O Faithful Father, Hear our Plea.

Another prayer for preachers and congregations. This one was written in 1986 by Lenze L. Bouwers and was translated from Dutch. It is published here with permission. Prayer for the Preaching of the Word b by George vP

A prayer for preachers and congregations.

A Prayer for the Preaching of the Word by George vP This song is based on the prayer of Jan Utenhove, 1557. It is translated from the Dutch "Bedezanng voor de Predikatie, 1773 Oude Berijming."

Ascension Day

(As published in Clarion)

THE ASCENDED LORD GATHERS HIS CHURCH

After Jesus ascended into heaven, the apostles returned to Jerusalem. They gathered in the upper room along with the women, Mary the mother of Jesus, and his brothers. (Acts 1:12-14)

The ascended Lord was gathering his church.

Just six weeks earlier, things had looked bleak. The crowds had abandoned him. Even his closest disciples had fled. Mark records those bitter words when the soldiers seized Jesus: “And they all forsook him and fled.” The Shepherd was left with no sheep. He died alone—a leader without followers.

After his resurrection, he sought out his scattered flock. Two had left for Emmaus. Mary was weeping in the garden. Judas had taken his own life. Ten disciples cowered behind locked doors. Thomas had disappeared, convinced all hope was lost.

But Christ gathered them again. He sent the two back from Emmaus to Jerusalem to report that they had seen him. He sent Mary to tell the disciples that he had arisen. He appeared to the Eleven. Now, in Acts 1, we see the fruit of his labour. His church is together again, gathered in the upper room, united in prayer.

Luke names them. Peter, who had denied his Lord three times, was there. John and James, the sons of Zebedee, who once vied for the best seats in the kingdom, were there. Thomas, who had doubted that Christ had arisen, was now worshipping his Lord and his God. Matthew, the tax collector, had not returned to his old ways of exploiting his people. Simon the Zealot, once part of a violent revolutionary movement, had come to see that Jesus would establish his kingdom not by the sword, but by the power of God. The other five disciples, of whom we know little, were also there.

Then there were “the women”—the wives of the apostles who were married, as well as Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Susanna, and others who had supported Jesus from their own means. Mary, the mother of Jesus, was also there. She, too, had been gathered in—now worshipping her son as her Lord and God.

Even his own brothers, who had once thought him mad, were there—James, Judas, and Simon. They now believed, and all three would become leaders in the church.

And there were more. Verse 15 tells us that soon the number grew to about 120—men, women, and children.

The ascended Lord had gathered his church.

And he is still gathering today. Across the nations, he continues to build, defend, and preserve his people—his church, chosen for everlasting life. And we believe that we are, and forever shall remain, living members of that church.

 

For personal reflection  

1. How does Jesus’ gathering of his scattered disciples after his resurrection encourage you in your own faith journey?
2. Many of those gathered in the upper room had past failures, doubts, or misconceptions about Jesus. How does this challenge the way we view ourselves and others in the church today?
3. The early church was united in prayer as they waited for the coming of the Holy Spirit. How can we foster that same spirit of prayer and unity in our own churches and communities?

 

Envy

11. ENVY

Envy is one of the worst afflictions among us Dutch immigrants in Canada. Sometimes I think you should count yourself lucky if you don’t yet own your own business or farm in Canada. Because once someone achieves their ideals and finds particular success, they become the centre of attention; their name is often on the lips of their fellow immigrant brothers and sisters.

Take, for example, butcher De Kort. It’s only been four years since he arrived in Halifax at Pier 21 as a penniless immigrant, and now he owns a thriving butcher shop. How did that man get so lucky?

People SAY he worked terribly hard for it. Worked himself to the bone from early morning until late at night. And frugal! It was supposedly so bad that his wife couldn’t buy a new dress for the first three years, the children never even had a bottle of Coca-Cola, and the family had so little to eat that his school-aged sons would steal sandwiches from their classmates. They also say De Kort isn’t exactly honest in his business. Someone reportedly saw him under cover of night leading three tough, senile horses to his butcher shop—those old nags surely ended up in his sausages.

If I were a dog or a cat, I’d make sure never to go near De Kort. I’d value my canine or feline life too much. Yes, that De Kort. . . .

But don’t forget baker Dalinga: Three years in Canada and already his own bakery. How is it possible? 

THEY say Dalinga did quite a bit of black market trading during the war and sold many cream cakes to the Jerries, and that he somehow managed to smuggle his ill-gotten gains into Canada. Surely there’s no blessing on that; Dalinga will find out!

They also say he kneads the dough with his bare feet, and when he recently appeared in church limping, THEY claimed he had innjured his big toe on an overly dry raisen. That may be an exaggeration, but still. . . . Watch out for Dalinga! 

And now take Klaas Rietma! He deals in brushes, doormats, and insurance—not exactly a goldmine. Yet his wife wears a heavy fur coat, and last year he bought a fancy luxury Ford. That can’t be on the level. PEOPLE claim he won five hundred dollars through that worldly game called bingo. That’s one way to live large. But who would have expected that from such a seemingly principled brother?

And look at Van Boeyen. Last year he bought a little farm near the city. As immigrants, we all laughed heartily about it at first, because the so-called experts among us said it was a dump and that Van Boeyen was heading straight for disaster. But that disaster still hasn’t shown up, and some spectators are starting to lose their patience. Every Sunday he appears in church looking like a gentleman, and it’s leaked out that he gave an extra hundred dollars to the church at Thanksgiving last year out of gratitude. But there must be something fishy about that money. . . .  

Now take a man like Arie Dof! An immigrant among immigrants! A man who doesn’t stand out, who owns no business or farm, and whose wife lives life without a fur coat. Truly an immigrant who hasn’t outpaced his fellow travellers on the road to success.  

He has a decent bank balance, but that belongs to the hidden things which do not overshadow his radiant simplicity. With passion and fire and Bible in hand, he warns against the grinning monster of materialism. No, Arie doesn’t suffer in the conversations of Dutch Canadians—he is no capitalist like De Kort, Dalinga, Rietma, or Van Boeyen. Arie is a proletariat, and thus his position is secure.  

He is not a money magnate but belongs to the proletariat—but not the communist kind: he is merely a SIMPLE Christian. Let all behold his Simplicity!  

Arie is a wicked and sinful man.  

While he mused on envy, Satan had filled his immigrant heart. 

Please, God, make this man a simple CHRISTIAN.

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Dof, Arie. (1958). “11. Nijver.” (George van Popta, Trans., 2025). In Arie en Katrien in Canada (pp. 47-49). Hamilton, Ontario: Guardian. (Original work published in Calvinist Contact [Christian Courier]). Published with permission. 

LEN BOUMA’S CAR

 

10. LEN BOUMA’S CAR

Len Bouma and I work for the same contractor, which is why I often ride with him to and from work in his car. This arrangement is more for Len’s convenience than my pleasure, because the number of times I’ve had to help push the vehicle when it wouldn’t start is beyond counting.

Len’s car bore the respectable name Dodge and was brand new nine years ago, but by now it's in a state of disrepair. So, Len Bouma decided to buy another car, even though money was tight. His marriage has been blessed with seven children, and he’s the sole breadwinner. On top of that, there’s been quite a bit of illness in the family, which really hits hard in Canada, where one sometimes misses the Dutch health insurance system. Still, a reliable car is a necessity for Len.

One afternoon, we finished work early because it was raining and we couldn’t continue the outdoor jobs. Len told me he wanted to have a look at Uptown Used Car Sales, where Brother De Haan earns his living selling second-hand cars. De Haan was in, and more than willing to provide a quality car at a bargain price. He confided to us that he knew from experience how tough the first years in Canada can be for immigrants, and that one ought to help one’s brothers in the faith as much as possible, right?

“That’s true,” Len agreed cheerfully.

So, De Haan began to show us around the lot, where dozens of cars stared back at us with weary expressions. It was as if their headlights looked at us gloomily, warning us. But Len grew more and more enthusiastic and increasingly deaf to the silent message the cars were sending. After ten minutes, he fell in love with a 1951 Chevrolet that shone like a mirror and looked to be fresh off the factory floor.

With expertise, De Haan made the engine purr, and with equal expertise, Len examined the exhaust pipe. I asked him why he did that, and he answered sagely: “You judge people by what comes out of the front, but cars by what comes out the back. Look, Arie—no blue smoke; so, it doesn’t burn oil.”

It turned out to be an educational afternoon. Len taught me how to stick a penny between the ridges of a tire to check how worn they are. He tapped on the fenders, kicked the bumper, and turned the steering wheel with satisfaction. All these actions seemed to reassure him.

Then De Haan took the floor and gave a polished speech. He said this car was a real bargain and by far the best vehicle he currently had for sale; that a Chevrolet never lets you down, that the engine had been overhauled and the radiator was full of antifreeze. He also claimed that this gem of a car had always driven on good city roads and was only rarely used by the owner—an elderly man who, unfortunately, couldn’t confirm this anymore, having recently passed away at an advanced age. “This car has outlived its master,” De Haan concluded with satisfaction.

Then De Haan turned hesitantly to Len’s old Dodge, which he examined with a look of disdain and a few well-placed knocks. Again, he remarked that immigrants often had it tough, and that we were brothers in the faith. Finally, with a generous sweep of his arm, he offered Len two hundred dollars for the Dodge—even though it wasn’t worth a hundred. Brother Bouma only needed to pay five hundred more to take ownership of the coveted “Chevy.”

1951 Chevrolet

After arranging the payment instalments, the deal was closed. Moments later, we drove off the lot in the gleaming machine. Len sat behind the wheel, proud as a peacock, and praised his new acquisition in lyrical language. The Chevrolet was a fine car, and De Haan a fine fellow.

Poor Len!

He didn’t yet know that within twenty-four hours he’d be in utter despair, because the car would break down—and that he’d learn the hard truth of the old proverb: Not all that glitters is gold.

It happened the next day at 4:45 p.m., in the middle of the city, right in front of a traffic light during peak rush hour.

After a day of hard work, Len was driving home, elated and proud, and I was with him.

Almost—but not quite—silently, the car purred along the pavement.

I thought I heard a little sound, coming from the back, like a wheezy siren with a cold. I cautiously pointed it out to Len. 

“That’s all good, Arie,” Len replied with conviction. “That whistling comes from the rear tires. In Dutch, we call that ‘humming.’”

Then came the stoplight.

The car came to a dignified halt—the brakes worked beautifully. But when the green light winked at us and Len tried to get his pride and joy moving again, all his efforts were in vain. The engine purred, yes, but the back half of the car didn’t cooperate. It was as if some prankster had shoved heavy blocks behind the rear wheels. Len opened the door and looked back indignantly to see who was messing with him—but there was no one. The only discovery he made was that the rear wheels weren’t turning.

A traffic officer blew his whistle in irritation and gestured for us to drive on. A discordant chorus of car horns erupted from the motorists behind us, eager to get home to their wives. One bold driver even risked a head-on collision to pass us on the left and shook his fist menacingly in our direction as he did.

Then the light turned red again.

This scene repeated itself four times with clockwork precision. The line of cars behind us kept growing, the honking became deafening, and poor Len turned redder than the traffic light. He uttered words that had no place in a Christian's mouth while the officer on the corner phoned for backup.

After ten minutes, traffic was rerouted. After fifteen (which felt like years), a large tow truck hauled us away to the nearest garage. There, a grim diagnosis was made: the rear axles were completely worn out. Repairs would take three days and cost about $175—though it might be $200, the mechanic cautiously added.

We took the city bus home, and Len now looked completely miserable.

I tried to comfort him, but what good are words in such desperate situations? Len only looked slightly hopeful when I assured him, with a threatening tone, that I would pay Brother De Haan, the car dealer, a visit that very evening.“ Give him a piece of your mind...” Len said through clenched lips.

Around half past eight that evening, I rang De Haan’s doorbell. He opened the door himself and cheerfully asked whether I’d come to do business.“ Yes,” I said.

I explained Len Bouma’s situation and reproached him for being dishonest when he had said yesterday that Len’s new car was the best one on the lot.

“Stop,” said De Haan. “That was the truth, Arie. The others were in even worse condition than Bouma’s Chevrolet.”

After this honest confession, I had to search for words. But De Haan didn’t have much more to say either when I asked whether he could serve the Lord through his profession. I told him I believed it was possible, but very difficult, to be both a second-hand car dealer and a Christian. That it takes strong character to handle such temptation. I also reminded him of the eighth commandment, where God commands us to promote our neighbour’s welfare whenever we can, and to treat others as we would want to be treated ourselves.

De Haan listened silently. That wasn’t like him. Half an hour later, I went home—unsatisfied.

But the next day, when I met Len on the city bus on the way to work, he told me De Haan had come to visit late the previous night. A contrite and helpful De Haan, who had promised to reverse the whole transaction and, for a fair fee, get Len’s old Dodge roadworthy again.

Yes, Len had been visited by car dealer Adrianus De Haan, who had asked for prayer—for all those men who, in professions like his, face many dangers and temptations.

We will pray for the honesty of  Brother De Haan, and of Arie Dof, and of all people.

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Dof, Arie. (1958). “10. De Auto Van Bouma.” (George van Popta, Trans., 2025). In Arie en Katrien in Canada (pp. 41-46). Hamilton, Ontario: Guardian. (Original work published in Calvinist Contact [Christian Courier]). Published with permission.