This week we received the news that Marva Dawn had died. 

I felt so sad.  Three memories quickly come into focus. 

the pig route

One was driving along the Pig Route, a back road from Queenstown to Dunedin, with Marva and Myron. It was late on a Saturday afternoon and the light was fading. Marva was reading her Bible in the front seat next to me. I remember. It was a passage from Corinthians. Knowing that Marva was visually impaired, I gently enquired what she was doing. We had been a bit rushed in Arrowtown and she was redeeming the time, memorising the passage from which she was to preach the next morning. Wow. “Do you always commit your text to memory?” ‘Yes, I do”.

The next morning I could see why she did so. It was profound. She performed the passage with a ‘quiet intensity’, as someone recalled on Facebook this week. It transformed the way listeners entered into the sermon, making the familiar introduction-approach appear rather feeble and pathetic.

Marva and Myron, as we remember them in New Zealand from their visits twenty years ago

the wedding ring

Another memory was the drama around Myron losing his wedding ring. Trauma may be a more accurate word! Marva and Myron married later in life. As a result they celebrated monthly anniversaries, rather than annual ones. We had been in the ‘Deep South’ in the heart of winter. At some point, on the return to Auckland, Myron discovered that his wedding ring was no longer on his finger. Never have I searched so hard — and never has the ‘needle in the haystack’ been so true. It was desperate stuff for them both. Their love for each other was so pure. “Just get another one when you get home” didn’t sit so well as an idea. But, sadly, it is exactly what they had to do. Then, some months later, when we engaged again with winter-clothing, we discovered the ring inside a mitten that Myron had worn in the South Island.

the koru

Driving Marva and Myron around New Zealand for seminars and sermons was such a delight. They entered into everything, like children with new toys. They couldn’t learn enough about Māori culture. The birds, the flora & fauna preoccupied them. New Zealanders love it when foreigners are like this and Marva and Myron won their way into many hearts.

One day we were in Rotorua. I took them to a favourite place, driving off the main road, down and down, to Lake Okataina. We remained still at the lakefront, attentive to the crowd of birds in the bush grandstands which surrounded us. Then it was a little walk into the bush to introduce them to a punga with multiple koru, embedded in the trunk, each at a different stage as they unfurl their way to perfection. To me, it is the picture of the purpose of life — to work with people in such a way that it enables the Spirit of God to do this in their lives, unfurling them into Christlikeness. It is so animating. I am an enthusiast, known to gush at the sight of things like this. Well, Marva … goodness me. On that day, at Lake Okataina, my enthusiasm was but a restrained simmer next to Marva, as she bubbled away. She drew near, taking photo after photo of this punga with its koru. I half expected the punga to wilt with embarrassment over all the attention it was receiving.

marva-lys

Marva and Myron became special within our family circle. Just so kind and attentive to each one, at each level. They remember the listening, the laughing and the loving. It was early days in my time as principal at Carey Baptist College and Marva’s encouragement buttressed my spirit, affirming the values I was trying to live. This week, our daughter, Alyssa, went to the ‘search’ function of her gmail to find references to Marva and rediscovered a beautiful note Marva wrote about Barby for Barby’s 50th birthday. It needs a little frame! Actually we often shorten Alyssa’s name to just Lys and have accumulated a photo, or three, of MarvaLys together.

On one occasion, after a family reunion near Seattle, we visited Marva & Myron in their home in Vancouver, Washington, across the river from Portland. They took all of us to the Portland Zoo where we had our own trauma, not with a lost wedding ring, but a lost child when our youngest, Joseph, went missing for a disconcerting period of time. I remember the anxiety etched across Marva’s face…

But it is not just Alyssa who has reached for the ‘search’ function. I did as well. I discovered that it is almost exactly twenty years since I first entered into correspondence with Marva, inviting her to come to New Zealand. I had been a big fan of the Regent College Summer School, drooling over their publicity each year, encouraging numerous pastors to visit for their study-leave — but never able to go myself. So I first ‘met’ Marva in the descriptions of her Summer School courses. I began to read her books. 

There were a number of factors at work behind the invitation extended to Marva and Myron to come, hosted not once, but twice, by Carey Baptist College (in 2002 and 2005).

Her story was a factor

She is just so honest, so authentic — especially with her own story of suffering. Was it seven medical specialists with whom she had regular appointments? And not all the suffering was physical, as she endured various kinds of abuse. And yet she lived life with such joy. Someone like this is so empowering for others. Then there was the fact that she was a scholar who knew her stuff and expressed it with such grace, wisdom and boldness. Plus, as a Lutheran (of which there are very few in New Zealand), she was hard for people to label or to put into a theological camp in order to dismiss her. 

One of the best ways to hear Marva — and I urge you to do this with whatever books you have of hers on your shelf, or in a library nearby — is to read her words on the early Dedication page. They are so good. Here is one example:

This book is dedicated to: Believers who make hard choices, even in the face of doubts; Pastors who find themselves alone in resisting cultural tides; Christian leaders who refrain from using methods of power; Saints who accept their weakness and let God use it; Churches who consistently nourish their neighbours; Prophets who never give up exposing idolatries; Disciples who display the presence of God.

There you have it: Marva Dawn 101.

Our story was a factor

As I did my searching I was reminded that the communication around her visit focused on taking her ‘beyond Bombay’ (the ‘Bombay Hills’ being the geographical feature that separates Auckland from the rest of the country) and ‘beyond Baptist’. These were two big challenges for Carey at the time. Although not mentioned in the marketing, ‘beyond male’ was another factor. Carey had been lagging behind in this area. In the late 1990s, there was only one woman on the Board; only one woman loosely associated with the teaching programme — and no women in the pastoral training programme. Marva was big part of that season of change as she was an aspirational person, for women, especially. Plus, Marva wrote and spoke on issues that were hot in New Zealand, but came at them from another angle. She thickened and deepened discussions around topics like Worship and Spirituality, Ethics and Community. 

The topics for her seminars/course in 2002 were Lying Fallow: the role which sabbath and suffering play in ministry and The Unforced Rhythms of Life: perspectives on spirituality. I’ll never forget walking into Room 1 & 2 on that first day of her first intensive … it was wall-to-wall students, 120 in total, I think. 

As I finished this blog, I see Christianity Today has an Obituary, using this more recent photo.

And let’s not forget Myron. None of Marva’s travelling, including the visits to New Zealand, would have been possible without Myron alongside her. The physical challenge, for starters, would have been too great. His devotion to Marva and his nurture of their life together will remain as an enduring testimony. Thank-you, Myron. I hope you are able to read these words at some stage and be reminded again of the love and admiration which people in New Zealand have for you.

When I heard that Marva had died, I posted something on my Facebook page and invited people to share their memories. There are some beautiful things expressed there, if you have time to take a look. But let me include here the poem which Lois wrote during a course and which she gave to Marva on the final day:

A question…

Yesterday you said you weren’t a dancer... Can I question that please? 

Because dancing (it seems to me) is who you are—a giddying whirl and twirl of words and tones  and glance, a majestic soaring of image upon image; sudden swift side-steps of whimsy, a toss of the head, the grace of gesture, a flick of fun… a fiery stamp of passion, a pirouette of tender recollection; a spirited proclamation, a poignant portrayal of suffering. 

Oh my stars! (to use your own words, hand over month) it’s so very very clear that the eternal lover has beckoned you to dance with him, for he’s made you to be  a consummate dancer—yet, still in the process of becoming… the best is yet to be.

So my question is—is dancing just about feet?

nice chatting

Paul

PS. If Marva Dawn is a new name to you, why not set yourself the goal of reading one of her books as a way to express your gratitude for someone who lived for Jesus so deeply and so extensively.  Her wikipedia page can be your guide. I remember my spirit being so nourished by To Walk and Not Faint, but it was probably Powers, Weakness, and the Tabernacling of God that had the biggest influence on me.