‘We’ve all been Groningers’

We’re in our corner in Grace Manor dining hall – the Young People from the past. We’re a bit worried about our friend Jan Piersma, the one with “Old-timers” disease. He came to our table this morning and his whole face had sunken in. He sat down beside Douwe, the horse breeder – Frisian horses, that is. Douwe’s Dutch is more Frisian but that’s because he talks to his horses more than to his wife.

Douwe took one look at Jan and said, “How’s it going, young man?” Jan stared at him and then at the rest of us. Then Jan’s wife, Trynie, came running into the dining hall. She had a plastic sandwich bag in her hand, and I could see that inside the bag were Jan’s dentures. Now Douwe says, “Nice cup of coffee, boys,” raising his cup, while Trynie opens the baggie and takes out Jan’s dentures: first the bottom set, then the top. Jan tilts his head back and slides in his teeth. “There, that’s better,” Trynie says, and waves at us as she leaves.

Mary brings us Gemberkoek from the kitchen to go with our coffee. Kees reaches for a slice, looks at Jan, and says, “Well Jan, sink your teeth into it!” We all laugh. That’s a good one.

We call Kees Broekie. That’s because he came from a place in Holland with the funny name Broek Op Lange Dijk, which translates to “Pants On Long Dyke.” We often joke about that, too. “Was that a long or short pants, Kees?” Jan likes to tease. We enjoy our time together. After our first cup of coffee, Kees says, “That went down like a sermon into an elder.” We all laugh again. We’ve heard it before, but it’s still funny.

Then Pete lifts his coffee mug and takes a slow sip before saying, “I have a weighty question for you guys.” He waits just a second or two and continues, “Do your grandchildren still go to the Dutch Store?” He looks around the table. All smiles. Funny question. Maybe we’re relieved he didn’t ask the other question. “I have three grandchildren,” he continues, “and the only Dutch they know is doekie, broekie and snoepie.”

“Yeah,” Jan says, adjusting his dentures, “and hempie.”

More laughter.

Then Douwe shouts, “gezellig! All my grandkids know gezellig.”

We all nod. Yeah, gezellig. We all laugh.

Sometimes we shift from funny to serious in an instant. Pete looks at us, waiting for the laughter to die down. He looks at Bill, the minister, and then back at us.

“Brothers,” he says, and now we know he’s serious, “brothers, you know our Synod met at Calvin University last June. Have you heard what’s been happening since?” Now we all look at Bill.
Bill waits for a long 10 seconds. “The report on Human Sexuality was adopted by the Synod of our denomination,” he says, “and its implementation has been decided.” He reaches for the last piece of Gemberkoek.

“Did you hear the one about the gay guy in Groningen?” Jan Piersma asks. Nobody says anything. He waits a few seconds and then says, “Well, they didn’t hear about it in Groningen either. They don’t talk about that.”

We don’t know if we should laugh, but it’s somewhat funny. So Bill says, “That’s why it’s good we’re talking about it now.”

“So what do you think, Bill?” Kees says. “After all, you’re the minister.”

And this is what I love about Bill. He says he’d rather listen to us, and reminds us to speak respectfully. And that Jan’s joke is funny because it’s true. For too long, we’ve all been Groningers.

The big question

I’m thinking we better have some Frisian jokes soon.

“The big question is this,” Kees says, “and it goes back to our Young People’s days and our Young People Society. Is this a topic for before the break or after the break?” Before the break was a Bible study; after the break was a free topic. He searches our faces. We all stare at him.

“Maybe it’s both,” Pete says. “Before the break, it’s ‘The Bible says. . . ’ and after the break, it’s ‘and we say. . . .’”

We all nod. And then we reflect for a while. No one says anything.

“That’s good, Pete,” Douwe says. “But before the break, who decides what the Bible says? We have no Pope in Grand Rapids.” Now we all laugh. That was a smart remark. “Our churches after the Reformation,” he continues, “have no Pope with in-fall-i-billty. Or is it in-fall-i-bubblety?”

Douwe frowns. “Sounds like something that could pop.”

“Inflate-ability,” Kees says.

That’s what I like about my friends. We joke a lot.

“One thing about the Reformation,” Pete says, “if I remember from catechism and Young People’s, is that we don’t just look at one text or two texts from the Bible and judge the whole thing based on that. We look at the whole Bible.”

We all agree, I think, because no one says anything.

Now Mary brings a new thermos of coffee. She fills our cups.

Kees clears his throat. “You know,” he says, “one of my grandsons is, you know, he has a friend, a male friend. And you know what? I love him in a special way. I –” he looks down at the floor and then back up, “Corrie and I, we’ve told him he’s always welcome in our home.” We are all silent, letting his words sink in, knowing how it’s different if you have children or grandchildren who are gay.

“We need another Moses Van de Berg,” Pete says. Now that joke is as old as Moses himself, so we don’t even laugh anymore. “He talked to God, and God gave him the Ten Commandments.”

“In stone,” Kees says. We all understand, I think, because again, no one says anything for a while.

“We have another Moses,” Jan says while his top denture slides forward a bit – “Jesus.”

“In the flesh,” Broekie adds.

Pete leans back and stretches his legs. “Brothers,” he says, waiting a few moments. “Brothers,” he says again, “what Kees says is so true. We have stone commandments, and they are true and necessary, but then we also have Jesus, a crucified body, broken for us.” He picked up his empty coffee cup, clamped his hands around it, and held it against his heart.

“Whenever we kids fought or my Dad lost his temper, my mother,” he says, “would point at a framed text on our living room wall that said, ‘Waar liefde woont gebied de Heer Zijn Zegen.’” He looks at Bill and asks for an English version. Bill smiles and says, “Where love abides, the Lord commands his blessing.” Then he looks at Broekie and adds, “You and Corrie, you’ve shown that love to your grandson.”

“But what does the Bible really say about it?” Douwe asks. He pushes his chair back, and looks at each of us as he continues, “the Bible clearly teaches. . .” He glances at Bill, then raises his palms and shoulders in a helpless shrug and falls silent.

Bill waits a few seconds before he says, “You’re right, Douwe, there are texts that speak to this and we must examine these, but always within the context of the love and grace that Jesus lived. We’re so easily tempted to resolve conflict by power.” He takes a sip from his coffee mug. Then, as if leaning into his words, he bends towards us and says, “The love of power demands, but the power of love serves.”

We all nod. Douwe raises his eyebrows.

“Thanks, Bill,” Broekie says. Bill reaches for the coffee pot, unscrews the lid, pours himself another cup. Nobody says anything for a moment or two. We’re not laughing. Just sitting together feels good, especially when we don’t have all the answers.

The story continues. . . here is part 2 (of 6) of Allan Romkema’s Stories from Grace Manor: “Why listen when you have all the answers?“