a tank full of thankful

I'm reeling today...with thankfulness.  Yesterday was filled with events that allowed me to see again the hand of God working through people, touching lives in some special ways.


The first event took place (actually, it culminated) during the afternoon.  The local 7-11 down the street from the church had been conducting a canned food drive for our Pantry ministry the last couple of weeks.  It was one of those "Bring a can, get a free hot dog" kind of thing. And they got rid of a lot of dogs!  The owner, a gracious man named Ranji (on left, wearing turban), asked if I could come to receive the cans and join in the festivities. Ranji is generous and wanted to give back to the community.  He decided to hook up with us because he knew that we provide food regularly to people in need.


When I got to the 7-11 parking lot, people were everywhere, and plastic tubs of food were piled high.  A DJ spun music at an extremely high decibel level, a jumper consumed small children, and free food and soft drinks were being devoured everywhere.  Ranji hugged me as he excitedly showed me the food that had been collected. Kids kept arriving with more cans, and the inside of the store was as full of people as the outside.


Ranji told me that his dream was to see the community helping its own, and that he wanted to develop an ongoing partnership with us.  As I mingled with people, I was reminded that there really is only one race on earth, the human race. That we have the ability to lift each other, strengthen each other and make a difference in each other's lives.  And I saw again the great value of a church that is connected with those around it.  Our involvement with people at basic life levels helps them understand God's concern for them, and gives us a platform to continue sharing life with them.


A short while later we gathered at the church for our monthly Community Supper.  November's Supper is special, as we serve a full Thanksgiving dinner, thanks to the generous donations of our congregation.  The evening was outstanding as more than 200 from the community arrived to a special set-up in the main auditorium. Scrumptious dinners were served by almost 100 volunteers from the church.  Lots of sharing, lots of interaction, lots of connection.  And everyone was thankful.  Very thankful. One woman told me upon her arrival that she was so lonely.  At the end of the evening she assured me that loneliness was no longer an immediate concern.


My heart's full.  People giving their possessions for strangers. People giving their time in service. People giving their lives for others. And I'm thankful as I see so many blessings around me.  It's easy to become cynical in my world, and much of what I see and experience has the capability to color it with some pretty ugly hues. But Friday reminded me that good blossoms in even the grayest of situations, and that people have the ability to do good when need presents itself.  And why not?  It goes back to image in which we were made, doesn't it? That image is a good one, always initiating, always giving, always blessing, always connecting.  And that gives me hope.


And it makes me thankful.

the urban jungle

I visited a neighborhood not long ago where crime is rampant. Several houses in the community were boarded up, some of them burned out, and most tagged with graffiti. No one is on the streets after dark because the possibility of trouble with local gangs is so likely.   Tennis shoes and blue or red bandannas adorn telephone wires throughout.  The two primary gangs vying for control? Crips and Bloods, of course.  Alcohol and drugs are a staple for adults and kids alike.  Abuse of all kinds is a regular part of life, especially among the youth. Unemployment is far too high, most residents exist in survival mode, and the concept of hope is almost nonexistent. 


If you were to guess where I visited, you might have thought of Detroit, Chicago, or New York.  The urban issues I witnessed are common in cities like Atlanta, St. Louis or Dallas. But I was close to home than these places...and not nearly as urban.  My destination was the San Carlos Apache Reservation (via Arizona Reservation Ministry) outside the town of Globe in eastern Arizona.  I've been to this place many times, and each visit overwhelms my sensibilities.  So much despair, so much struggle, and so much destruction of human life and possibility.  And the other factor that never ceases to astound me is the existence of the complex urban issues that seem so out of place here.  


All this makes ministry here doubly difficult.  Not only do workers need to understand Native American (and Apache, specifically) culture well, but they must also know how to deal with urban culture, and all the facets associated with it.  Either one of these is a full-time undertaking, but this is one place that both must be carefully considered.  


In all this challenge, our team witnessed hope.  Many of the kids with whom ARM works were different than they used to be.  They were responsive, positive, polite and expressive.  They interacted with us more deeply than they would have a couple of years ago.  They were smiling, laughing, enjoying.  As simple as these things are to us, they can be major accomplishments for those of San Carlos.  And we were encouraged.


So the next time you think about urban ministry, see tagging along a wall, or shoes dangling from a wire, remember that urban doesn't just happen in cities anymore.  That there are kids struggling to survive mean rural streets that are teeming with urban challenges.  And that we need people willing to commit their lives to understanding multiple cultures all wrapped up in the same neighborhood.  It's a crazy world.


And it's getting crazier all the time.

mock the vote?

Early this morning I made my way to the location allocated to receive my vote. I considered it a landmark occasion, not because there are so many important people and issues up for consideration, but because I'm afforded the right, the responsibility of the vote.


I grumbled under my breath at what I considered to be poor marking to find the voting area, thinking how it might have been made better. I then discovered that I was listed as a mail-in ballot person, which would have been fine except that I never received any ballot by mail.  There was a provision for that, but it was quickly obvious that the workers were unfamiliar with the process. Heck, it was early and they were volunteers, and I grumbled a little more.


I cast my ballot (computerized now- cool), turned in some paperwork (part of that special provision), pasted my sticker proudly on my chest and beat a hasty retreat to the rest of my day. Pretty simple, pretty straightforward, pretty easy. But then I thought of people in countries like the Philippines who are willing to risk their lives for the vote. During our years there, school teachers were usually required to stand guard over local ballot boxes.  Often, because of violence and corruption, those teachers gave their lives to protect the votes.  In some countries, goons wait outside voting areas, seeking to intimidate, injure or even kill those who come to vote. And in far too many countries voting is not even an option. Hmmm, why had I been grumbling again?


I'm concerned that we too easily assume that our vote means nothing, or that the hassle somehow isn't worth our time or effort. I can't believe that those who risk or give their lives for this privilege would find our excuses compelling. I hope you made time to exercise your responsibility. And if you didn't (for whatever reason) that you'll commit now to do it next time. Really. If not for your voice to be heard, then because you'll remember that someone somewhere in this world wishes he had it as good as you when he steps into that voting booth. Or that she's willing to take a chance with her life because the ability to vote is as precious as life itself.

And she probably doesn't even grumble.

what makes a church look good?

I had lunch yesterday with Kevin Haah, lead pastor of New Life Christian Church (www.newcitychurchla.com) in downtown Los Angeles.  Kevin is the church planter of this multi-ethnic, multi-cultural, multi-socio-economic congregation that's grown to about 250 in just a few years.  New Life is a breath of fresh air on the streets of LA, and is a significant expression of hope in a culture that is in such great need.


Kevin and I talked about a new plan to involve churches in a church planting network (CPN) that would dream, plan, fund and encourage a collection of new church plants in the Los Angeles area.  We also talked about the urban church, and God's design and plan for it. We talked about examples from the book of Acts, from Jerusalem to Antioch and beyond. And we marveled at the ability of that first church to transcend class and cultural boundaries to demonstrate a community unlike anything the world had seen.

We talked about Acts 16 and the first "members" of the church in the city of Philippi.  The first person mentioned was Lydia, a seller of purple (Kevin called her a fashion executive!) who opened her small group of Jews to Paul in a gathering by the river (there was no synagogue in the city where the Jews could meet).  Lydia was a businesswoman, a woman of influence and position and a Jew.  And she found new direction and hope in the message Paul offered.


The second person impacted was a slave girl with a demonic spirit that allowed her foretell the future. Her owners made their living from her abilities...until Paul cast that evil spirit from her and gave her the chance to be what God had designed her to be.  This girl was homeless, bottom-of-the-barrel, even less than human in the eyes of those around her. Yet in Christ she now found her meaning value.


For all their work with this girl, Paul and Silas got tossed into prison, where their willingness to remain intact following the earthquake that freed all the inmates, gave them opportunity to share good news with their jailer and bring him and his family to salvation in Christ.  That man was a blue-collar company man, part of the dominant class, a man who managed the violence of life. But he found his peace through the Prince of Peace.


A female Jewish entrepreneur. A demonized riff-raff slave. A government enforcer.  As different from each other as possible.  Yet they were cornerstone pieces of what was to become the Philippian church.  God never intended for his people to have to look like each other on the outside. To have life experiences in common. To have to come from the same race, culture, class or life direction. In fact, his power and glory are much more powerfully demonstrated when those of us from vastly varied backgrounds find unity and oneness through what he's done for us. Through his sacrifice. His death. His gift of life for the world that he loves so much.

And when we gather around what we do have in common- a Savior who has called us, redeemed us and commissioned us- we create a community unlike anything the world understands. A community where "natural" barriers (e.g. race, culture, class, education, income) mean increasingly less and where love, acceptance, partnership and mutual edification take center stage.  Urban churches...and maybe more and more churches everywhere...must reflect this kind of look, because in so doing we reflect our immediate community.  And in so doing, we also reflect the bigger picture that will one day envelope all those who claim allegiance to Jesus.  That's heaven, of course.  


And if you don't feel comfortable with what I've described now, you're really gonna be disappointed on that Day.

a church without God? (another Kenya update!)

Every time we embark on a GO! Team adventure, God provides special people and opportunities for us to find.  Our time in Kenya was no exception.  While in Masii, we met Laura, a young French woman who was finishing an internship with a local NGO located in the same building where Tumaini had its offices.


Laura became close friends with many Tumaini people including William, the pastor of Masii Christian Chapel.  What made the friendship even more interesting was that Laura was a devout atheist.  Not only did she not believe in God, it made no logical sense to her how or why others would profess such a belief.  Laura was not shy about her views, and she and William had countless conversations about the plausibility of Christianity.  


We had the pleasure of meeting Laura shortly before her return to France, and we discovered some impressive dynamics about her relationship with the Christians in Masii.   She attended church services regularly, sang, contributed and fellowshiped in a personal and powerful way.  The church didn't convince her about the existence of God (yet) but it showed her something she'd never seen before- the unconditional love and caring of community.  And though she could deny the reality of God, she couldn't (nor did she want to) deny the reality of the love that a group of people from another culture showered upon her, even though they were on different pages when it came to faith!


The one thing Laura told us she wanted to do upon her return to France was to begin a church that had all the same fellowship components as those in Masii, but a church that didn't have to believe in God!  We chuckled as we talked about how that would ultimately look, since the love she'd found represented God himself.  And though it may sound strange to you that she wanted a church without God, I understood her sentiment as a tribute of the highest order to the believers there. She has perhaps never experienced such community in her life in France.  Yet people in another country, because of their faith took her in, accepted her, and by loving her made her hungry for more. She may not understand this as God's love (yet), but I believe she will.  And we're praying that this love will cause her to search until she finds it somewhere among God's people in her own culture.


I love the fact that the church in one small town made an international impact on one unbeliever simply by loving her the way Christ told them to. She promised us that she'd keep her mind and heart open to the possibility of God, and we told her that we would pray for her. Even though she's an insistent atheist. Even though she doesn't understand what she can't see. Even though she doesn't believe.


Yet.

there's no place like home (kenya update)

There’s no mistaking being here in Africa. The moment I step off the plane, the sights, the sounds, the smells and the atmosphere bombard my senses and scream to me that I’m not in Kansas anymore. I look around each day and remind myself, “I’m in Africa!”

There are so much that’s so different from what I’m accustomed to. Of course, Kenya is filled with…well, Kenyans. That’s obviously different. The driving, on the left-hand side of the road and, in Nairobi just about anywhere a driver chooses, is different. The warmth and kindness of friends and strangers here alike is pleasantly different. Foods, sights, conveniences, homes and much more- different.

But let me tell you a bit about last Tuesday. Pastor William of the Masii Christian Chapel, took Pastor Josh and me to make calls around town. We walked a distance from the primary part of town to a community known as “Kosovo.” It’s an alcohol brewing area, and most inhabitants are social outcasts. We got there before 10 a.m. and everyone had already been drinking for some time. We were invited to sit and as we conversed, the elder of the group, Peter, asked us if we believed they were misguided to drink as much as they did.

A conversation quickly blossomed. A conversation about what ought to control us, and deeper lordship issues. About Jesus making wine (OK, they said it was beer) and about making God happy. About the shame and self- contempt they felt because church people usually preached at and condemned them. About feeling unwelcome, uncomfortable and unloved in church. And about who Jesus might hang out with if he came to Masii. Suddenly, Africa felt a little more like home than it had.


We stood talking with a friend of William’s on a main street. A young man, obviously drunk approached us (is there a sign on me or something?!) and introduced himself as Abdullah. He insisted we buy him lunch, which William declined. He then asked us to follow him- actually, I think he dragged us- into what we thought was a restaurant to pray for him. Sitting with him in a booth of sorts, we realized we were in a bar and the half-empty glass of beer between us all was his. He poured out his heart, lamenting of his addiction to drink and the destruction it had caused. How he spent whatever money he earned on beer, even if it meant he didn’t eat. How he was tired and wanted change. He begged us to pray that he would be delivered. With tears in his eyes we prayed. And then we bought him lunch. Hmm, sure seems a lot like what I do at home.


William took most of our group to a corner of town where 15-20 young men gather daily to sell drugs. As we met these men, I had the opportunity to present the gospel to them. I spoke as William translated, and we found ourselves quickly surrounded by even more men, coming over to see what was happening with the wazungu (whites). A car pulled up behind us, something was removed from the trunk , something from within our midst replaced it, and it sped off with its newfound treasure. As we prayed with these guys, I saw the hollowness, the hopelessness, the longing for something better in their eyes. And somehow, I felt pretty much like I was at home.


I realize again how alike we are. That although customs and externals may not be the same, we’re not so far apart. Our very essence cries out for value, for freedom, for meaning and purpose, for love. From others and from God. We may dress ourselves in contextual uniqueness, but at the heart we’re very much alike. Don’t be fooled by what you see on the outside. It’s about the inside. It’s about people and our need to be right. With others and with God. In Kenya, in Africa, in America.


It’s good to be home.

a voice in kenya

I heard God's voice today.

Our devotional booklet has focused on learning to hear the voice of God, and I've been working on that during the trip. Before leaving for home visits this morning, I asked God specifically to help me hear his voice today.  Our visitations to Tumaini kids and their families took us to a number of homes, some of them with very little.  But one was different than the others.

Louise is a grandmother raising her two grandchildren, Rachel and Wambua, because their mom died several years ago through HIV AIDS.  Dad's still around, but is sickly and probably has the disease as well.  In addition to this loss, Louise has lost other children, one who died giving birth and others to AIDS.  She is a faithful believer, a widow, and probably more than 70 years old.  She struggles just to make sure her family is taken care of.  And Tumaini helps.

Her home consists of a few brick and mud structures that appear little more than small storage sheds.  But she and the kids have used them for shelter since last April.  It was during heavy rains then that another small brick and mud structure in which they were sleeping began to collapse.  Some of the walls gave way in the downpour as the children began screaming, "We're dead! We're dead!"  Somehow, walls that should have fallen on them didn't and they were spared.

As Louise shared her story and we surveyed the half-collapsed home, Stanley said quietly to me, "Tumaini doesn't typically involve itself in building homes, but I believe God wants us to rebuild this one."  It was then God spoke to my heart and said, "You- you and people you know- make sure this home is redone and this family is safe."  I stood there quietly considering the situation.  How could we not?  I acknowledged what I believed I heard, told Stanley what God had laid on my heart, and asked how much it would cost.  He said he would have estimates and a man ready to begin in a couple of days, but he thought it should be about $700.  I calmly thought, "Our missions budget can probably afford that." 

Then I heard God's voice again. "No," he clearly told me, "Not just from your budget. I want greater awareness and ownership from others.  I want you to ask and involve people." 

Really.  That's what he told me.

So there it is.  I believe with all my heart God heard my prayer this morning and spoke to me.  It's not exactly what I was expecting (I'm not sure just what I was expecting), but he spoke.  And I'm kinda excited, because he's either spoken, speaking, or going to speak to someone else about his or her part in this.  If you think God might be speaking to you, let me know.  Soon.  More rains are on the way and this family needs assistance before something else falls.

It's not about the money.  It's about listening.  And responding.  I'm trying to hear him and follow what I believe he's saying to me.  It's not always easy.  Too many voices, too many distractions, too much talking on my part.  But I know something for sure tonight.

I heard God's voice today.