Stuff

Coming back to the U.S. from most anywhere else in the world can be a bit disorienting. I don’t mean that to be either good or bad—I’m simply stating the fact that it is. I’ve traveled a significant amount in Central America, particularly to connect with our friends in El Salvador, and in recent years through several locations in Europe and now Africa. Everywhere that I’ve been has had its own set of positives and negatives, but the largest negative for me is always that Amanda and the kids aren’t able to be there with me, so as each trip is wrapping up, I’m quite ready to be heading home.

Upon arrival, the chorus of comments always begins. The comments could be brought on by most anything—a description of a person or event, a photograph, a souvenir, or sometimes just the simple mention of the country name. They are most often stated in question form, although the questioner most always understands the question to be a rhetorical one:

“Doesn’t being there make you thankful to live in the United States?”

I never know quite how to answer. I think that’s likely because I don’t know exactly what’s meant by the question itself. Is the questioner asking whether I’m thankful to be in a place where the vast majority of people put trash in actual trash receptacles? Call me shallow, but I am. Are they asking whether I’m thankful to live somewhere that law is enforced and rights, for the most part at least, are upheld? I certainly am. Are they asking about living in a country where people, regardless of background or socio-economic status, can realistically dream of making an impact on the world around them? It’s an incredible blessing. Are they wondering whether I’m thankful to live in a place where my Evangelical Christian faith can co-exist with my Roman Catholic neighbors to the left, my Buddhist neighbors to the right, my Muslim neighbors across the street, and my Mormon neighbors across the next street? Are they asking whether I’m thankful that they can share their faith with me, just as I can with them, and we have no fear of violent response or governmental intervention? For these things and more, I am indeed truly thankful.

However, although I’d love to give the benefit of the doubt, I’m not sure that’s what most mean by their question. The other side of the question makes for a more difficult response. Am I thankful for the luxuries that can be ours for the right price, and the massive debt that most carry in order to accommodate them? Am I thankful for having so much more than I could possibly need in every area that I can think of, while others around the world struggle to simply have the basics? Am I thankful for a country full of high-level, white collar executives and professionals who either choose to or are asked to work so many hours that both their families and their health are stretched to the limit, if they haven’t already broken? Am I thankful for discount stores full of cheap products at incredible prices, often produced through questionable practices, which encourage me to get more of what I already have and still don’t need? Am I thankful for a plethora of recreational activities that fill our schedules so that nearly every spare moment is planned and the running never stops? Those questions, and others like them, are much more difficult to answer. There are great blessings embedded in each of these statements, and I don’t want to reject the positive aspects of them. But as Derek Webb wondered aloud on his album Stockholm Syndrome: “It seems it’s never quite worth what you give up to get it.”

This is a great country, full of beauty both externally and within its people. We are blessed beyond measure, and beyond our ability to comprehend and respond to in appropriate thankfulness. However, unless we take great care, our worship zips right past the Blessor to the blessings themselves, which according to Paul in Romans 1, is the very definition of idolatry. Even when our stuff remains in its proper place—when we recognize it for the “stuff” that it is—it still has an incredible ability to distract. In much of the world, the lives of those who follow Jesus are simple, and His joy exudes from them. For us, our faith may be simple, but our lives are so complex that our simple faith is rarely seen—not by us, and certainly not by the world around us.

So I’m a bit disoriented. I’ve returned to my home and my office and my life, and they are all filled with stuff. Good stuff, at least for the most part. Necessary stuff, most from our culture would say. And I don’t despise that stuff, or wish it away—I truly don’t. I seek to be thankful for all that I have, and to steward it well. But I can’t help but think of my brothers and sisters around the world who live much more simply, and on the surface at least, often much more joyfully and with greater generosity. I can’t help but think of the One I call Lord—the homeless carpenter turned preacher, who couldn’t have owned more than He could carry. And then I wonder where the line is.

I don’t know the answer. Which makes me even more thankful that I know the Answer.

Bright Shiny Objects

Shiny steel. Cleanliness. Order. Predictability. A little friendliness and basic courtesy. These are small things. However, they seem to be all I need to feel secure. The reality is that my citizenship gains me no more rights in Frankfurt, Germany than it does in Libreville, Gabon. But my heart, my spirit, my senses... they all respond as though there's a different reality.

Citizenship itself is still but a shallow and temporary security. Real security is found in another citizenship; not of the republic indivisible, but of the Kingdom invisible. I am never without this security, always completely held tight as the guarded and treasured property of the One and only Almighty. Yet, my heart rejoices in a cheap substitute. Just being honest.

Shiny steel. Cleanliness. Order. Predictability. A little friendliness and basic courtesy. Is that really all I need? Or is there something more?

"He is no fool who gives up what he cannot keep
in order to gain what he cannot lose."
Jim Elliott

Reunited and It Feels So Good...

It was almost two weeks ago that a team of eight of us gathered at the York Alliance Church Fellowship Hall to weigh luggage and make final preparations. "Team Simms" (Dan and Nathan) headed to Dulles, while the remaining six of us took off for Newark. We arrived about a day apart in Libreville, and the roller coaster began. We've experienced: displays of deep joy, heroism, the sovereignty of God, steps of faith, unusual bravery, the reality of the church, real worship, rest, celebration, and today, the renewal of community.

Steve left as the rest of us were getting out of bed, in order to make the 90 minute flight to Bongolo to retrieve our team. The rest of us had breakfast and caught up on some details as we waited. Dan was a bit sick, so he moved in and out of bed through the morning, trying to get enough strength to push through the day. Around 1:00pm or so, we heard the familiar pair of double beeps from the horn of the truck, and we quickly went out to greet the returning dental team!

If you've never taken a short-term mission trip, something happens within the team during the time spent together. In their recent book "The Faith of Leap," Michael Frost and Alan Hirsch describe the need for communitas versus simply community. The difference is essentially one of purpose: community for it's own sake is OK, but a community that serves together, risks together, and works together is far better. At York Alliance, we often say it this way: We don't have the mission of community, but rather, we're called to be a community on mission! As a team (community) serves together, they grow closer more rapidly and the relationships reach new depths. This rag-tag bunch had served together in various ways for a few weeks, through some challenging ordeals, and our hearts had been knit together. So when the dental half of our team returned, it was like getting part of our family back.

We spent the day debriefing in various ways: talking and laughing over lunch, playing at the beach and catching up on stories, a bit more formally reporting about the two major aspects of our trip (EG and the dental work), sharing some laughs around an enormous round table at a local Chinese restaurant, and finally, by looking at just about every single picture that every single one of us had taken during the last two weeks on the Straws living room television set. We told more stories, we remembered, we encouraged, and at one point, we laughed for nearly five minutes straight... It was a joyous reunion.

Tomorrow we'll get some souvenirs, do some packing, connect with our friends at the health clinic for lunch, and then hop on a plane to make the long journey home. We'll reconnect with family and friends that we've missed so much, we'll process all that we've seen and heard, and we'll try to get back into the swing of normal life. But just as is true for every event like this, we'll go back a little different. That's what God does; when we encounter Him, we're always changed.

But here's the thing we so often miss: it doesn't take a trip to Africa to change! Communitas will change us right where we are, as long as we're willing to commit to it. It can be difficult, it is most certainly inconvenient, and there will be more than the average amount of frustration along the way. However, like rocks in a rock tumbler, all of that "friction" does it's work. The rocks bounce around the cylinder, hitting one another as well as the sand and other elements that provide friction. As they do, the stones slowly change from dull and rough to smooth and brilliant. However, if there was no friction, there would be no shine. If there were no movement, then no polish. But living in fellowship with others (friction) for a common purpose (movement) smooths our rough edges and brings out our deepest and richest colors.

I'm looking forward to going home. I can't wait to see my wife and my kids. I'm looking forward to wearing a coat, although I hear I might be too late for that... I have a wonderful job, and I'm looking forward to doing it. The community of faith at York Alliance is an incredible blessing to me, and I can't wait to be back with them. And I'm looking forward to communitas. We have a small group of friends that are intentionally connecting to one another in specific ways during this Lenten season, so that we can be a blessing in the world and can help each other become more like Jesus. They are folks that I can truly share my life with, and them with me. As we do, it will be a daily reminder that transformed lives are not just found across the ocean, but if we're willing, they're here at home as well.

A Real Celebration

Our trip is beginning to wind down, and as it does, our days are slowing a bit and it's no longer necessary for us to try to squeeze so much into every moment. The result is many moments to enjoy throughout the day, and we're able to be fully "in" each moment as it happens... Sounds like it may be a better way to live all of life!

The big project for today was a washing and fueling of Steve's airplane for his trip to Bongolo tomorrow to pick up the dental team. Of course, that needed to include a 30 minute "maintenance" flight, just be sure everything was working correctly! After scrubbing every inch of the plane and helping Steve hand pump lots of fuel into the tanks, the six of us piled into the plane with excitement. A few very official sounding conversations and approvals over the headset to the Libreville tower, and we were off!

We fly up the coast, spanning basically the entire length of Libreville, and for the first time we were able to get an appreciation for the size of this city. We've seen the story of the city told in faces and in homes and in stores and in families—now we were able to see that each of those stories could be multiplied by literally hundreds of thousands all across the city.

The flight was about 30 minutes of great fun as we got to see Steve totally in his element, as well as see the city from above. After a perfect landing, we shut everything down and grabbed a quick lunch.

I had been thinking about how to make Tia’s birthday a special one for her. Of course, it’s incredible to be on this trip, but her birthday itself was a 16 hour car ride during which she only got to pee once, and that’s no one’s idea of a good time, no matter what country you’re in! We decided what would be a ton of fun would be to share Tia’s birthday celebration with the kids from the Hope House.

Adoptions are very rare and somewhat complicated in Gabon, so “orphans” rarely find homes within traditional families. Even the term “orphan” itself is complex here—sometimes these are children without parents, but often, they are simply kids whose parents didn’t want them or else felt they couldn’t afford them. The most heartbreaking stories (among many heartbreaking stories) are when moms and/or dads decide that they’ll keep 2 or 3 children, but choose to send 1 or 2 others away.

The “Hope House” is a home that was started by a Libreville pastor and his wife (Pastor Israel and Mama Natalie) in order to care for these children. They began by simply taking a few children into their home and caring for them. “A few” soon became a relative term—they now have 46 children ranging from age 3 to 18 living with them. They live simply, they work together in order to survive, but unlike many orphans, they are able to actually have a childhood. Each one of them is a child that in some way has felt the loss of a family—but through the Hope House, they now have a family. A big one.

So we loaded up with 14 liters of ice cream, plastic containers and spoons, and headed out to the Hope House. Normally when we arrive, they are running around the property and it’s a bit chaotic. This time as we pulled in, it was quiet—almost like no one was there. However, as we looked in the large front door, we saw them all sitting at desks, waiting… We came in, and no one moved except for Tia’s 3 year old friend Glorie, who couldn’t help but run over to Tia and jump into her arms. Clearly these were children that had been prepped and were on their best behavior so as not to forfeit a rare treat!

Basic food can sometimes be difficult to come by at the Hope House. While a few local churches work with Pastor Israel and Mama Natalie to help staff the kitchen and provide basic foods, 50 mouths are a lot to feed. Fruits and vegetables are extremely expensive in Gabon, so those are almost nonexistent at the Hope House. They get rice, a bit of meat, yogurt, and few other inexpensive foods. While they rarely go hungry, it’s not an exciting or balanced diet. All that said, sweets and party foods are extremely rare at the Hope House, and none of them were about to forfeit their ice cream because of bad behavior!

I could tell you so much more about all that happened there—every time we are with them, there are incredible blessings for us. Pastor Mario and I scooped ice cream into dishes, being sure that everyone got some. Older kids handed it out, beginning with the youngest kids all the way through the adults before taking their own. We all ate together, and Pastor Steve reminded them that Dr. Paul had given them each a toothbrush and toothpaste, and they were supposed to brush their teeth when they were finished!

After we had cleaned up quickly, they wanted to sing for Tia’s birthday. And sing they did, four different songs, including Happy Birthday in English! After the singing, a joyous dance party broke out, and we were treated to some incredible choreography! It was truly a birthday party to remember.

As they sang and danced, I watched the faces of the Hope House children. In many ways, according to every both tangible and intangible standard given by the world around them, they have nothing. But when I look closely at their eyes, I see something remarkable.

It seems that in every way that really matters, they actually have everything.

Kairos vs. Chronos

Aaaahhhh……

That was how today felt. After some stress-filled and very busy days, we relaxed a bit today. We got up late, had a nice mid-morning breakfast, caught up on some emails and blog posts, and just relaxed. Our only real commitment was a 2:00pm meeting at the Gabonese National Office for the Christian & Missionary Alliance, and we made the most of the rest of the day.

Time is a funny thing. The last several days have been so incredibly packed full that even the 16-hour car rides seemed to fly by. When things are busy, time hurdles along like a runaway train (or a Gabonese bus driver). But when life slows down, time seems to do the same thing. The morning seemed to open up before us, and suddenly there was time: to read, to eat, to talk, to get a few things done… and to rest. So we did.

We arrived to the National Offices a little after 2:00, and had a grand reunion with Pastor Guy Roget. After joyful greetings all around and a brief tour, we headed into a conference room, and were soon joined by several other members of the National Office staff. I won’t bore you with the details of our hour long meeting, but it was very good and gave us a great path to walk on as we dream about our future connection with the Gabonese church in Equatorial Guinea.

The key thing that we found out at the meeting is that the Gabonese church is much further down the path than we are when it comes to the work in EG. The way Steve put it as he translated my words to the National Office team is that if the work in EG is like a book, they are on chapter 3 or 4, and we’re just a few paragraphs into the Introduction. While I assured them that we are fast readers, it will still take us a little while to catch up. They understood this reality, and are charging forward on their own, while we determine exactly what our role in EG will look like.

It wasn’t until after the meeting that I realized God’s incredible timing. We had initially scheduled this trip in the fall of 2010. In fact, a significant amount of planning had happened and we were just about to buy tickets when we found out that the missionary couple that we would be working with had some difficulties and the trip couldn’t happen. At that moment, we were so discouraged and disappointed that the trip couldn’t go forward. However, had that trip happened, we would have been on exactly the same chapter in the metaphorical book—and based on the way our two cultures operate, it’s likely that we would have already read a few pages ahead! Based on what we know now about the work in EG and the need for Gabonese church to take the lead in this initiative, that would have been disastrous. But with this timing, everything is exactly right, and we all walked out of the conference room greatly encouraged.

We walked of the room and immediately turned to our left, into the “Chapel of Prayer for the Nations” so that we could dedicate this work to the Lord in prayer as a group. As we did, thunder was beginning to rumble in the distance, and the sky was quickly darkening. We stood in that chapel, held hands in a circle, and began to lift our voices to God, all at the same time. Our voices died down, and after a brief song, one of the National Office leaders began to pray. Almost as soon as he started to pray, the rain started. It was only a little at first. But as his voice picked up in intensity, almost as if choreographed, the rain did as well. The storm rolled in with power, and soon, the National Secretary was shouting his prayer over the thunder and the pounding rain on the metal roof. He declared “Amen” and we all began to sing “Hallelujah.” And as we did, it was as though God Himself was declaring “YES! I’m for this!”, with the mighty voice of the storm thundering over our loudest singing. Once again, perfect timing.

One of the things that we lose in our English translations of the Bible is that there are two different Greek words for “time.” Chronos time is clock time. It’s the normal way that we see time. It’s objective. It’s predictable. It’s minutes, hours, days, schedules, and agendas. On the other hand, Kairos time is totally different. Kairos is the “right” time. The “opportune” time. As our great friends Todd and Belinda often remind us, kairos time is God’s time.

Today, we operated in kairos time. The rest we got, the discussions we had, the incredible African thunderstorm we witnessed… all of them hit at just the right time. However, what we hadn’t realized is that every detail of this project has been caught up in kairos time. The delay of 18 months ago. Postponing the trip for two days due to visa issues. The connections with Pastor Frederico’s church. The events of today. Each one at just the right time.

Now, we must walk forward in the same way. Not rushing ahead, not lagging behind, but waiting on God. His kairos time is perfect.

Worship

What is worship? One of our “family values” at York Alliance is “a lifestyle of worship.” Worship is not limited to singing, praying, declaring, creating, dancing, or any specific activity, but it is the way that we live our everyday lives. Of course, our lives are certainly to be punctuated with the activities above as a specific offering to God, but worship must never be limited to those things alone.

Simply: Worship is connecting all of God to all of our life.

On Monday morning well before dawn, the Nissan Patrol was loaded up with luggage and our growing team, which was now up to eight with the news that Pastor Simone would be making the 16-18 hour trek back to Libreville with us. We squeezed in (which is not ideal for a 16 hour drive, but hey, what can you do…) and took off, praying for smooth passage through the controls in EG and at the border. Worship in the form of dependence on and supplication to a sovereign God.

At the first several controls we were waved through, and each time, there was much rejoicing among our ragtag group of eight. The early morning discussion was a mix of English, French, Spanish, and some “Fang” lessons, not one of which was understood by everyone in the car. Regardless of the language, there were at least a few who were totally in the dark. We chugged along, making great time, until what turned out to be the final control before the border, about 40 kilometers from Mongomo, where we would cross. The control guard took passports, made some comments in Spanish about how the Gabonese were bad people, and we knew that we could have some problems. We pulled off to the side to wait.

And wait we did. In about 10 minutes, Pastor Guy Roget, the lone Gabonese citizen, was called for. The rest of us waited. They talked; at times with much animation. We waited; at times with much animation. And waited. And waited. We watched some pigs eat road kill. We said hello to children walking to school. We talked and laughed and even sang “happy birthday” to Tia a few times. And we waited.

After an hour just about to the minute, Pastors Simone and Guy Roget walked back to the vehicle, documents in hand. “Adios—gratis!” said Pastor Simone. Goodbye…it was free! We quickly loaded them up, pulled away, and headed toward the border. Amazingly, while the border took some time, it was much quicker than anticipated and easier than we could have hoped. As we passed through the final stage, Gabonese customs, with no issues at all, the car visibly responded to the goodness and grace of God. There was much joking, laughter, and relief, even if no one fully understood everything that everyone else was saying. Worship in the form of lives lived in thankfulness.

Of course, while the controls were no longer a problem (the l’Hopital Bongolo car magnet did its magic at each and every control stop in Gabon), there was still an 8-10 hour drive in a Nissan Patrol with eight people. Our brief bathroom stops were cherished by all as an opportunity to stretch legs and move freely, but then we quickly reloaded and continued. I should clarify a “bathroom stop”: apart from a pastor’s house in Oyem that we stopped at so that Tia could use an actual toilet, when I say bathroom stop I’m meaning some bushes on the side of the road. You know what they say: when in Rome…

The drive wore on. Incredibly, however, there was no bickering or short tempers, and very little complaining, even with a now eleven year old and fourteen year old in the car. There was laughter, prayer, more Fang lessons, and long periods of silence. We moved from seat to seat at each stop so that legs could be cramped into different positions and different bones and muscles could take their turn being sore and cramping up. When we reached “cities” we gassed the Nissan, bought more water and snacks, and rejoiced at the opportunity to stand upright. And we laughed… a lot. Worship in the form of relationships in the body of Christ.

The sunset was gorgeous to our left as we made the final turn north toward Libreville. (Yes, if you’re looking at a map, we had to go south to go north. Africa is a classic example of “you can’t get there from here…”) As the darkness descended, our talking quieted down a bit. Now almost 14 hours into the drive, we were ready to arrive, and driving Gabonese roads after dark can be a frustrating and car-damaging experience.

In the silence, Dan pulled out his harmonica and began to play. Thankfully, he’s good at it, or the harmonious relationships in the car could have been put to the test! He began to play some old hymns, and we started to sing. Spanish first, the English, then Fang, and finally French was layered on top. We sang “How Great Thou Art” loudly in four different languages. We rotated verses on “Holy, Holy, Holy.” We taught one another simple songs in our native languages. We sang a simple African song in a dozen different tribal languages. When there were a few moments of silence, another one would start a different song in their own language, and the rest would hum along. Pastor Simone supplied the rich harmonies and Pastor Guy Roget the bass line, making every song, regardless of language, sound like a traditional African tune. After each song, when the final line was repeated at full volume and then faded out as best we could with our voices, soft “Amens” were spoken. And after a moment or two of reflection on what had been sung, the next song would begin.

Worship as intercession early in the morning gave way to worship as thanksgiving around noon, which gave way to worship as community throughout the day. Out of the community, the songs of the church emerged. They weren’t forced. They weren’t programmed. They weren’t performed. They were embodied by people in love with and dependent on a loving, merciful, and all-powerful God.

That is worship.

The Church

Our team with Pastor Frederico and some of his family

“You cannot care for Me, with no regard for her / If you love Me, you will love the Church.” With this poignant line, singer Derek Webb ends his first solo album. The album is “She Must and Shall Go Free” and the song is titled simply “The Church”—and every time I’m traveling overseas and visit a local church body, I experience this truth in a new way.

After a solid night’s sleep and a decent breakfast, we all felt a new perspective on life in EG. Daylight helped as well. (Did I mention that when we got into the guesthouse we were staying at in Bata, there was no electric? That’s great fun at nearly midnight in the Developing World during rainy season…) We headed to meet Pastor Frederico. We pulled up, greeted him, and were invited into his living room to sit down. After a bit he came in and we talked about his church, the land down the street on which they hoped to someday build, and his personal journey as a pastor.

Soon, it was time for the church gathering. We went in and sat down in a predictably steamy, open-air patio off the back of Pastor Frederico’s house. It was certainly nothing exciting—about 30 chairs, a makeshift altar (coffee table covered with a sheet) and a podium inside of which the family’s cat was sleeping. With our delegation, the place was full, but certainly not overflowing. However, it was certainly the church: an elderly couple to my left, a few somewhat large, colorful and joyous women in front of me, a young single man in his 20’s behind me, a few teens with attitudes in the back, and some children wandering around behind the chairs. Sounds like church to me.

The clear indication that it was time for the service to start: one of the colorful women in the front rose, started to shake a kind of maraca and sing in Fang, the tribal tongue spoken by about 80% of Equatorial Guineans. The rest of the church rose immediately after her, and it was on. This tiny group (our delegation, of course, didn’t know the song) sang so loudly that I felt like the tin roof above us might be in trouble. As they did, all who were participating in the service paraded through the center: Pastor Frederico, his assistant Oscar, Pastor Mario, who was preaching that morning, Pastor Guy Roget from Gabon, and our very own Steve Straw. Pastor Frederico spoke a bit, they sang some more, some introductions, more singing, Pastor Mario preaching a killer sermon complete with translation into Fang, and then a few closing prayers and an offering. Sounds like church to me.

We then moved from the back of the house to the front porch, and a majority of those present that morning also made up the “leadership team” that met over cold beverages. We talked about church politics, buildings, organizational structures, and when pressed, got back to values, prayer, and the transformation of people’s hearts. There were some tense moments; there was loud laughter and even some applause following one particularly spirited comment/speech. Our time ended with Pastor Mario and I praying blessing and anointing over Pastor Frederico and Pastor Simone, who is starting a church in Malabo, the political capital of EG. Definitely sounds like the church to me.

As I was walking of the front porch, the woman from the elderly couple in the church grabbed my hand. Her hand was shaking as she held mine over the stone railing which separated us. She spoke a few words that I would have had difficulty understanding had they been in English—that they were spoken in Fang made them clearly impossible. The young man beside me told me that she only speaks Fang, and since he didn’t, he couldn’t interpret.

It was then the magic happened. She looked at me, one eye seemingly clouded with a cataract, and this woman who was likely well into her 80’s began to sing over me. Of course I have absolutely no idea what she sang, but it was beautiful. Her voice rasped a bit, but her words seemed to shoot directly to heaven. For the next two or three minutes, she just looked in my eyes and sang.

I was once told that the word “Hallelujah” is the only word that is the same in every language on earth. I don’t know if that’s true, but it’s the same in Fang as it is in English. That was how her song ended: with a string of “Hallelujahs” that shot straight over my head to the ear of her Savior.

To anyone else, it would look exceedingly odd. Here’s a very old African woman grabbing the hands of bald, sweaty white man and singing to him. Unless you’re on a stage performing “The Sound of Music”, that’s just a bit weird. (As though the “Sound of Music” isn’t.) But it was incredible. My spirit soared with her words as she sang them. That is most certainly the church.

Later that night, we had the opportunity to pray over this woman. It was explained to us that she was very ill and dying, and she told us that although God hadn’t healed her yet, she’d like us to pray that He would. Then she told us that she had peace, that everything that needed to happen had happened, she was old, and that she was ready to die and be with Jesus if this was the time. I, for one, was not at all surprised. We prayed God’s mercy and healing over her, and when we were finished, she spoke two phrases through the translator: “As you prayed, I felt a strange warmth inside of me.” And then: “That’s why I need a drink of water.” And she waited for us to oblige.

The Church. It’s sometimes odd, always broken, often hypocritical, a bit dysfunctional… and beautiful. The radiant bride of Christ, in all of its mess. I’m still not sure exactly how we’ll be connected to the work in Equatorial Guinea, but I do know that the Church is here.

And I was thrilled to meet her.

World Traveler

Tia in her room in Bata, Equatorial Guinea

Although I’m writing this blog on Saturday, it won’t be posted until Monday when we finally have internet again. (Sorry for the delay! Internet in Equatorial Guinea is hard to come by.) Monday means that our daughter, Kristia (Tia) will officially turn eleven. I haven’t written a ton about her yet, so with a day that could be devoted to the ever so many difficulties of traveling between countries in the developing world, I would rather devote it to her.

Tia has had quite the year. Over the summer, it became apparent that Fall 2011-Spring 2012 would present a very full travel schedule for me. When I was called into the role of Lead Pastor back in the spring of 2010, the Elders at York Alliance asked about me traveling to visit our missionaries and get a sense of the conditions in which the minister and the challenges they face. I had travelled back and forth to El Salvador many times over the past eight years as we built our partnership with the Church of Faith and Worship, but hadn’t traveled to other fields. However, in addition a quick El Salvador trip in September, I had been invited to speak at a retreat for the leaders of the Berlin International Community Church in Germany, and decided to add an “inter-European” trip to visit the Aderholts in Macedonia. It then became apparent that this trip, a vision trip to Gabon and Equatorial Guinea, would also happen, and that I would need to go on that as well. Typically I would never do this much travelling in the course of one year, but the situation seemed to make it a necessity.

As Amanda and I prayed together about the schedule for the year, and considered schooling options for the kids (as we do in the spring and summer of each year), we very clearly believed that God was directing us toward taking a leap of faith on many fronts, homeschooling Tia for the year, and having her travel with me to each of these destinations. There’s much more back story, but suffice it to say that God clearly provided all we needed, we purchased tickets, and she was officially on board to travel along!

The third and final trip is now a week from being over, and Tia is just about to turn eleven years old. She’s had a pretty incredible year full of amazing experiences. I’ve been so amazed by her time and time again, but today that admiration reached a new height. Tia’s one of those girls that just “rolls with it,” particularly when we’re traveling. Whatever the situation, she’ll just go along with it. She’s been in the community of Zacamil in San Salvador, locked into a concrete block apartment at night so that we would be safe in what can be a somewhat dangerous neighborhood. She’s sat through long meetings in other languages with partial if any translation. She’s been tossed into rooms with little kids for hours at a time, all of whom don’t speak her language. She’s spent LONG hours on planes and moving around airports. She’s eaten (sometimes only a bite) some strange foods and drank some strange drinks. She’s done all of this with her father! And the real amazing thing: I can’t remember one complaint. Now don’t get me wrong, she knows how to complain—she does it all the time at home. But on this whirlwind world tour, she’s been incredible.

So I knew she’d roll with it. However, when we needed to get up at 4:00am to start what we thought would be a 10-12 hour journey to Bata, I thought there might be a complaint. Nope. Over the terrible roads outside Libreville, where some of them literally look as though they’ve been bombed, not a word. She ate chicken wings from a street vendor in some northern city in Gabon, and actually liked them. We made it to the border and began a very long waiting process in order to get through the two separate control points on the Gabonese side of the border. Still no complaints.

Here’s where it gets crazy. We’re a solid 11 hours into our 10-12 hour journey and are just getting to the actual border patrol in Equatorial Guinea. We know that they could turn away Pastor Mario, but we’re going to try anyway. Sure enough, he gets the visa he needs, and we’re through. However, now some very stern looking border guards need to search every piece of luggage we have. Border crossings are always a bit nerve-wracking, but when people are looking for “a little gift” for their help and we’re not willing to give it, it takes quite a bit longer and is a bit more so. Finally, a full 12 hours later, we all pile into the Nissan Patrol (having picked up Pastor Simone at the border, there are now eight of us shoved in) and we head out. About five minutes into the journey, we hear the first bad news—Bata is between five and six hours from the border, not the two we originally thought. Still no complaints, even though quick math said it would be 10:00pm when we got to Bata if we made really great time, and we started driving around 4:30am. I’m telling you, she’s a trooper.Then, the nightmare started. It got dark soon after we started driving, and almost as the sun went down we began to encounter “controls.” Controls are all over this area of Africa, and they check documentation to be sure you are allowed to be where you are, that your vehicle actually belongs to you and is legally in the country, etc. They are also a major opportunity for corruption. In Gabon, due to our affiliation with the Bongolo Hospital, which is famous and much beloved throughout the country (and also known for never giving out bribes), we are waved through every control. However, no such status is awarded to us in EG. At the first control it starts: all of the paperwork is given, all of the passports handed over, and we wait. Pastor Simone, who lives in EG and is our host, is speaking to the officers. They want money, and have given a reason why we need to pay an additional fee at this stop. Steve calmly explains that he understands, but that we’re on mission and we have to be accountable for all that we spend, so if they could just give an official receipt with their name and the amount on it, we would be glad to comply. Of course, they refuse, and after some waiting, we are waved on. This scenario repeats itself a few more times, several of them rising in intensity, until finally we are stopped at one by several “officials” who are clearly drunk. They demand money. We give our speech. Ultimately, they pull us all out of the car and into a dimly lit little pavilion that was doubling as an “office.” Bugs are everywhere, they are yelling in a mixture between French, Spanish, and “Fang,” which is the local tribal language, so we can’t understand a thing. Tia presses a bit closer, but is stoic. After about 10 minutes, it seems that our resolve has been rewarded and we’re sent back with our passports to the vehicle. However, they still are holding our document for the vehicle, and are still demanding payment. Those of us back in the vehicle are praying protection and intervention for a solid 20 minutes or so, while the demands are repeatedly made. Mercifully, they finally allow us to continue the long journey to Bata, which has been delayed another 45 minutes at least.

I’m sure I haven’t, nor can I, adequately paint the picture. But she never complained. I had moved her over to my lap about 30 minutes before, and she gladly stayed there, but she held her cool. We processed together after our late-night arrival in Bata, and of course it was emotional, but she did incredibly well through the entire ordeal.

By the time you’re reading this, Tia is an extremely intelligent, beautiful, confident, and faith-filled eleven year old. She has encountered more of the world this year than many do in a lifetime. In the middle of that, she’s learned to ride horses both English and Western style, and has become quite a little basketball player. She’s an incredible gift from God to us, and I believe will make a great, positive impact on her “sphere of influence” throughout her entire life.

And I am so proud of her; it’s a privilege to be her dad. I love you, Tia!

Book Review - “King Jesus” by Scot McKnight

What is the essence of the Gospel? This is a question that being asked in various circles throughout the church, and it’s the question McKnight seeks to tackle in his latest book “King Jesus”.

McKnight presents a compelling case that the church has unnecessarily shrunk the gospel message to be limited to justification by faith. This reduction, he argues, harms both the church and its impact in the world, because it removes the truth of justification from the broader story of the Bible. Doing so shrinks its message, to use a title from a popular Max Lucado book, to “Six Hours One Friday.” However, he argues, the Biblical gospel was always meant to be more.

In order to prove his case, McKnight defines four larger categories out of which the gospel story should flow: (1) The Story of Israel, (2) The Story of Jesus, (3) The Plan of Salvation, and (4) The Method of Persuasion. McKnight’s primary case is that the term the gospel, and hence, the message of the gospel, has been reduced to contain only the Plan of Salvation without reference and context in the larger story. He argues that the church, then, fails to be “Christian” in the true, biblical sense of the word, and rather becomes more “Soterian,” or those who are concerned solely with salvation. McKnight has no problem with doctrines like justification by faith, but simply argues that by making that doctrine alone the content of the gospel, we lose a large portion of the message of God.

As is typical for McKnight, his arguments are well grounded both in the history of the church and in the Scriptures themselves. His arguments are compelling, and his writing focused. He chooses not to weigh in on the specifics of many current debates such as the nature of justification or the proper theories of the atonement. Rather, he stays focused on this question—“What really is the biblical gospel?” Beginning with Paul, moving into church history, working through the gospels and ultimately to the message of Peter, he presents his case clearly and effectively.

In essence, his argument is pressing into the very common false dichotomy we hear about as we listen to the personal stories of our brothers and sisters in Christ. The statement usually goes something like this: “On so and so day in so and so year, I accepted Jesus as my Savior. However, it wasn’t until years later that I accepted Him as my Lord.” McKnight’s point is that (a) the two are and always have been inseparable, and (b) our way of defining and presenting the gospel has created this false dichotomy. He quotes Michael Bird in saying, “Nero did not throw Christians to the lions because they confessed that ‘Jesus is Lord of my heart.’ It was rather because they confessed that ‘Jesus is Lord of all’…”

McKnight’s points are not new ones. His exegesis and study is typically solid, and his points well presented. While some may not agree with every individual aspect of his conclusions and application, the primary point that he seeks to make he makes very effectively. However, I think his initial case may be a bit overstated. I certainly don’t have McKnight’s experience within the breadth of the Western church, nor his connections with college and seminary students, whose quotes fill up his sidebars in a clear representation that a reduced gospel is quite often what’s being heard. However, I don’t know that many gospel “purists” (thinking of John Piper, whom he quotes extensively, or the folks at 9 Marks, Sovereign Grace, and other such affiliations) would disagree with his primary argument. In the end, McKnight puts forth what feels like more of a refined presentation of the gospel rather than a revision (or revisitation, or even expansion) of the gospel itself. He urges pastors to present the “Plan of Salvation” within the context of the story of the whole Bible, beginning in Genesis 1, and as such, present Jesus as both Savior and Lord. McKnight longs for us, as Jesus did, to embrace the entirety of the Kingdom of God, not simply “personal salvation”. I’m not sure that there are many thinking pastors and churchmen (who are certainly the intended audience for this book) who would disagree.

“King Jesus” is a good addition to the current discussions on the definition of the gospel and the nature of the Kingdom of God. While it may not be groundbreaking, it’s biblically and theologically sound, well thought-out, and will give renewed perspective to those who read it.

1, 2, 3... Wait! No, GO!

By now many have been following the saga of Pastor Mario’s visa application in to Equatorial Guinea. After yesterday’s drama, we left this morning with confidence. So much so, in fact, that we said our good-byes to the other half of the team, which would be traveling to the Bongolo Hospital in the southern part of the country on Saturday morning, packed the SUV, and headed to the embassy for that illusive visa so that we could commence our journey.

We arrived at 9:00, a bit earlier than the promised 10:00, but Steve is ever the optimist. The gentleman from yesterday followed us into the entrance, greeted us kindly, and then disappeared behind the curtain. About that time, a man in the corner that acts as a sort of secretary for the waiting area informed Mario that he wasn’t allowed to enter the embassy wearing shorts. That should have been a sign to us, but hey, we’re a bit dense. So we waited—four of us inside, and Mario on the steps outside. About 45 minutes into the wait, Mario finally decided to find his suitcase, pull out some jeans, and change. Don’t ask me how or where he did that… honestly, I don’t want to know. Either way, moments later Mario entered with jeans on, got a word of affirmation from the man in the corner, and took his position on the seat next to Steve.

And we waited.

10:00 went by. Then 10:30. By 10:45, Steve had already asked several times. Then 11:30. Then 12:00. Finally, around 12:40 or so, the same man walked back in the front entrance of the waiting area (he had escaped about an hour before, but Steve continued to text him even in his absence) and made a beeline for the curtain. However, on his way there, he may have moved his hand towards us a bit—which was all that was necessary.

Brian: “Steve, did he ask you to come with him?”

Steve: -- --.
(Without word, Steve runs behind the curtain after the man.)

And now, it’s Steve that’s gone for a bit. 10 minutes? 20? After sitting for almost four hours, who’s really counting. He was gone a bit. And then he returned. And he didn’t look happy.

Seems that another verification stamp was needed on the letter of invitation. I guess it wasn’t such a “model” after all. No visa until the stamp is there. And the embassy closes for the weekend in two hours. “Bon chance” as they say in Gabon—good luck.

Steve made phone calls, sent emails, and we prayed and prayed. Nothing. Closed for the weekend. Opportunity gone. Frustrating.

One of the phone calls Steve made was to Pastor Jean Marc. Jean Marc is one of the former Presidents of the C&MA in Gabon, a great man of God, and one of those guys that everyone knows. Jean Marc was the one who had finally secured the letter of invitation through a contact in EG. Steve gave him an update, and he gave Steve an alternative plan. Seems that EG will also give visas at the border. We could simply drive there and try. Of course, the border is a nearly nine hour drive from Libreville. Bon chance.

Steve initially protested that it didn’t make any sense to make that drive if Mario had been effectively turned down at the embassy. It was then that Pastor Jean Marc said that words that stuck with me all day: “Steve, you need to have faith.”

Faith? I’m all for faith, but in this instance, I wanted faith along with documents! Drive nine hours on faith, after already being turned away? Isn’t that crazy?

That’s the real question, isn’t it? When do we simply buckle down and trust God, and when do we interpret the circumstances all around us? Gideon was outnumbered before he started—and then God reduced the odds to the ridiculous. All common sense said “run away.” It made no sense. But in faith, they push through—and God wins the battle. (See Judges 7) Or what about barren Abraham and barren Sarah, two old empty-nesters who never did have a full nest? God promises them in their old age that He will build them into a great nation. Years pass, still no kids, and now their well into their Social Security. It makes no sense. “Abram believed the Lord, and he credited it to him as righteousness.” (Genesis 15:6) He had faith.

I don’t want to be misconstrued as giving license for foolishness. There are certainly times to pay attention to what makes sense—in fact, more times that not. But where does faith come in? For us, it comes in after years of prayer, months of preparation, endorsement by our church Elders, and a keen sense of God’s presence throughout the whole process. As long as He shows us there’s a step still in front of us, we will walk in it.

And so, that’s why the alarm will go off at 3:50am tomorrow. We’ll groggily pack the old Nissan Patrol up again, and head north. We’ll pick up Pastor Guy Roget (Gabon’s National Director for Mission and Evangelization) a few kilometers in. All seven of us will make the nine hour trek toward the border, and from there, we’ll see what’s next. Whether we are allowed across the border or not, we will trust God for the next step. Because that’s what it means to follow a Lord.

“You need to have faith.” Indeed. Jesus, may it be so.

Some More Pictures

Ann after a hard day of cleaning teeth at the Hope House.

A young guy in the middle of the Hope House crowd.

Tia and her new friend!

Dan and all of his friends. He's kind of like the Pied Piper!

Abbie leading singing at the Hope House. She just can't help herself!

Dr. Paul's youngest patient...

Working at the clinic

And relaxing at the guest house over Boggle. At least I think that was relaxing...

Tia completely in her element!

A young friend who showed up during set-up, along with our dental chair.

Today half our team will head back to the embassy in the hopes of getting Pastor Mario's visa and heading to Equatorial Guinea. The other half will have a final day at the clinic and the Hope House before heading south to Bongolo. We won't all reunite until next Thursday. We'll miss our friends! I'm not sure what our internet connectivity will be on the trip, so I may not be able to update the blog until next week. Check back for updates!

A Grand Reminder

So by now, most who follow this blog will be aware that we have been trying over the last few days to get Pastor Mario’s visa into Equatorial Guinea taken care of, but without much success. Set back after set back hit us—first necessary paperwork, then additional requirements, then processing time. It seemed like it would never get done! Our scheduled departure time (today) was delayed, and we hoped to get his visa today and leave around 5:00am tomorrow (that’s between 5:30 and 5:45 African time). So when we finally received an emailed letter of invitation, we printed it quickly, changed clothes, and rushed to embassy, where we promptly waited for about 2 hours.

Finally, a man who seemed to be in charge came out, shook hands with each of us (including poor Tia, who unknowingly chose to come along for the ride and was now stuck sitting in a hot and sticky African embassy for several hours), and looked at our paperwork. He seemed to be quite impressed. In fact, so much so that he immediately took our letter over to another group of people who were waiting across the room and explained that this was a great example of what they needed to do in order to get a visa into the country! He returned to us, took payment for the visa, spoke with Steve for a few minutes (my broken French got lost somewhere in the middle of that conversation, so I’m not sure exactly what they talked about… I was thinking Steve said something about politics and the man said something about bananas when I realized that I really had no idea what was going on), and then he disappeared behind a curtain in the corner.

We sat down confidently, assuming if our letter had been such a model of excellence and we had received such warm greetings (and even possibly promises of bananas), all was well. However, a few minutes later the man emerged again, and although by this time I had decided trying to understand was a lost cause, I could tell by Steve’s expression the news was not good. It seems that the ambassador himself must approve the visa, and he would not be in until at least 10:00 the next morning. Steve pushed and prodded, literally offering to jog alongside the ambassador during his workout in order for him to sign the documents sooner (seriously, I’m not making that up—he even did motions along with his suggestion!), but all to no avail. We walked out into the pouring rain a bit frustrated and disappointed, knowing that there would be nothing more to do until morning. Delayed again.

Moments later, I posted the news on Facebook via my 3G Kindle, which miraculously has worked in every country in which I’ve ever traveled. Many had been praying, and I figured an update would be good. We discussed the situation on the way back to the house, needing to grab a quick snack (lunch had been missed hours before) and change clothes before we headed out to the Hope House orphanage. As we did, I checked Facebook one more time, and found a message from one of our incredible prayer warriors and intercessors at York Alliance. I’ll summarize her message this way: keep praying that the signature comes through, but if God leaves you in Gabon one more day, it’s on purpose. Better pay attention.

It’s so easy in the midst of trying situations, particularly ones that are so completely out of your control, to forget that God is perfect. Perfectly good. Perfectly sovereign. Perfectly loving. Perfectly able. Perfectly in charge in every possible way. But this grand reminder, in the form of a Facebook comment, brought us back to the true reality: God isn’t playing games with us. He loves us, has a plan for us, and somehow this, too, is part of that plan, otherwise, it wouldn’t have been allowed. Our world isn’t a Wild West showdown between a sheriff and a gunslinger, both with equal odds of pulling it out. We’re not in a Hollywood epic with “good” against “evil” in an evenly matched bout. The Biblical record reminds us again and again that when God shows up on the scene, evil cowers (see Matthew 8:28-34). There is one God, He is in charge, and what He says goes.

Being reminded myself, I read the comment to Mario. He nodded vigorously and just about leapt up with excitement after hearing it: “Vamos!”--Let’s go! If God has something for us, Mario figures, then by golly, let’s get to it.

So we did. We drove out to the Hope House orphanage, where we interacted with the 45 kids that live in that home while Dr. Paul and his team did some more of their magic. Immediately upon arrival, Mario connected with “Christopher.” Christopher speaks decent English because his family is from Nigeria, so they could communicate a bit. And over the next two hours, they played together, laughed together, and talked together. They even colored pictures together. And when it was time to leave, Christopher gave Pastor Mario one of those deep embraces that communicates more than any language can ever manage to say.

We got into the car and began to drive away. I asked Pastor Mario about Christopher. His eyes immediately welled up with tears as he talked about the way that 8-year old boy ministered to him. We talked about Christopher’s story: how he was effectively rescued off the street a few years ago as he clowned with people and begged for food and money. How the leaders of the Hope House found his family and asked to take him in—and how his family gladly sent him. And we talked about how Christopher was experiencing the deep, deep love that Jesus has for him at the Hope House.

“When he hugged me,” Pastor Mario said through tears, “I remembered just how much God loves me.”

That’s worth sticking around for.

Our Team

This is our set-up for the mobile dental clinic, with Dr. Paul hard at work.



This is our team, minus Dan and Nathan who arrived a day later than the rest of us after a 28 hour layover in Paris. (So don't feel bad for them that they weren't in the picture!)

We just received the letter for Mario's visa, so we're headed to the embassy to see if we can get it! More on that later...

My Hero

The day began at OSPAC, which is the medical clinic run by the Gabonese Christian & Missionary Alliance. The work there is incredible, particularly considering the limited resources they work with—and they have an abundance of joy (see yesterday’s post). However, when an American dentist is on the scene, the cases flock. One older gentleman with massive decay in one of his wisdom teeth came in as one of the first two or three patients to arrive. He told our team that he had been faithfully praying every night for years that God would send someone to relieve him of the pain in his teeth. And now, our very own Dr. Paul came as an answer to this man’s prayer!

It’s always incredible to watch the effect of such major but seemingly basic needs being met after being neglected for so long. Their steps are lighter and their countenance so much more confident after the offending teeth are removed and the debilitating pain along with them.

About mid-way through the morning, a 13-year old girl came in. That fact by itself was unique, in that patients had been screened so that the most urgent situations would be seen first, and someone that young wouldn’t be likely to have problems on the scale of the others that had been seen that morning. As she sat down in the chair and was asked about her pain level, she described some moderate pain in the lower left part of her mouth. A quick inspection, however, revealed a massive decay that must have been causing radiating pain. Paul took a few moments to numb her with some shots, and she was moved over to the side in order to see an additional patient while the anesthetic took effect. As the next young woman was evaluated and eventually numbed as well, 13-year old Rebecca sat quietly and waited. When she came back a few moments later, Paul poked and prodded a bit to see if she was fully numbed. As he poked at the lower portion of her gum, Rebecca never flinched but simply said “un peu”—it hurt a little. A few more shots, another wait off to the side, and finally, she was ready.

Rebecca sat down in the chair with as much confidence as you can possibly imagine a 13-year old having at the dentist. Alace, the translator for the morning, asked her if she was feeling strong and full of courage, and sure enough, she was. She was nervous, a bit scared, but strong and ready. Paul began the extraction, carefully operating around the gum area and down toward the root. However, the tooth had decayed so completely that it literally crumbled under the slight pressure of the instruments. Mobile dental clinics that have been hauled in crates and suitcases across an ocean don’t come with x-ray machines, so there is no way of knowing what’s beneath the surface. Had there been an x-ray, this case would have been referred to the hospital in the south of the country, about an eight hour “jungle taxi” ride from the chair that she was currently sitting in, for effective removal. However, it was too late for that. The tooth was coming in pieces, with Paul carefully pulling them out one by one.

Nearly 45 minutes later, Rebecca continues to sit motionless in the chair. Paul continues to work at the tooth, piece by piece. He’s finally down to the root, but there is no longer any surface area to pull on, rendering the extraction instruments nearly useless. The team has prayed over her, over Paul, and much good has happened, but the root remains and it needs to come out. An hour has gone by, and Alace notices that Rebecca’s eyes are starting to swirl around in her head a bit. They take a break, and she leans forward out of the heat of the lamp and puts her head in a cold, damp towel for about 30 seconds. Maybe a minute. Then, she leans back in the chair, looks up at Paul, and opens her mouth wide. Without a word she says: “Let’s keep going.” They do. Paul digs and pulls and digs some more, working from seemingly every possible angle and with a wide array of instruments. Still nothing. Another 30 second break. Another look of determination from the 13-year old, she steels her resolve, and leans back again. They keep going. But still nothing. Finally, they determine that all they can do is give her some pain medication and ask her to return during one of the next two days and they’ll try again.

It’s at this point that Rebecca utters the first protest that has been heard through this entire process: “But I can’t miss school.” School in Gabon is difficult, and this determined young woman is clearly giving all that she has to succeed. They explain to her the importance of having this tooth fully extracted, and she reluctantly agrees to return. Some final details regarding care, pain meds, etc. But then, after this entire process has unfolded, we see the showstopper…

13-year old Rebecca gets out of the chair after more than an hour of very difficult dental work, turns to Dr. Paul, smiles sweetly, and says simply “Merci.” Thank you. Thank you for caring for me. Thank you for being willing to give me pain in order to heal me. Thank you for loving me enough to come thousands of miles to be an answer to my prayer. Thank you for showing me what Jesus would be like if He came as a dentist in a tiny, very rough, clinic in my hometown. Thank you. And she smiled all the way to the recovery chair, and then out into the village.

Regardless of circumstances, background, and level of toughness, I dare you to find me a 13-year old girl in the U.S. that would endure such difficulty with such sweetness and peace. I honestly don’t think that girl exists. As a thirty-six year old man I couldn’t even think of approaching her attitude. Incredible.

There is much talk nowadays that we live in a world where our heroes are disappearing. Maybe that’s true—I don’t know. I do know that by coming all the way to Central Africa, I was able to find one.