George Martzen "georgos"

This week marks the 10th anniversary of our arrival as missionaries in Singapore. I have a framed B&W print next to our front door as a reminder that every transition has its trade-offs. Done by my brother Paul from one of may father's old negatives, the print is of our late Uncle Joe looking over a vineyard to the Kaweah peaks. Ten years ago I entered a different place in a new role full of challenges and blessings. But the transition has not been without emotional pain. It was a significant transition for me, on that day after Christmas, when Chin Cheak, Walter and I boarded the plane at LAX (a very chaotic place in those day because of 9/11). We arrived in Singapore 18 or so hours later on the 28th of December. I had visited Singapore before, but never expected I would be living in that "fine" city. Chin Cheak came to teach at her alma mater, Trinity Theological College; I came in nervous openness to the Spirit. I had already spoken over the phone with Bis

I handed in my music folder the night before the concert, which is to say I wouldn’t be performing with the others in Christmas Eve concert. Too busy. I missed most of the rehearsals, and didn’t have adequate time to practice. The weekend is very busy with church, family and college activities. Two pastoral colleagues already sick this weekend. I need to lighten my load so I also don’t get sick. Nevertheless, I was sad as I listened to the orchestra from the audience position. All the parts working together to create one harmonious sound. It is so fulfilling to be part of a group with that kind of purpose. Each person enters the group to contribute to the whole. Most of the members and guests playing in the Elite Symphoniker Orchestra are already accomplished musicians. They are all lovers of music and of their musical craft. Yet the members of an orchestra are not there to shine on their own. It is a wonderful irony that each person contributes her or his e

I turned 55 this weekend. But what have I done in these 55 years? What is the connection between a skinny, little "tow-headed" boy playing in the mud in his father's vineyard and the United Methodist missionary living and working in Singapore? How is it that a kid who was contented to tend the vineyard and help with the small-town, family photo business ended up on the other side of the world? For the young boy, that central California vineyard seemed like the center of the universe, a playground for the fingers and the imagination. What amazing things can happen when the fingers and the imagination get hold of a clump of mud! Just ask God. But the universe expanded, and so did its center. The family guided me. All the extended family guided. Besides all the things you're supposed to learn in school, I grew into music - singing, piano, flute, the record player. The church graciously guided me along, and slowly started turning me into a leader - an often relucta

Today is one of those days I will laugh about in the future. It was one of those days that verifies Murphy's law - "Anything that can go wrong will go wrong". Yesterday I had to run a few errands after a day with pastor staff at Paya Lebar Chinese Methodist Church, stopping by several community centres to pick up course lists for my wife, and then to an IT shop in Bukit Batok to pick up my son's laptop which I had put in for repair. It was after the latter that I noticed my tails lights - rather my break lights - did not turn off, even with the ignition off. This did not seem to be a major problem to me. If the problem didn't go away by itself, maybe a sensor needs replacing. I arrived home at almost 5:30, knowing I needed to help fix dinner so I could leave for a wake at 7 pm. No time to go to the Shell auto shop. While home, several people called my wife commenting on the break lights. It will be taken care of. Not to worry. Off I went to the wake. The b

Everything has a story. That's what I said at the young adult group this afternoon. I don't think many pastors come playing flute. What does it mean? So I mentioned the story my father told me when I was 7 or 8. He recalled his experiences camping out on the make-shift airfields in North Africa with the 48th Fighter Squadron. At night time he could hear echoing down from the mountains the native flutes. When I heard him tell the story, I could visualize it and here the distant flute melodies, or at least I imagined it. And that's sort of why I play flute. Dad's story. Today I recalled that story with the young adults in a church in Singapore. I wasn't very dramatic. Just so, not like Rudyard Kipling. Just so. I don't think my father told it very dramatically, either. But it did its work. Stories have a life of their own. They have a way of getting inside of you and planting a seed and, before you know it, growing into redwood trees. When I heard my fa

Last year at this time I had just returned to Singapore after an 8-month hiatus in the States, mostly California. After visiting churches that support our mission we moved to Berkeley so I could begin a DMin program. It was an exhilarating experience at the Graduate Theological Union. Great conversations, a marvelous time of updating my knowledge, researching and writing. I loved it. After completely 13 1/2 semester units (out of 18 course work needed before beginning my project) I returned. I thought tentatively to return in a year to finish things off during the January session. But that didn't happen. Reflecting on the value of my time at Berkeley, I see several options: 1) scrap my Singapore plans, go back and finish; 2) enroll with the seminary here (DTh, which is a lot different); 3) Re-enroll in a PhD program; 4) never mind the doctorate idea - be thankful for the exposure and go sip wine under an oak tree. Certainly, there are worse problems in the world. georgos