A Waldensian Adventure: Fleeing to Rennie's Hill

For Jeff and I the words hung low over our heads like a smoky night sky with the sounds of whistling shells, periodic bursts of light and bone shaking blasts. The tension wound tight in our chests, and we were expecting something to drop on us with destruction and death at any moment.

"I will be sending two District leaders to discuss your future in the Salem (attach denomination here) Church." That was the sentence in the e-mail we received which told us that our District Supervisor was going to attempt to shut me down, and have me removed from the church.

Our counsellor from the denomination who followed us through the whole event, called immediately after I forwarded the e-mail to him.

"Phil, whatever you are going to do, Do it now."

We made appeals to the necessary people, but it was Friday, and no one would get this info until Monday or Tuesday morning.

Over my twenty years in the denomination, I had heard stories of District Supervisors coming to churches on a Sunday and taking over the services. We were meeting in the newly leased outreach center on Sunday evenings, and wondered whether this District Supervisor, who had shown no evidence that a decent discussion could be held with him would attempt to pull off one of these hostile take-overs.

It was only two days until Sunday, and after 5 months of struggling, we weren't up for a battle.

We talked to the church council, and came up with a plan. We called every person in our little church. We e-mailed those who had an e-mail addresses. On Sunday evening at 6pm, when we met for services, we posted someone at the door, just in case an individual was missed in our contacts.

Meanwhile like fleeing Waldensians, we found a cave in the hills and meet there for church. In truth it was Rennie's house, but she does live on a hill. About 35 of us were packed into the two rooms which made our catacomb sanctuary. We were seated on floors, and laps, and standing in the hall.

My old friend from California, Steve Maddox was there with some of his troup who came for the trip. This was adventure at its best: a sense of danger, and a need to hide from a stronger enemy. Is this how the first-century church responded to persecution? Is this how the Chinese church lived? Were we walking the path of the persecuted Waldensians? Okay, maybe not, but we felt the sense of danger, and adventure that night.

We were being a bit dramatic, but still we faced a very real threat of being shut down as a church, and our people were up for the adventure.

It might not have been the mountains of Northern Italy. We might not have been meeting in a cave, but we ran and hid to save our little fellowship that day.

The District leadership never did show up that Sunday evening, but the adventure was worth the effort. We discovered that we were a real church without that fancy old bank building.

If you are following this blog, you will notice that here, and at Square No More I will be retelling tales of our adventures last year. I am currently compiling information for a book proposal, and so any input you can give as I put small vignettes of our story together would be appreciated.

A Guinness and a Toast to Heros

I have come to the conclusion that heroism is an attribute of real friendship.

Of course, I run the risk of making people feel guilty by saying this. But I am not talking about guys who look like Arnold, or women who shine like medieval renderings of Joan of Arc - halo attached.

True heroism is often something far more subtle. True heroism is faithful, and relentlessly dependable in the face of opposition. Perhaps it is a bit stubborn at times, it holds a position which is unpopular, or potentially has something to loose.

When we find ourselves in desperate times, such as my family (and yes, the church family is included in this as well) has recently experienced, we discover who is willing to stubbornly hold their ground, and faithfully stand beside us during the most difficult times. These people show a heroism which is reminiscent of larger world figures such as Joan of Arc, and they become our personal heros, and heroines.

While I was walking through our most recent trial, two separate men, at separate times spoke words of wisdom which I will not forget. These are not words which one would typically place into the category of "wise sayings," but they spoke life into my heart, and gave guidance during our most difficult times. I related events of treachery, and dashed hopes during a meeting where I was being falsely accused, and supposed friends sat, and said nothing despite knowing better. My wise counsellors heard the story and both said these words, "These people are not your friends."

Oh I knew them for many years, and thought they were friends, but the friendship fell short of defending me against false accusations. Yet I discovered that there were others who were willing to speak up even when it was not in their best interest. These people showed themselves to be friends, and I feel as though I owe my life to them. "There is a friend who sticks closer than a brother." This kind of friend is a hero in my book.

True friends are heros. They carry all the deep values of heroism in their hearts.

False friends are only there while it is expedient to be there, and cowardice will drive them away when things become too difficult.

Amazingly, true friends will never think of themselves as heros. They are simply doing what is right, and loving you during your most difficult times. They show the heroism of Jesus Himself, Who died for me while I was yet a sinner.

If I had a Guinness, I'd raise it in the air, and make a toast, "Here's to true friends and heros - iechyd da!"