Reflections

Throughout this reflection I will probably refer to my dad as my father, because that's how my parents chose to be addressed – father and mother. In part because when we immigrated from Holland in 1960, they had to come up with a new title, from "vader" and "moeder", so that naturally translated to father and mother. Not mom and dad... way too informal – which gives you a little insight into their character. I remember as a kid so badly wanting to call them mom and dad, the way my friends addressed their parents, but that would never fly. I have to say I took some small satisfaction over these last 4 years while he lived next door in Huronview taking the liberty to call him Martin, and once in a while slipped in the much more informal, Marty. A bit of the rebel in me!

Just one more personal comment about the fact that he lived just 2 km from Fanny and me for the last 4 years of his life. I still clearly remember as a child of about 5 or 6 years old, living in Medicine Hat, Alberta. For as long as I can remember we had a fish tank in the house, and one day, in an emotional outpouring of love for my parents, I announced that I was never going to leave them and that I was going to live 2 houses down from them on 4th street in Medicine Hat, just on the other side of the church, and my whole basement was going to be filled with aquariums. Well, obviously they and we have moved a few times, but we did end up living not 2 houses, but 2 km from each other. And as far as I know, I'm the only sibling with a fish pond outside the house and an aquarium inside! God has a sense of humour!

In this time of reflection, I'm not going to go through a chronological recounting of the  events in his life. You can read that in the memorial card and on the website. But I do want to share something of the character of who God created and shaped him to be, and how, by God's grace, he was able to impact many people. There is also a temptation, in these settings to make a person sound like something of a saint, to make him larger than life. I can hear my mother say, “Nou yonges, dat was oke well an betje overdreven”, “Well boys, that was a bit of an exaggeration.” That is not my intent here. But I do want to lead you in spending some time reflecting on, celebrating, and paying tribute to this person that God in his infinite wisdom and creativity, put on this earth for 96 years.

As we spend time reflecting on father's life, we pray that in doing that we may stay focused on you the Creator, that we will not rob you of the praise and glory that is rightfully yours, and that in all of this, as John 3:30 says, “You will become greater; we will become less.”  To you be all the praise, honour and glory. Amen.

Our dad was a man who by God's grace, accomplished a lot of things and impacted a lot of people, as we will see. But he was also a man who was very aware of the fact that he was deeply flawed, and very much in need of a saviour. The words of vs. 5 of "My God How Wonderful” would fully resonate with him: "No earthly father loves like thee, no mother half so mild, bears and forbears, as you have done, with me, your sinful child."

Who was our Dad? Well, he was a man of deep faith.

One of his grandchildren wrote – “Opa left a legacy of faith. Opa always left me with the impression that he was absolutely, unshakably sure of the things that he believed. You could see it in the way that he spoke about his faith, you could see it in the way that he encouraged other people in their faith. That's something that I hugely admire and that means more to me than I can say - to be able to hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes. I think back to times of worship as a family at family reunions or when he was reading the family psalm and there was no mistaking the fact that he believed it — he believed every word that he was reading with every fibre of his being.“

And that faith never wavered, even in these last years. Not that long ago, during one of our walks around the Huronview property, we stopped at one of the benches and chatted for a while. At some point in the conversation, I asked him in my characteristically subtle way, “Father, are you ready to die? Do you know where you are going?” He sat mulling that over a bit, and then answered, “Absolutely, I wonder sometimes if I am too sure.”

It needs to be said too, that his faith impacted every other area of his life, and more than anything else shaped him to be the person that he was.

Our Dad was a man who loved to preach and teach and pastor.

His skill in and love of preaching was evident to anyone who would hear him, as was his authentic and enduring passion for the Lord. As one grandchild put it, - “He had this ease and comfort up there in the pulpit. You knew, just watching him, that it was where he loved to be.” Someone commented to us the other day, “I always loved his sermons. He seemed both fierce and gentle at the same time.” I think that he could do that because he fully believed the message of his preaching, knew without a doubt that this message was critical for everyone's lives, and yet also knew that all of it was only possible because of the infinite love and grace of Father God.

I think another thing that made his preaching so rich was that there was always this eternal dimension to his preaching. He clearly understood that God has placed eternity in our hearts, that there has to be more to life than what we experience on this earth. Pastor Mark Buchanan calls it – “the things unseen, living in light of forever.” My brother, Carel, wrote, “He often seemed to see beyond this world to the one that is to come - hence his emphasis on Revelation and the rainbow around the throne and so forth.”

Many who knew him describe him with deep admiration for the ways he taught them to think, to learn, to worship, and to grow. He devoted his career to the work of pastoring and preaching. To him, this career was not simply a job, but his calling, and he pursued it with an almost single-minded vigour.

Our Dad was a man of intensity.

One of my siblings, in reflecting on our dad's life, wrote, “There was an intensity about Father, some might say that he was highly opinionated — probably an understatement. That intensity could get him into trouble at times, both within the church and in his family.” I'll say more about that intensity a little bit later.

I do want to take a moment to publicly apologize to Pastors Dirksen, Hoogland, and Dam. Each of you endured many years of intense scrutiny from my Dad, particularly when you were preaching. He did not hide his feelings well. You could clearly see the nods, the frowns, the furrowed brow coming at you from the 3rd row, aisle seat. One of Jeff's friends, and a member of this church, wrote to Jeff, “Sorry for your loss, Jeff. He was a great man and I will always remember looking over to him when I wasn't sure about something said off the pulpit for a nod of assurance or a sign of disapproval.”

Our Dad was a leader.

His presence in a room or in one's life was noticeable - he was one for whom leadership was a natural extension of his own being. In his memoir he wrote, "I have been told that simply being there (in a room) I already exercise leadership." And one of the grandchildren commented, “Opa had this imposing presence and as a child I recall being hyper aware of when Opa was around because he seemed so "big”.

I think his faith, his ability to articulate what he thought and believed, coupled with the intensity that we talked about, created that sense of presence and made him the leader that he was. If something or some thought did not align with his principled way of thinking, he did not shy away from addressing it. In his mind, leadership is not for the faint hearted, is not done through opinion polls, but is based on solid, principled thinking. And even if that thinking did not align with his, he would have thoroughly enjoyed the conversation. He used those leadership gifts within the churches that he served, in being the first administrator of Farel Institute in Quebec City, in multiple events and committees within the Christian Reformed denomination, and on a variety of committees at Hamlet estates and Woodland Towers.

Leadership and pastoring cannot be effective outside of relationships. For him, relationships — whether family, friends, or members of his congregation or community — meant intentional prayer and investment. He was a man of deep reflection, known for his intentionality and intensity in conversation and particularly for his interest more in how a person was doing compared to what they were up to.

That intentionality in conversation and pastoral heart never left him, even during his years at Huronview. There he impacted the lives of so many people, both staff and other residents. The staff often told us about how he would offer to pray for them. I'm not sure he always waited for their response, but he would just launch into a very personal and heartfelt prayer for the staff. They often mentioned being in tears by the time he was done, because they could not remember being prayed for in such a personal way.

And our Dad was a man of deep commitment…

• I've already mentioned his commitment to his Lord,

• and to his work.

• to his wife of 62 years, Ada. Over those 62 years of marriage they are remembered for their devotion, admiration, and deep respect for one another. Martin never ceased to be quite smitten with Ada, with a persistent adoration for who she was and the gift of her presence, and her distinctly different personality than his own. His eyes would sparkle when he would speak of her: his true partner and love of this life.

• to constant learning – that was evident in how much he read. One of his grandchildren commented that, “Opa was a voracious reader”. I love that description. He's remembered for reading Calvinist Contact and the Banner on the beach at Pinery Park during our family vacations. He often had a stack of books on his side table – theological, political, fiction, non fiction, fantasy – Harry Potter (I want to know what my grandchildren are reading). He learned multiple languages, besides his native Dutch.  As a result of all their moving, he added English and French as needed to read, write, converse, and preach in the appropriate local language.

• to working at those areas of his life that needed changing. Again in his memoir he shares that during portions of his life he was a workaholic and someone who struggled with self-esteem and depression. But he modelled growth and vulnerability in these areas of weakness, sharing and reflecting openly in his later years about the ways that he was growing and learning to engage with the world, with his work, and with his family.

And there are so many other areas we could touch on. Martin was a man of words, ideas, and critical thinking. He loved music, politics, science, and had an insatiable sweet tooth (a true “lekkerbek"). One of the grandchildren commented about him putting sugar on spaghetti? It wouldn't surprise me. And much of this was going on while he was a diabetic. During the 5 years that he lived in Woodland Towers, he ate in the dining hall. And he wondered aloud more than once about all these people needing a special diet because of their diabetes! “I don't understand that. I have diabetes and I just eat whatever I want.” He was totally oblivious to how much our mother had been regulating his diet!

In his memoir, my dad wrote this: “The story of my life is the story of the amazing and totally undeserved grace of God. You don’t know me if you do not know my Lord''. To him, his life was a long story of the Lord's faithfulness and his increasing awe and gratitude for this goodness. “It is a blessed thing to walk in the ways of the Lord and to trust Him. God, who has called you, is faithful!”

And to that, I can only say, Amen!

My name is Karen Aukema. I’m a granddaughter, the 22nd of 37. I’m here on behalf of my cousins to share about the man we called Opa. Opa Geleynse.

I was always extremely proud to call Opa my Opa. I was one of the grandchildren lucky enough to live close enough to Stratford that he and Oma would come to our Grandparents’ Days in elementary school. A lot of my classmates knew of Opa because of his role as a pastor. When they saw him come into our school, and come to my desk, they’d usually react with a – Wow – He’s your grandfather? And I would nod and stand a little taller because this well-known, well-regarded, well-spoken man was my Opa.

Opa was the grandparent you could count on to greet you with a bone-crushing, neck-breaking hug. Or as one of my cousins put it, a “hug to end all hugs.” Especially when I was younger and my head didn’t make it above his shoulders, I remember at times coming away from the hug, needing to discreetly bend my glasses back into shape. It was a wonderful experience to be embraced as tightly as that – but it also took your breath away. Literally.

Opa was also the first (and perhaps only) grandparent I knew of who was on email… and Facebook. Since I grew up not too far from Stratford, it wasn’t until I moved away for university that I really experienced Opa over email. I remember being taken a bit aback at the first one I got from him. He was direct! As one of my cousins put it, his emails didn’t need much interpretation because he “certainly wasn’t one to sugar coat a situation.” In his concern for us, he was direct about the opinions he had on the choices we made. I’m not sure I appreciated it at the time – I remember not quite knowing what to make of the opinion he’d shared. But I do remember thinking it was cool to have an Opa who was on email.

Opa was a grandparent who really was attentive to us. Despite the fact that the number of grandchildren continued to grow and grow, he and Oma prayed for us all by name each night. It was not only by email but also in person that Opa was intensely present to us. He would engage in discussions, share his opinions, and raise probing questions. He would ask us not only what we were doing with our lives, but also how we were doing – whether or not we were happy.

As my cousins and I shared our reflections on Opa over the last week, one of the themes that came up was how we had grown to admire him more and more as we ourselves grew up. As adults we came to see and understand more of the nuances and wisdom behind his formality, his direct questions, and his humour. We saw his unshakable faith, and his compassion and insight.

As we, grandchildren, grew up, and our heads reached past his shoulders, the hugs became less neck-breaking (or glasses bending), and more just bone-crushing. And, as we became adults, we grew to admire him as we understood him and interacted with him as adults. But there is one thing that never changed, from childhood until the day he passed away. And one thing that I think was true for us as grandchildren whether we grew up in Ontario and had him visit on Grandparents’ Day, or got to know him primarily by email and at family reunions. That is this: Opa was proud of us, his many, many grandchildren.

Often when I visited, we’d talk about the extended family. What is this cousin up to? Where is that cousin living now? And Opa would shake his head and express awe that what started with just him and Oma when they arrived in Canada in 1960 with 6 kids had become this huge extended family with grandchildren literally all over the world.

As I share on behalf of my cousins today, I wish it wasn’t the one year when travel was so difficult that many of us couldn’t be here. But I should probably respond the way I imagine Opa would have, if he found out that his funeral was able to be livestreamed and attended from all around the world by his grandchildren. “Hey… now that is something.”