Term in Review: 5 biggest lessons learned

I needed this post.

I had a lot of fun choosing my 5 most entertaining posts for last week's Term in Review, but I needed to work through this week's post. It was medicine for my soul.

Recently, I mentioned my lack of excitement about returning to the States, and as that time has quickly approached, I have found myself running a gamut of emotions. Sometimes it is the dread of returning to the world from which I came and being disappointed with what I find. At other moments it is hurt at leaving a life created here, saying goodbye to friends and people who have now become family.

But sifting through this next portion of my Term in Review, I finally found a little perspective.

It is not just a book

This post comes with an assignment. Before you go any further, you need to read Acts 5:12- 42. This post will make a lot more sense if you do. 


The word of God is powerful.

As a matter of fact, the best words I can use to describe it are the ones it uses to describe itself. Hebrews informs us that, “the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” (Hebrews 4:12)

This is no mere book. A well-written book can inspire people to great (or awful) things. Books have inspired conquest and war. Manifestos have started political movements that took the world by storm. They have changed public opinion and directed the course of societies. But at most, a book can enlighten or inform. It can convince or persuade. However, even the most impressive book cannot know its reader’s thoughts.

Made to worship

People really like quoting John Piper. I am surprised there is not a Facebook game based around the concept. It could be called Piperville.

One quote that gets tossed around a lot in my circles (that is right, even I have circles) is the following, “Missions exists because worship does not.”

Chew on meaty statements like that too long and you may get heartburn. However, if you really think about it, the man makes a good point. Avoid applying Occam’s Razor and splitting theological hairs and listen for the heartbeat of Piper’s statement. The reason we have the great commission in the first place is because humanity is not fulfilling its primary purpose. We have to reach people because people need to be reached. Man’s ultimate end is to testify to the glory of God by worship, obedience and praise. Missions exists because mankind must be brought back to its right purpose. Man’s purpose is worship.

I was reminded of this last Saturday.

The right place at the wrong time

Have you ever noticed how much literary real estate is given to David in the Old Testament? Chapter after chapter sing the praises of this man. He is the obvious main character of both Samuels. His family details are splayed out all over the place like some kind of Semitic soap opera.

For the last couple of weeks, I have been reading through the section of the Old Testament that tells David’s story. In the beginning, it seemed like he could do no wrong. He starts off as a little kid destined to do big things. He kills a lion, and then he kills a giant. He fights battles for the king, and he cannot lose. “Saul has struck down his thousands, and David his ten thousands,” sang the people.

Saul gets jealous and chases David all over the countryside, but he cannot kill him. Saul dies, and David becomes king. He continues to fight and he continues to win. David beats armies he has no business beating, like Syria. He was unstoppable. And after all this, God tells David he will establish a dynasty that will reign for eternity. Through his lineage would come the king of all kings, whose rule would never end. Talk about a pretty sweet life.

But then I got to today’s passage.

Cow training - Part 2

If you are perhaps thinking, “Wait, didn’t he give us the Aha moment from the cow training thing like two days ago?” then you feel the same way I did.

This lesson was a double whammy. Right when I thought this little visual demonstration had provided the extent of its enlightenment, I was blindsided with one more unexpected sucker punch of awesomeness.

This is how it went down:

Cow training - Part 1

I like Aha moments.

Aha moments are those little points in time when the proverbial light bulb goes off and some previously known factoid gains new, deeper meaning. What first existed merely as meaningless trivia sprouts and grows into a three dimensional reality. Needless to say, my two years in Africa have presented me with more than a couple of Aha moments. * Life is lived in such a way here that many points of contact still exist with the biblical culture.

I had one such incident this week.

On endurance

The New Testament writers would have been college football fans. Now, I cannot be certain of this, but I believe my theory holds water. Take into account their writing. Letter after letter is filled with references to teamwork, athleticism, and putting on your armor for battle. It just makes sense. Imagine, Peter and Paul arguing about the BCS over a bowl a cheese dip.

Learning to learn

Have you ever noticed the similarities between a lower case “r” and “s”? Or for that matter, have you considered the fact that an “h” is really just an “n” with a tall back?

Yeah, neither had I, until a couple of weeks ago.

Down the rabbit hole

Do you ever have those moments where, like a line of dominoes, a series of completely unrelated events cascade into a continually shaping idea? (I would call it an epiphany, but that would be just a bit pretentious I suppose.) One strange thought leads to another, and then, a lightbulb goes off and you see the world through different eyes.

Well, I had one of those moments yesterday. But let me start at the beginning:

The best-laid plans...

“The best-laid plans of mice and men, often go awry...”

The phrase is an adaptation of a line from a poem by Robert Burns entitled, To a Mouse. It is an age-old adage, and it is quite true. No matter how hard we try, no matter how careful we plan, things do not always turn out the way we expect them to.

Several months ago, some colleagues and I were traveling to a bordering country to join fellow laborers for a celebration of their ministry. On our way back through a particular town along the border, we decided to stop and pay a visit to an old friend of my colleagues. This friend was a long-time believer and had grown up in the town where we all reside, but she had moved to that country after marrying. Her husband was not a believer, but she had remained in the faith. (Remember marriage works very different in the culture here.)

Our desire was to pay a quick and quiet visit simply for the purpose of greeting and encouragement. However, having no clue where she lived, we began asking around in the town market for anyone who knew this lady. What started as a nice idea to drop in and pay a visit began to gather quite a crowd of on-lookers. You could imagine a carload full of white people pulling up in the middle of the market and trying to find someone caused considerable speculation. It was obvious that some were simply reluctant to let us know where this lady was because they did not know why we wanted to see her. Others were running around trying to find her. Our little plan began to boil over into a fiasco. Eventually, someone from the market had found our friend and we were able to pay our visit, but only after causing a tremendous scene. Needless to say, everyone in town now knew that our friend was in cahoots with the white Christians.

It was not until this past week that we learned the true outcome of all our commotion.

Last week, this friend stopped by our house for a visit. She was staying with family here in town. During her stay she informed us of all the happenings in her life since that last visit. True to speculation, we had called quite a bit of attention to ourselves and in the process our friend. It seems everyone in town wanted to know why the white folk wanted to see her.

So, she told them.

She explained how she knew these white people, and why the white people were here. She told of Jesus and the message of the gospel. She expressed her faith to many people through the process. God gave her a platform in our messed up plans. Further still, she told us of her husband's recent interest in her faith due to our visit. He is now studying and fellowshipping with other believers in their town. He has been attending their church. Please pray for his salvation.

I am reminded of a story from God's Word. It is one most of us learned in Sunday school. (And if you are as old as I am, you probably saw the story play out on flannelgraph.)

Joseph had a bunch of brothers, and he did a pretty good job of making them hate him. Now for certain, I do not know the spirit in which Joseph shared his dreams with his brothers. He may have intended no haughtiness whatsoever, but whatever the case, he managed to offend. His offense was so severe they sought to kill him, and they got pretty close. In a moment of pity, they chose to throw him down a well instead.

From that point forward, Joseph was sold into slavery, sent to Egypt, accused of attempted rape and adultery and thrown in jail for years. My assumption is that none of this was on his ten year plan. Joseph, who, according to his dreams, had plans of success, wound up in quite a few unforeseen circumstances. Yet, in the end God's purpose was met, and Israel was saved under Joseph's leadership. (It is a good story, you should read it sometime: Genesis 37-47)

“The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry...”

As I write this, I write as one whose plans have gone awry. I was supposed to be traveling today. A team of volunteers from my home church was scheduled to arrive for work here. My plans were to once again cross the border into our neighboring country and pick them up for work, but their flights were cancelled. In speaking to members of the team about the mishap, it was blamed on “fog and incompetence.” Thank you Memphis International Airport.

Months of planning and preparation have gone into this work, and it seems as though it may all be for naught. More importantly, the work of discipleship and evangelism that was going to take place seems jeopardized.

“The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry...”

Thankfully, we serve neither mouse nor man.

We serve the one who brings order to the cosmos and the one who spoke it into existence. He is over all and in control of all, and his mighty acts will always go according to plan. Nothing can thwart the purposes of God. All of history has been written by his hand, and it has all gone according to plan. There have been no accidental slip-ups. There was never a surprise to catch him off guard. There is no plan B, because he needs no contingency. Furthermore, it will continue to move forward as God has planned since before the beginning of time, and it will end just as he has already told us, with a multitude from every tribe, tongue and nation surrounding the throne of glory singing praises to the Lamb of God.

Our plans often go awry, but rest in the fact that God's plans do not. And, as always, Father knows best.

Dwelling on the things that are not

Thanksgiving is a peculiar holiday. As with most special days, it seems to be far less about the event we are supposed to remember than the odd traditions that have grown up around it. The pilgrims survived the harsh conditions of settling in the new land and were able to celebrate a bountiful harvest. History (or is it tradition?) tells us they saw a need to give thanks to God for their survival, and did so with a celebration and feast.

Images of a long wooden table out in the middle of the forest full of pumpkin pies, roast turkey, and a can of Ocean Spray cranberry sauce sets the scene. People in tall black hats and funny shoes dance through our heads. We imagine Pilgrims and Indians all holding hands around a campfire singing Kumbayah.

Today, the holiday has morphed into a contest in personal gluttony amongst family members. We dress the dining room table up in the colors of Autumn, set it full of sweet potato casseroles and dressings and crown it with a turkey. At best, there is the initiatory prayer at the beginning of the meal (which is really more like the firing of a pistol than a prayer of thanksgiving) and then off we go. In closing, everyone must name one thing they are “thankful for” before being allowed to leave the table for football games on television.

So goes Thanksgiving.

At the risk of writing yet another one of those snippets that tells people they should be more thankful on Thanksgiving, I would like to share a little about my observance of the holiday here in Africa. Let me assure you, this post will have nothing of inconvenience or doing without niceties on Turkey Day. Quite to the contrary, our little “family” got together for a spread that would put most American households to shame. Dressing (or stuffing as my Yankee friends prefer to call it), green bean casserole, rolls, broccoli, and yes, two big turkeys, to name just a few of the things in our cornucopia this year. Sure, we had to use food coloring to make the African yams look orange, but that is a minor detail. A mountain of mashed potatoes, and six dessert pies later, we sat around sharing with each other about God's provision.

As of yesterday, I have observed the last two Thanksgivings in Africa. Needless to say, my perspective has changed from one year to the next.

Last year, we gathered for the holiday in much the same way. People from all the different outreaches in our country gathered, and we sat down to a spread not unlike the one we had this year. The table was full of good food, and the conversation was a blessing. But at that time, I had only been in the country for a little over a month. My thoughts were still captivated by all the things that were not, by the lack of amenities I had very recently considered necessities to life. I was getting used to a life with no electricity, no luxuries, no English, and no stability.

Now for certain, when I walked into that house and saw the Thanksgiving spread on the table for the first time last year, I was astonished by the fact that we even had these things. It was then that I found out the trouble it took to create a meal this special in Africa. Turkeys are an extremely rare find here, and terribly expensive. There is only one store in the entire country that sells them (if they are ever available), and it is a great distance outside of the capital at a mining base that has western groceries shipped by sea container periodically. So they get bought and stay frozen in the capital (where there is enough periodic electricity to keep things frozen) for the entire year just for this special day. Most of the other dishes are made completely form scratch by things found in the market and keen substitutes when something is not available.

Last year, I was thankful for this rare treat. I was thankful for people who cared enough to prepare it, despite the trouble. I was thankful that God was faithful, and in the midst of all that I felt I was lacking, that he had promised to take care of me. However, even sitting at that table, my thoughts were primarily on what I did not have. I was dwelling on the things that were not.

Yesterday was different.

Same table. Same spread. Same people. Yet it was not the same experience for me. I was not concerned with a lack of anything. Quite to the contrary, my mind stopped dwelling on what I was “lacking” many months ago. Now, my mind was filled with the things that were. It was a list far longer too. This year, I was not only thankful simply for God's promise. I was thankful that he had indeed lived up to it. In the past year, God has provided in abundance. My needs have all been met, and I have a far better understanding of necessities now. Further still are the rich blessings I have discovered in the past year. God has given me new friends and family, and new eyes through which to see the world.

I am not sure if it is just me, or if this is part of the human condition, but it seems a whole lot easier to focus on hardship than blessing, on a lack of luxuries instead of an abundance of necessities. This year, I learned the difference between dwelling on the things that are not and thanking God for the things that are. 

God is indeed faithful. May we be thankful recipients of a faithfulness we do not deserve.

Gifts that differ: What will you be today?

A couple of months ago, I received an email from a writer who prepares missions curriculum for youth. Our organization's leadership put him in contact with me, and he wanted me to answer some interview questions. Oddly enough, none of them were about our work here or anything of that nature. Instead, they were general questions about discipleship. Today, I was reminded of one of these questions.

Nestled in the middle of his list was this request, “Please share a few sentences about spiritual gifts.”

While, I do not remember my exact response, I am certain it was some string of vague phrases that attempted to make me sound like I knew what I was talking about yet never got to the root of the request. At least, that is how I feel about my answer today. Let me tell you why. As I write this, my hands are covered in paint – black, oil based paint. I have scrubbed, but it simply will not come off.

For the last 10 hours or so, I have been painting a sign. Tomorrow is the grand opening of the little library our mission runs for the area students, and it needed a sign. Outside of being voted “Most Artistic” in the sixth grade by my classmates, I really have no artistic training. But I did have two hands, and they were available.

When I signed up for this missionary assignment, I was told I would be a rural evangelist. In my mind, I was to be a church planter, and I had been uniquely gifted by God for the people here. God had equipped me with just the right spiritual gifts to do his work here. My mind conjured up images of hacking through the jungle with a machete and finding people with bones through their nose who were waiting for some spiritual messenger. Let me be the first to tell you, the noses here have no bones through them, and the only thing I hack with a machete is the occasional rice or eggplant field.

It is funny how easily we can misconstrue God's calling and giftedness. Oh how easy it is to romanticize or over-spiritualize the work of God's kingdom. However, we do come by it honest. Some of the earliest Christians struggled with the same issues. Take the believers at Corinth for instance. Paul addresses this very issue when he corrects their understanding of the gifts of the spirit in chapter 12 of his first letter.

Paul is quick to remind them of their dependence upon one another. No single body part can exist apart from its others. That is a truth that can sting in both directions. If you are too proud of your own giftedness, you need understand that it is nothing without the support of others. And if you struggle with feeling needed because you never seem to be the one on stage with a Bible or guitar in hand, then you are probably sitting on gifts that will strengthen everyone around you.

But Paul does not stop there. He says he desires to show them a more excellent way,

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing. (I Corinthians 13:1-3) 

Today, elbow deep in oil based paint, I realized something about spiritual gifts. Here in Africa, I have discovered first hand, that these gifts are not all spiritual words, flashy worship and proper exposition. No, they are far simpler, and far more important. I have had my ability to communicate cut in half. I am handicapped in something that used to come so easily. I can not reach down and share a verse from my English Bible here. It does me no good to come up with anecdotes and illustrations.

Ironically, enough, God has seemingly taken from me the very things I counted as my spiritual gifts, and replaced them. The new ones, are just that, new and unfamiliar. Its like learning to walk again.

Yet, I can cling to Paul's words and realize there is a more excellent way. As I learn to walk again, I can do it in love. Today I am a painter. Yesterday, I was a real estate agent. Tomorrow, I will be an English teacher. While none of these crossed my mind when I first thought of rural evangelism, I thank God that his plan is better than my own. And I thank God, that he can take my two hands, and use them as he sees fit. It has been a joy.

My gifts are not for me. They have been given to me, so that I can share them with others.

On talking to God

In the last year, I have been invited to a whole lot of events. Perhaps in Africa it is good luck to have the goofy looking, white guy at your celebration, or maybe I am unwittingly part of the entertainment. Think of it like having a chimpanzee at your little kid's birthday party. Let us just say, I stick out. Nevertheless, I have been to house raising ceremonies and parties, baby naming celebrations and funerals, and all kind of events in between.

One thing I have noticed at all of these events has stuck with me. There is a whole lot of talking about God but very little talking to God.

The people where I live are a very religious people. They are almost all practicing Muslims and consider their faith of the utmost importance and inseparable from their identity. (A lesson we in the States could stand to learn from them.) Their days are constantly interrupted by momentary pauses to pull out their prayer mats and their vocabulary is filled with spiritual lingo. Rarely a proposition is made without the predicate, “Xa Ala tin,” or “If God accepts.”

Yet, in the midst of all of this religiosity, I see a people who desperately lack life's greatest joy. Their religion has produced an understanding of God that is so transcendent, he is unreachable. Stuck between the frightening reality of a world they cannot control and a God with whom they have no real connection, these people live in the throws of fatalism. The product is a life lived apart from its real purpose, deep communion with our creator.

They are a people living in abject poverty, sickness, and instability; yet, they are a people with no means of crying out to the only one who has authority over all. They are a people with hurts and pains and no voice. Ultimately, they are a people with no real hope.

This is a truth betrayed in their own prayers. As I sit in the corner, a fly on the wall, at countless ceremonies, I hear the ritualism take place. What ensues is a long string of prayers that really are not prayers at all. They all begin with the words, “Ala xa...” or “May God...”

“May God grant you peace,” “May God give you health,” “May God protect you,” they will say. But they will never talk to God. They do not plead with God himself on the behalf of others. They do not cry out to God asking him directly for his help. They simply pray about God.

My heart is broken for these people who have never tasted of life's deepest joy, a relationship with the one, true and living God. In their darkest moments of despair, they have no rock on which to cling. But we have a firm foundation. He is real, and while it was his words that spoke all into existence, he is closer than our next breath. He is our God, and what is more, he is our Father.

We are unworthy of the love our God has for us. Left to our own devices, we are detestable, but we have a redeemer who stands in our place and a God who loves us as his own. When we are hurt, he knows and he cares. When we need him, he is always there. We can have hope everlasting and joy unspeakable, for we are carried by his strong arms. And when life closes in all around us, we can rest in our power to cry out, “Our Father in heaven,” and know that he will be there.

Oh God, help us to not take this for granted.

       Muxu Baba naxan na ariyanna, 

       duniɲa birin xa i xili sεniyεnxi kolon. 

       I xa mangεya xa fa. I sago xa raba duniɲa ma, 

       alᴐ a rabama ariyanna ki naxε. 

       Baloe fi muxu ma to lᴐxᴐε, muxu hayi na naxan ma. 

       Diɲε muxu xa yunubi ma, 

       alᴐ muxu fan diɲεxi mixie haakε ma ki naxε, 

       naxee bara fe kobi niya muxu ra. 

       I naxa muxu ti maratantanyi kira xᴐn, 

       i xa muxu ratanga Sentanε ma. 

       I tan nan gbe na mangεya, sεnbε, 

       nun binyε, ra abadan. Amina. 

       (Matthew 6:9-13, The Lord's Prayer)

The art of disliking

If books series like Harry Potter or Twilight have revealed anything, I believe it is the existence of the author crush. We all have that friend who has fallen so madly in love with the writings of a particular author that, no matter how the ink spills out of said author's pen, they will lap it up and enjoy it. You know who I am talking about, it is the same friend that usually inserts the phrase, “oh, like when Voldemort...” into your conversations. Or that person who talks like they are “bff” with that shirtless, vampire guy from Twilight. They are the ones who already have their Halloween costume picked out by the end of spring, and may actually wear it around the house when no one is looking.

I pick on people with a crush on J.K. Rowling, knowing very well that I have an author crush myself. It all started the year I graduated from college, the first time. I was never a very big reader growing up, choosing instead to spend my time finding ways to get dirty or grounded. Ironically enough, very shortly after I was no longer required to read, I picked up what I would consider my very first pleasure read. It was love at first sight. The book was a children's book, called The Magician's Nephew. It was the first of the famous Narnia series by C.S. Lewis.

In the Narnia books, Lewis creates a playground for the mind. Better still, he takes hold of the imagination and uses it to teach profound lessons about humanity and the nature of God. (If you want a great example, read this recent post on the topic by a friend of mine.)

Needless to say, my love affair with his writing started there, and it has grown into much more than an infatuation. Not only was Lewis an excellent wordsmith, he possessed an acute perception of the human condition. It was standard issue for Lewis to take some simple aspect of life, one the rest of us merely take as fact, and point out a reality that is quite contrary.

I received one such smack in the face during my most recent Lewis read.

Not too long ago, I discovered one of my colleagues in country was the possessor of Lewis's rarely spoken of Space Trilogy. I immediately asked to borrow it, and upon finishing the series, my view of life was challenged.

Let me share.

The following quote is a passage from the final book in the series, That Hideous Strength:

     “Don't you like a rather foggy day in a wood in autumn? You'll find we shall be perfectly warm sitting in the car.” 

     Jane said she'd never heard of anyone liking fogs before but she didn't mind trying. All three got in. 

     “That's why Camilla and I got married,” said Denniston as they drove off. “We both like Weather. Not this or that kind of weather, but just Weather. It's a useful taste if one lives in England.” 

     “How ever did you learn to do that, Mr Denniston?” said Jane. “I don't think I should ever learn to like rain or snow.” 

     “It's the other way round,” said Denniston. “Everyone begins as a child liking Weather. You learn the art of disliking it as you grow up. Haven't you ever noticed it on a snowy day? The grown-ups are all going about with long faces, but look at the children – and the dogs? They know what snow's made for.” 

     “I'm sure I hated wet days as a child,” said Jane. 

     “That's because the grown-ups kept you in,” said Camilla. “Any child loves rain if it's allowed to go out and paddle about in it.” 

~ C.S. Lewis, in That Hideous Strength (emphasis added) 

When I was a little kid, I can remember liking school. Honestly, I liked everything about it. My friends were all there and I got to see them everyday, but what was really exciting about it was the classroom. I know that sounds crazy, but I liked learning. As a kid, the world was this new strange place and it was fascinating. Things that are now so commonplace as to not stir up any emotion were once new and exciting. My earliest memories of school are filled with the joy of new discovery.

But somewhere along the way that all changed. I distinctly remember not liking school by the fifth grade. I remember talking about summer as though it was this long-off paradise. I do not know why; I have already posted about what my summers were like. This was the phase where it became cool to make fun of my teachers and talk about how stupid our homework was.

What happened? How did my mind change so much? School had not changed in those four or five years. I had.

In reality, I had learned what Lewis called “the art of disliking.” Something had become more important to me than new discovery. It was acceptance. It was fitting in with all the people around me who had made me think I was “supposed” to not like being there. They were wrong, and I was wrong to listen. I took a gift from God, namely joy in his creation and the uniqueness of it, and threw it away for a shot at being like everyone else. I will never know the full extent of what has been robbed from me by this decision. The extra things I would have learned and the joy that would have come are lost forever.

Lewis is right, and I am willing to bet most of us are guilty of the art of disliking. Since running across this little passage, I have found myself going back through and evaluating the things I dislike. Some things I truly dislike, most of them ungodly in nature such as sin, sickness, hurt, and pain. But there are many more that I have taught myself not to like. By this, I am reminded of God's Word.

In his letter to the Philippians, Paul asserts that he is not writing out of need for anything. He tells them instead that he has learned to be content in all situations (Phil 4:10-13). By the way, he wrote those words sitting in a jail cell. 

Have you gotten good at the art of disliking? What have you learned to dislike?

Comment below...

Piles of rocks

I am on vacation. Some friends of mine and I got this ridiculous idea a year ago to galavant across Turkey (ancient Asia Minor) and see as much of the New Testament as possible. Last week, this idea became a reality.

In the last 10 days, I have walked the streets of Ephesus and climbed the acropolis of Pergamum. I have wandered through Lycian tombs and sat in giant Roman amphitheaters. I have walked as close in Paul's footsteps as is humanly possible today.

I am still not sure what my purpose in doing all of this was in the beginning. Did I feel it would somehow make me more spiritual? Perhaps I thought it would be some form of pilgrimage that would connect me with our ancient fathers of the faith, even though we evangelicals do not really do that sort of stuff. Maybe it was because I am a nerd, and these are the nerdy things I do for kicks and giggles. Whatever my original purpose may have been, it is now lost to me.

There is no way to describe this journey. I have a bunch of pictures to prove I was here, but they will no more recreate the experience than staring at an advertisement for a steak will fill you up. Nevertheless, I felt the need to share my thoughts from one particular endeavor this past week.

Laodicea was a big city in its day. It was a major center of trade in textiles during its height and was a rich city. A great hill overlooked the surrounding valleys capped with temples, baths, civic buildings, and a grand agora full of shops. This city had two separate amphitheaters, one facing east and one facing west, so that events could be held in the morning and the evening. The city centered on a grand pillared avenue that ran straight through the heart of the buildings. Two rows of columns rose on both sides of the street.

If you are not familiar with Laodicea, it is the final of seven churches addressed in the Apocalypse of John. The book of Revelation was most likely penned toward the end of the first century AD, when this particular town was at its greatest chapter in history. Indeed, Jesus himself had John write down his advice to the community of believers that lived in this city.

This is what Jesus had to say to the church at Laodicea,

I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were either cold or hot! So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth. For you say, I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing, not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined by fire, so that you may be rich, and white garments so that you may clothe yourself and the shame of your nakedness may not be seen, and salve to anoint your eyes, so that you may see. Those whom I love, I reprove and discipline, so be zealous and repent. Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me. The one who conquers, I will grant him to sit with me on my throne, as I also conquered and sat down with my Father on his throne. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.

Today, Laodicea exists not as a great center of culture and enterprise but as a field in the middle of nowhere. All of its glory has been reduced to piles of rocks, crumbled and sticking out of the ground. The great buildings and amphitheaters that showcased their wealth and importance have long since sank into the dirt. Instead of inspiring awe for the works of its inhabitants, it exists as a skeleton of a former achievement. All that is left are the bones of a once great society.

I have no idea if the people to whom Jesus' words were addressed heeded his warning. We must keep in mind that the recipients were the believers in the city and not the city itself. Jesus was not passing some condemnation on to that city; however, he was providing those who called themselves Christians a poignant word of caution.

Like lukewarm water, neither refreshing or relaxing, they had become useless. Furthermore, they had become self-reliant. Jesus accuses them of thinking they were rich. Whether this was a reference to actual monetary wealth or some form of self aggrandizement or false piety, they had decided they were well off.

And, as anyone who buys into this lie would do, their trust turned inward. If they were rich in money or morals, why did they need Christ? Self-reliance always replaces dependence.

But Jesus knows their works. They think they are clothed in royal robes, yet they are poor and naked. They think they see clearly, but they are blinded to reality. They swallowed a lie and looked pathetic in the sight of God. And despite all of this, Christ shows mercy by providing them a way out of the despicable sin of pride. Buy my gold, which is the purest of all; and buy my clothes, which are the whitest of all; and buy my salve, so that you will see as I see. These were the words of Christ.

Sitting in the remains of the Laodicean amphitheater, reading these words, God reminded me they were not just words to a group of believers in the first century. They were written to me as well.

Whatever riches the church at Laodicea had used to replace their dependence on God, they are gone now. It was a kingdom made of stone, and no kingdom made of stone is eternal. May we not fall into the same trap.

What are we trusting in? In 2000 years, will it still be there? If not, Christ stands at the door knocking for all who will let him in, and he brings with him victory.

Lessons from the little kids

Africa has a bunch of kids, and I think about half of them follow me around on a regular basis. I am actually beginning to wonder if it is one of their chores.

In all honesty, over half of the population in my country is under the age of 25, and it seems that there are at least 20 little kids for every adult. Kids are everywhere. 

I have written before about the methods used in raising livestock in this part of Africa, and the methods used for children appear to be strikingly similar. However, the end results are quite different. Even if the children here are “free ranged,” so to speak, they have taught me many things over the past nine months.

For some odd reason, I thought you might want to here a few of these lessons. So, I compiled a list.

It is okay to be naked 

This one is self-explanatory.

Snot is supposed to adorn your upper lip 

and the children here proudly display theirs almost everyday.

Hair stands up better if its dirty

So why do we take the time to wash it?

Shoes get in the way 

They are obviously devices invented to confine your toes and keep you from being able to use your feet as God intended.

Bathing is a form of torture 

Kids are washed the same way as clothes... in a wash basin and scrubbed with soap. The only difference... they use a hard scrub brush on the kids. They just beat the clothes against a rock.

If I can hide my face, the rest of me disappears 
This fact comes in handy when playing games or hiding from angry adults.

White people are fun to pet
Apparently, they think we are hairy.

Tiny tomato paste cans make good toys
I might as well have given them a $100. As a matter of fact, you can't fill up a Franklin with dirt and rocks and drag it around on a string.

It is okay to use the bathroom there 
or there, or here, or anywhere really 

It is easy to find things to celebrate 
As of late, electricity rarely comes to the little town that serves as our "headquarters," but we always know when it arrives because the loud cheers of children in the streets always follows it. Every time I drive my car out into the bush to stay at my little place in the village I am greeted by a parade of cheering kids, for no other reason than the fact that I came.

Look after those who are not able
The bigger ones take care of the little ones. They feed them and they dress them (when they are not participating in lesson one). They calm them when they are hurt and they teach them how to live. 

Time is a valuable gift, when you have nothing else

and they do not have anything else, but they make the absolute most of the one thing they do have.

There is a lot to be said for wisdom. It has been the boon of those who possessed it and the ruin of those who did not. Whole books of the Bible are dedicated to instructing people in its ways. It is truly a possession to be sought. 

Sometimes, we find it in the strangest places.

Some thoughts on independence

I will return to my posts on Bible study tomorrow. However, I felt compelled to take a brief hiatus and discuss my reflections on the day.

Traditionally, I have thought very little of this holiday, choosing instead to focus on the day off work, the grilled goodies, and the ensuing fireworks show to cap off the evening. Yet this year, I find myself celebrating our country's independence on a foreign country's soil. More significantly, this particular country is in the middle of a battle for its own independence. Not from some oppressive imperial power (they loosed those chains over 50 years ago), but from themselves. Less than a week ago, the citizens of this country voted in the first free, democratic election of their history.  May God grant them a new era of liberty from oppression.

Needless to say, my location has forced a fresh look at independence, particularly today. I must admit I really miss being in the States on a day like this. Not only is it the Fourth of July, it is also Sunday, which means churches all across america will be celebrating this day as they gather.  I have always been a critic of the "God and Country" Sunday services we have in the States, and for the most part retain my opinion.

Let me make my position clear before I risk offending the sensibilities of the more patriotic of my readers. I love our country, even more now than I did when I resided there. However, I feel we must never make the mistake of worshipping anything other than God almighty. Too often, the Fourth of July (and Memorial Day for that matter) veer scarily close to praising our country, instead of the God of our country. We are, I am afraid, often guilty of worshipping our forefathers instead of our Heavenly Father on these special occasions.

That being said, today must be a day of thanksgiving. It is a day set aside to celebrate one of the most significant events in history. It was certainly by God's all-knowing providence and almighty hand that the United States earned its independence. Without a doubt, the United States is a player in God's history, a history he has been unfolding ever since "In the beginning..." We must not lose sight of our blessings as a free nation, a people who have civil rights unprecedented in human history. It is truly a "government of the people, by the people and for the people," and despite our predisposition to chastise and criticize it as ineffective and broken, it works. If you feel otherwise, come live in my shoes for a month.

Today is a day to thank those who have labored to create such a great land, but more importantly it is a day to thank the one who made land and sea. It is a day to praise God for the blessings of a free society, a gift not a promise. I have a blue passport. I was born an American, and that is not of my own doing. Just as God designed the political boundaries of the globe, he decided under which flag I would be born. Those of you who share in this blessing, consider well your stewardship of such a valuable gift.

I do not know the ways of God. They are far higher than the ways of man. I cannot speak to why we have been given this gift when others do not possess it. Why do we have a voice as others, under the darkness of oppression, cry out to deaf ears? Please do not make the mistake of assuming it is God's judgement on an unbelieving world. Please do not pat yourself on the back as though you have earned God's favor. I do know that God is just and that those who suffer the pains of oppression in this world have the offer of eternal freedom and life through Christ. I also know that he has called us (not Americans, but Christians... please do not confuse these terms) to take the news of that promise to an unbelieving world. For some of us, that means we will not see fireworks tonight. However, that is a very small price to pay to see God's vision that people from every tribe, tongue and nation will one day be free from the oppression of sin.

So, eat a hot dog for me, enjoy the fireworks, and please please do not take lightly the gift of independence, or your stewardship of that precious gift.

I'll take the cheap seats

One of the neatest aspects of my time here in Africa is watching the Bible come to life. The culture and way of life here is far removed from the western world and often touches the biblical world in ways we never witness in the States. For instance, I never felt the full impact of the words of God when he called Israel a “stiff-necked people” for turning to worship a golden calf until I witnessed my neighbor here plowing his field with an ox. How stubborn that animal was! It would stiffen its neck and not allow him to direct it as he turned around the field.

Another such example came today. I was given the opportunity to attend a baby naming ceremony. The process of naming a new child is done in a very different manner here. Instead of having a name picked out in advance (or possibly one for a boy and one for a girl) and this issue settled before the baby is even born, the people here will wait an entire week to give their newborn a name. A party will be held to announce the baby's birth and its name to the world. In many instances, the mother may not even know the name of the child before this moment as the father has the right to choose the child's name. Family, friends and prominent people from the village or community will be invited to the festivities, so a lot of chairs are needed.

By the time we arrived at the celebration, many people had already made their way to the home and quite a crowd was gathered. I was ushered in and directed toward some of the last remaining seats. Soon enough, the yard was full and the hosts were scrambling to produce more chairs, which continued to depreciate in quality until small stools were being pulled out of the house. Then the shuffle began.

I watched as some guests were asked to give their seat up, and as new guests were seated in the remaining chairs. During this fiasco, a small crowd of women produced themselves in a particularly showy fashion. Each was dressed in elaborate, traditional dress and it was obvious that this group had a high opinion of their net worth to this event. Upon seeing that the seating had been taken, these ladies began to complain as they were lead to a group of seats they deemed unworthy of their rear ends.

I was taken back as I watched a biblical parable unfold right before me. Luke in his gospel reminds us of Jesus's words on this issue.

Now he told a parable to those who were invited, when he noticed how they chose the places of honor, saying to them, “When you are invited by someone to a wedding feast, do not sit down in a place of honor, lest someone more distinguished than you be invited by him, and he who invited you both will come and say to you, ‘Give your place to this person,’ and then you will begin with shame to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit in the lowest place, so that when your host comes he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher.’ Then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at table with you. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.” (Luke 14:7-11)

What a privilege it was to see this play out in real life. As these women began to protest the offense made against their honor, it became evident they viewed themselves in a much higher fashion than reality would exhibit. I watched on as a deep spiritual truth was laid out in the light of day by a group of egotistical African women.

God's Word calls those of us who profess Christ and his kingdom to a much different way of life. Instead of proving our prominence and asserting our place in front, we are called to the end of the line. We are to place others before ourselves, as Christ placed us before himself. If we are ever to make a difference in this world for the Kingdom of God, we will certainly not do it from the front of the line. Oh, that we as Christians would take joy in the cheap seats.

On Polygamy

I had an interesting conversation the other day with some of the old men in my village. As I have been learning the language, much of my time has been spent in conversation with different people. The best way to learn a language is to try and speak it. During my time in the village, I have slowly developed relationships with people and these conversations have evolved from me simply asking questions about their lifestyle to them being curious about our lifestyle in the States. This particular day we were talking about family.

In the Islamic culture here, it is completely acceptable and commonplace to take up to four wives. Most of the men in my village, by the time they are middle aged, will have at least two wives, if not three or four. This obviously creates large families with many children. Several of the men in my village have over 20 kids running around their hut.

During this conversation, the men began to quiz me about my own family. They were terribly perplexed when I told them I was an only child. They asked me about my brothers and sisters and I told them I had none. Then they asked me how many wives my father had. I told them one. They were even more astonished that a man, whose wife had only given him one kid, would not remarry with the chance of having more children. They immediately asked how old my father was and upon learning that he was in his 50s could not imagine why a man so old had never taken another wife. Why was he content with only one kid?

At this, I made an attempt to explain some of the cultural difference. I told how people only take one wife in the States and that families are much smaller there. I explained that the average family may only have two of three kids. To my dismay, I had apparently painted myself into a corner with my discussion. I was then asked if I thought it wrong to marry more than one wife. I had not anticipated this question and struggled momentarily with how to respond. I did not want to offend my hosts, and yet I did not want to betray my personal convictions on the issue. I look back and wonder if I handled the situation right. My response was to inform them that America had laws against marrying more than one wife. So, I pushed it off on the government.

Now many of you may wonder why I did not simply use the bible as my support for denouncing polygamy, but upon a harder look, I do not find a sufficient scripture to ban it outright. Scripture clearly teaches that church leadership should only have one wife. But I have yet to find any biblical author who completely prohibits the practice for all of the Christian community. In addition, I find no scripture telling the new Christians Paul was evangelizing and discipling to get rid of all but one of their wives. (Many people in Paul's day were also polygamists.) Now certainly, I feel the bible would profess monogamy as the ideal practice. One can look at the metaphor of Christ and his bride that marriage displays and see that it is not Christ and his bride(s). God created one man and one woman in the beginning and certainly we can see the pattern that God established in that. However, the outright confession that “polygamy is a sin” is another matter all together, but I digress.

My response seemed to appease the senses of these villagers, but it brought about a conversation amongst them that seared me to the core. In talking to themselves about the vast cultural divide on marriage, their commentary of our culture laid bare a reality that most Americans never see. “It is no different in America,” they said. “Men take many wives there too, but here, we do not get rid of our old ones in order to get a new one. We continue to provide for the wives we take.”

How easily we scoff the backward polygamists for the barbaric practice of multiple wives, when in reality our culture has its own way of doing the same thing. In America, slightly more than half of all marriages end in divorce. We all know the situations and scenarios far too well. Most of us have felt the sting of divorce in some capacity as it has ripped through our own families. We may not be polygamists in America, but we have gotten real good at serial monogomy. What kind of hypocrisy is it when we as Christians in the west stand back and cry out against the sin of polygamy and stay silent about the monster of divorce in our own communities? Truly, divorce is a sin, and one about which the bible has plenty to say, unlike polygamy.

 “It was also said, ‘Whoever divorces his wife, let him give her a certificate of divorce.’  But I say to you that everyone who divorces his wife, except on the ground of sexual immorality, makes her commit adultery. And whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.  (Jesus, Matt. 5:31-32, emphasis added)

I thank God that he used this conversation with three old men in Africa to show me truths about my own worldview.

Sheep

I had a quick thought to leave you with before I head back out to the village for a week.

An exegetical fallacy that is commonly made today is overextending a metaphor or broadening the semantic range of a word too far to include more meanings than it is given by its original context. In other words, loading a word or metaphor with more meaning than the author intended it to have, because by overloading it, you can use it to make your own points. Many well intended preachers and teachers are guilty of this, and I may be committing the same crime in the following. Nevertheless, I have made some interesting observations of sheep during my time in Africa so far.

Scripture commonly refers to Christians as sheep. In the States, I think the significance of this comparison is often missed, if not completely lost. I am no longer convinced it is intended in any way as a compliment. I have found sheep to be the least intelligent of any domesticated animal I have ever seen. Livestock free range in this part of Africa, and when I say free range, I use the term loosely. What I really mean is people let their animals freely roam all over the place without any restraint. Due to this approach to raising livestock, it is a common occurrence to see goats, chickens, cattle, and sheep in the middle of the road. While goats, cattle and chickens have the common sense to run out of the road at the sight of an oncoming vehicle, sheep do not appear to be blessed with this foresight. Instead, they will stay put in the middle of the road, or worse, run from the side of the road out into the middle as if trying to get hit.

In addition to their lack of intelligence, sheep also seem to be completely incapable of taking care of themselves. Again, consider the conditions in which the livestock are provided for (or not provided for) here. When they are born, sheep are some of the cutest little things I have ever laid eyes on. Most are pure white with a soft coat of fur. But within weeks they become the most unpresentable of creatures. The white fur quickly gets filthy and the sheep seem to have no concern (unlike most of the other animals) with keeping themselves clean. Within a month, sheep typically turn this grotesque shade of brown and are covered with all kinds of substances I will not list on my blog. They are pitiful looking, aimless creatures that wander around all day barely keeping themselves alive.

Now contrast this with the "Precious Moments" image of a cuddly little sheep with some Bible verse comparing Christians to the cute little animal in the picture. I think this may say something more about how we view ourselves as Christians than how God intended on this metaphor to be used. Is it possible that we have misapplied this idea in our heads and made ourselves out to be pure, innocent (howbeit sometimes slightly misguided) people who are just too cute to be bad?

Instead, after observing sheep for the last several months, I am convinced of a new reality. We are an aimless group who, without the daily guidance and protection provided by the Great Shepherd, would have no means of taking care of ourselves. We would be in a ditch, needing a way out. We are helpless, but we serve a God who is able.

I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep... I know my own and my own know me. (John10:11-14)