Mount Tiger Chapel Begins.

New Years Day 2000 was the beginning of a new century for the world and the start of a brand new adventure for us. It was the opening of the Mount Tiger Chapel.
Mount Tiger is a rural area in Northland New Zealand. The road runs along the ridge of a series of hills. Everywhere has spectacular views of dramatic bush clad land, surrounded by sea or harbour. It is very beautiful.

 The Chapel in contrast was not beautiful. It was a little box-like structure with a gabled roof. The main room was the size of a double garage. There were three tiny rooms opening directly off one side, we called them bedrooms but in reality sleeping closets would have been a better description.

 Each sleeping -closet had a built in bunk bed that stretched from wall to wall. You could step inside the room and clean it satisfactorily by pivoting.
Now most buildings you associate with the word chapel don’t have bunk beds. But then Mount Tiger was not anything like your normal chapel.

 For a start Ian and I personally owned it. We had had ten thousand dollars put aside to update our family vehicle. However, the Lord had a better way to spend it. He directed Ian and Dad to sweat through November and December on the end of a hammer and to haul, with the old van, lumber paid for by the new van fund.

 The chapel’s official title was SHED FOR TRACTOR, and the two large front doors were wide enough to admit one. It also had two large purposes, an outreach once a month (that was all we could cope with), and a weekend cottage for the rest of the month, hence the beds.

On the morning of our first chapel, we spread an old recycled carpet square over the bare concrete floor and placed thirty two plastic chairs on top. The walls were lined with sheet rock but undecorated and the rafters showed plainly above the nonexistent ceiling. There was no running water, no electricity and a bucket-in-an-outhouse type of bathroom.


 Mum had purchased thirty two cheap china cups from The Warehouse (New Zealand Walmart). A large container of drinking water sat on one end of the counter top and a gas camp cooker on the other end in readiness for a cup of tea at the end of the service. Now in case you get the impression this is normal standards for New Zealand, let me hasten to explain it is only a little less radical than doing the same thing in Colorado.


 We had advertised the coming event to the unsaved neighbours months prior to opening day by means of a hunk of plywood hanging from the front wire fence. Mum had painted in bold letters and wobbly brush strokes, our vision for a community chapel.
 We knew every Bob, Bill and Ben, for a radius of two miles and had gathered together many times for birthdays and New Year’s celebrations at Eve and Mike’s home.

There amid the food, booze and fireworks, Mum (who has been a hot gospeller from the age of eleven) would corner a Colleen, Kevin or Ken and inform them they needed to get right with the Lord or they would go to hell.
When the rest of the crowd got wind of it, they would roll their eyes and crack jokes about it, and Harry, (who we had known for thirty years) would bawl out “aw leave him alone Shirley.”
 Then Mum would fix him with her good eye and bawl back,
“you just watch it Harry or I’ll come over and bible bash YOU instead!”

They all loved Mum, They overlooked the religious quirk because they knew she loved them to bits and was such fun. When Mum walked in, the party took off. Without the booze, Mum still swung from the chandeliers.

 Even with such a great rapport we didn’t know if any would come to the new chapel. Mostly farmers or small lifestyle block owners, they eyed Mum’s notice warily at first, worried that we might try to squeeze them for funds. But as the weeks rolled by and the building arose without any hint of a collection bag rotating about the neighbourhood, they relaxed somewhat.

A few even expressed their admiration for our community spirit and thought it might be beneficial for the Jones,  Smiths or Blogs, or even the whole community,(other than themselves of course.)

So there we were New Years Day 2000 as prepared as possible under the circumstances. Invitations had gone out through the neighbourhood.
 Would anyone come?
 A speaker was ready to give his testimony.
 Would anyone come?
 A large jug of water for tea was heating on the camp cooker.
 Would anyone come?
Mum and I tuned our guitars (we both knew an extensive four chords.)
 Would anyone come?
Ten minutes to eleven, would anyone come?
Five minutes to eleven, Would ANYONE come?

Three minutes to eleven, a car, another car, then a couple of heads popped up at the end of the gravel driveway.
 They were COMING!! In ones or twos or small groups they trickled down, thirty Carla, Carl, Kelvin and friends were coming down that long, red, pot holed, driveway. A body to sit on each plastic chair! We rushed out to meet them in excitement and joy, kissing some, hugging some and welcoming all.

In a little unfinished building,
 On the top of a hill,
 In the middle of nowhere,
Run by nobodies,
 Down-under on the bottom of the world,
A home-made church began.