters would simply shout "April Fools!" after pulling off a good hoax, Dutch people add a simple two-lined song: "Één april! Kikker in je bil!" (basically to the tune of "Na-na-nana-boo-boo!").

The translation: "April first! Frog up your butt!"

I should perhaps clarify that it may just be the sixth-year-old boys from Elliot's school who have this "tradition" (and possibly not the Dutch culture at large). But I thought it was an amusing anecdote, at any rate.

Our house has been under siege for the last several weeks:  construction workers pounding on the walls, floors, and ceilings, as well as running mechanical equipment from dawn until dusk, every day of the week except for Sunday.  Quite aggravating.  I understand that it's all stuff that needs to get done; but Lord, I pray that it gets done very, very soon!

Today, the siege was taken to a new level as they asked for us to open up a number of our doors and windows on the back side of the house, so they could sand and paint the woodwork.  It made things colder and louder, of course, but what could we do?  We could only grin and bear it.  Try to make the best of a bad situation.

But then, around lunch time, I went in to use the toilet and was taken quite aback to see the face of a balding, bespectacled Polish construction worker smiling back at me through the small window, which is situated quite high on the wall and typically closed (with distorted glass to maintain privacy).  Awkward, embarrassed, I smiled.  "Excuse me, sir," I said, in Dutch.  "I'd like to use the toilet."  He smiled and nodded.  And kept staring at me.  "Excuse me, sir" I tried it again in English.  "I'd like to use the toilet."  He smiled and nodded.  And kept staring at me, apparently not understanding a word I was saying.

"Please close the window," I motioned with my hands.  "I need to use the toilet," I pointed.  He smiled and nodded.  I wasn't getting through to him.

"Listen, I" -- pointing at my pants -- "need to pee" -- pointing at the toilet.  "OK, OK," he said, finally closing the window with an awkward grin.  I did my business and then opened the window again, revealing that he had apparently been diligently waiting.  "OK," I said.  "OK."

I'm ready for the end of these renovation projects. 

Sinterklaas arrived in Amsterdam today.  It's quite the event.  His steamboat chugs down the Amstel River, loudly blasting its smoke, steam, and sound into the city and into the hearts and minds of thousands of young Amsterdammers.  Eventually, he makes his way to the harbor, where he disembarks with his Zwarte Pieten (his helpers) and begins his journey by horseback, up from the harbor, through the streets of Amsterdam -- bringing a colorful parade with him and filling the hands, hoods, hats, and sacks of bystanders with pepernoten (small gingerbread cookies) and tai-tai (kind of like hardened circus peanuts) and small promotional items.

Elliot was extremely excited to participate in the Sinterklaas festivities this year.  As I mentioned, he has become thoroughly indoctrinated in the Dutch obsession with Sinterklaas, and never misses an opportunity to participate in (or create for himself) some good Sinterklaas fun.  The large crowds, loud noises, and whacky antics of the Zwarte Pieten used to spook him a little bit -- but not any more.  This year, he was flagging down the Pieten for more pepernoten, singing "Zie ginds komt de stoomboot" at the top of his lungs, and reveling in the fun of Sinterklaas' grand entrance to Amsterdam.  It's kind of fun to watch, actually.

We started with watching the steamboat voyage along the Nieuwe Herengracht, across from the Hortus Botanicus.  Amarys, a friend from our home group, joined us for the occasion; and we also happened to hook up with the Watkins family (who live in the neighborhood) to enjoy the event like one big happy family.

It was a beautiful morning -- especially considering that we're in the latter half of November -- and we had a great view of Sinterklaas waving from the bow of the ship.  Elliot, predictably, ate it all up.

Olivia enjoyed it, too.  She's already learned all the words to the first verse of "Zie ginds komt de stoomboot" herself!  So she had fun taking the experience all in...

...But probably not as much as Elliot (I love the picture below... the reflection in the windows of the Hortus Botanicus is really cool, and the framing of the picture -- which was taken by Marci -- somehow makes it seem like it was all Elliot and Sinterklaas, with not another soul in the world).

After the steamboat had passed, the kids enjoyed some dancing (the mix of Sinterklaas-spawned adrenaline and the sugar-buzz from a few pepernoten and tai-tai provides plenty of excess energy!).

After watching the steamship pass, we went back to our house for lunch.  And then after lunch, Elliot and I made our way to the Vijzelstraat, where we watched the parade come through so Elliot could see Sinterklaas on his horse.  There were, of course, plenty of Zwarte Pieten on hand as well.

He had them absolutely captivated.  Entranced.  A room full of eyes following his every movement, almost as if watching the neon yellow orb darting back and forth on the deciding point of a legendary tennis match on Wimbledon's center court.  When he raised his arms up in the air, the eyes went up with him.  When he darted to the left, the eyes darted left with him.  When he stopped his leftward progress, the eyes stopped as if having collided with a brick wall.  He was that good.  While he spoke, mouths gaped absently open.  They cried when they were supposed to cry, laughed when they were suppoed to laugh... It was an incredible example of engaging an audience...

Especially considering the fact that the audience was largely composed of four- and five-year-olds.

The setting was the speellokaal of my son's elementary school.  The members of the audience were children from group 1 and 2, with a couple of teachers and a handful of parents thrown in around the edges of the room.  And the center of attention this hour -- the magnetic force binding all things together, the pied piper playing his hypnotizing tune, the music man mesmerizing these kindergartners -- was de Verhalenman (the Storyman).

Apparently, the Verhalenman has been plying his trade -- telling stories -- for quite some time... because he's quite good at it.  He employs minimal props, simple technology, and no formalities.  Still, his storytelling is quite theatrical.  Relying primarily on tone of voice and active body language -- along with a clever set of interactive costumery -- he spun a tale that involved the kids, entertained the kids, and educated the kids thoroughly for almost an hour.  Heck -- I can't pretend like the magic worked only for the children -- I was absorbed!  We followed the story about Frankie and his mom and their trip to Africa, where they met some of his distant relatives and learned about their culture... And we were totally along for the ride (and not just those who got to be a part of the airplane scene).  I came away from the experience completely awed and amazed by the power of a good story...

As fate would have it, later that evening I found myself congregating with 35 or 40 other people from Zolder50 to participate in the "Three Story Evangelism" training seminar, being offered at the H88 by Bob Phillips (a dear old friend of Zolder50)... We talked about the power of a good story -- of the good story.  The Gospel.  And we mused together about ways in which we could become better storytellers in the city of Amsterdam.  We traded pieces of our stories and spent some time laying the groundwork for honing our ability to understand the stories of others, to more compellingly communicate the story of God and its outworking each of our individual lives.  Even as Bob Phillips shared his own story of coming to follow Jesus in 1972, I was freshly inspired by the transformative power in God's story, particularly observing how it works itself out in countless lives.  As I sat through the seminar, I found myself wanting more and more to become a good storyteller... particularly as it relates to telling the greatest story of all-time.

I just wonder how the Verhalenman would do it.