I forgot, it's not about me

As most of you know, I lead a service in the nursing home twice a month. Recently, I was feeling discouraged because my one regular volunteer had to drop out for a while.

I asked myself why I was bothering to keep showing up after all these years.

I asked myself whether a more gifted person would be able to draw more volunteers.

I asked myself whether the number of people who sleep through the service is proof of how boring I am.

I asked myself why the staff didn't know any better than to stand behind me carrying on a distracting conversation, while I was trying to lead the service.

I asked myself why I bother trying to pray for each one individually at the end, when half of them are suddenly desperate to get out of the room instead. Of course, the ones that aren't trying to leave are desperate for attention. Two of the ladies were gravely insulted a couple of weeks ago, because they felt they had been intentionally skipped by my partner who was covering their half of the room. I had actually heard him greet them by name, so I'm confident they weren't skipped, and I think the problem was that 5 minutes later they simply didn't remember being prayed for. But they were truly offended, and I had had to beg their forgiveness. I asked myself what the point was.

I asked myself whether the heckler should be teaching me something. While I was leading a prayer for the victims of Katrina, she kept shouting "Get a move on!"

And then I looked out at the room filled with old people in wheelchairs, and noted that it was more crowded than usual. There were 30 people, not counting the staff. I suddenly realized that there are full-fledged churches that average fewer attendees than that (even though theirs are probably all conscious, and some of mine aren't). And God reminded me that it's not just a room filled with wheelchairs, it's a congregation.

And then, one of the aides ran up to me and gave me an exuberant hug. Last time she asked me to pray because her daughter had moved to Florida, and didn't have a job. She could hardly wait to tell me the news that her daughter had found a job.

And then, after the service, one of the ladies called me over, handed me an envelope, containing a note with some inspirational sayings, pulled me close and said sincerely "you are a good preacher". I always think of myself as a teacher, not as a preacher, so it was a particular gift that day for her to affirm that.

And I suddenly realized once again, that it's not about me. I was worried about my lack of help, and my lack of gifting, and even my lack of motivation, but in the meanwhile there was a congregation waiting to be fed, and comforted, and prayed for.

How do you reach out, without watering down the gospel?

I often get stuck on this question. How do you reach out, and find common ground, and show respect to the other person's beliefs, without watering down the gospel?

I've heard about the abuses that missionaries have committed in the past, where they were as vigorous about standing for Western culture as they were about the gospel. I remember in particular a story that is not especially important, but seemed really symbolic of the problem. A missionary visited a tribe, brought her own cultural mores, and left (I don't recall the circumstances). But the sad part is what happened when a new missionary came years later. The local people were shocked and suspicious of the new missionary, because she was evidently not a holy person. What were the grounds for this accusation? She wore the wrong kind of shirt. The previous missionary had been fond of a particular style, and had somehow communicated that this was the symbol of holiness.
So I can see the arrogance and stupidity in that, but I find it hard to understand what to do in real life.

What about visiting religious services in other faiths? How much can you participate? I know that I'm not likely to visit a seance, for example, (unless God specifically leads me to do so), but what about things that are not so overtly demonic? What about festivals for the earth goddess? What about non-Christian meditation? What about new age practitioners? Where do you draw the line between respecting them as a person and condoning what they are doing?

Usually I end up just standing with a sort of frozen smile while they tell me about whatever 'wonderful' thing they are involved with, because I'm trying to build a starting point of respect rather than argument. But then I wonder whether I'm just being a chicken. Maybe it's just an excuse on my part, and I'm actually afraid to share the Gospel. I have to admit that I'm truly not sure which it is.

When I read Paul's letters, it seems that he usually just jumped in with both feet (not worrying about his listeners' self-esteem as much as we do!) But then there was that time in Athens that he drew a parallel with their own beliefs.

Years ago, I read a book called Bruchko, by a missionary to the Motilone Indians. I read it about 25 years ago, so I probably have some of the details mixed up. He entered their culture, and spoke in analogies they could understand. For example, when he was trying to teach them to disinfect their huts, he told them that bleach would kill the evil spirits, and even showed them germs under a microscope, called them spirits, and said he could kill them. Clearly, God anointed his work, and there was terrific fruit. But I'm not sure what the best lesson is to learn from it.

Maybe it all boils down to learning to listen God, and be led by God, rather than copying someone else's technique.

Figs and Chayote

For me, one of the big pleasures of travel is trying different foods.

I just went to the market, where I purchased some fresh figs. As soon as I saw them I was transported to a teak sailing vessel in the Agean Sea, off the coast of Turkey. I remembered the sun, and the motion of the waves, and the bees buzzing about, and the sweet, tender juicy fig. If you have only eaten dried figs, the fresh variety is totally different. In fact, it is sort of like the difference between a raisin and a grape. You dry the latter to get the former, but you would never confuse the two. Unfortunately, the figs I bought at the market were but a pale shadow of their Turkish cousins. Seated at the table on the deck of our gulet, we bit into the fresh figs, and agreed that we had never tasted anything quite like it.

At the same market, I noticed chayote. This is a pale green squash that I encountered in Costa Rica. It has a mild flavor and a smooth texture. It's rather innocuous -- not really the kind of thing I expect anyone to love or hate. But just seeing it reminded me of dinner in the middle of the rain forest. The nearest town was only two blocks long, and was a hard 50 minute drive from the hotel. We had purchased the ingredients for dinner based on a shopping list that our guide had recited to us, while we frantically made phoenetic notes. We eagerly rushed into the shop and hopefully recited the unfamiliar words -- chayote among them. The shopkeepers were friendly and helpful, but couldn't understand why we didn't smile and say 'Si' when they gestured to the desired item. How to explain that we didn't even know what we were asking for, so we didn't know whether we had found it!

Back at the hotel, we were invited to help make dinner if we liked. I was eager to see what would be done with these mysterious foodstuffs. Each was peeled, chopped, and thrown into a huge pot. We eventually ended up with a tasty soup. As I recall, the vegetables were scooped out and served separately, but then we each received a bowl of broth into which we dumped the vegetables again. I'm not sure we did it 'right', but we enjoyed it. To this day, the sight of a chayote brings back the aroma of the soup, and the good humored amusement of the cooks who saw that we didn't even know how to prepare simple vegetables.

TV worth watching--Bonhoeffer

Steve's blog inspired me to comment on a program I saw on PBS, about Bonhoeffer. Dietrich Bonhoeffer resisted Nazi Germany (even to the extent of being part of a plot to kill Hitler) and was executed by hanging, on April 9th, 1945. The movie contrasted his endeavors with the behavior of the church at large.

I never realized how much the churches actually went along with Naziism -- I guess I was assuming that it was sins of omission (bad enough), rather than sins of commission.

Hearing that the churches actually prohibited semitic pastors, and finally semitic members, makes me wonder what they would have done had Jesus tried to walk in...

It makes me understand that the Jewish fear of Christians is not just paranoia, but is rather something that needs to be addressed by honesty and repentence on the part of the church at large.

And it also makes me wonder what injustices are going on now, about which history will ask "where was the church?". Although I guess I should be more concerned with what God thinks than what history thinks. So let me re-phrase the question: What injustices break God's heart, and therefore should break ours?

Cooperation in the midst of tragedy

We've all seen pictures of the devestation in the New Orleans area. It's not just the loss of life, it's the enormity of the relocation effort. And we've all heard the accusations of mismanagement on every level of government. But I want to focus on the flip side -- the fact that tragedy really does bring out the best in (some) people.

I'm sure as the days, weeks and months go by, we'll here anecdotes about personal heroism. And I'm sure that there will be many more stories we never hear about, because the people involved simply felt they were doing the right thing, and didn't call it heroic.

But I'm fascinated by the response of people at a distance -- both individuals and countries. Did you know that countries all over the world have offered help? Some of the poorest countries in the world are opening their hearts to help America. After an initial misguided refusal from the White House, the U.S. is finally accepting at least some of the help.

Bangladesh has pledged one million dollars, and has also offered to send rescue specialists. To put this in context, you have to realize how poor Bangladesh is. Their citizens have an average income of less than a dollar a day.

Sri Lanka has pledged a symbolic amount of $25,000. It may seem trivial until you realize that they are still in the middle of recovery from the tsunami -- which took 41,000 lives, and damaged two thirds of their coastal areas.

Also interesting is the response from countries with whom we have an either controversial or even adversarial relationship. Afghanistan, Iran, Venezuela and Cuba have all offered support.

Many countries have experts who are ready to fly in to help, as soon as they are given the green light. Imagine an international army of specialists, in the areas of medicine, search & rescue, phone lines, water purification, etc.

Lets hope that we are not too proud to accept the help.

Here are a couple of interesting articles on the international cooperation:
Offers of Aid from around the world (CNN)
World offers Aid as a Thank You (CBS)
Wouldn't it be a wonderful thing if this tragedy (and others) caused the people of the world to view each other as human beings in need of comfort and support, rather than as political targets to be used for various agendas.

different ways to say Goodbye

It occurred to me the other day that in many different languages, saying 'goodbye' refers to God. Did you know that in English, 'goodbye' is a contraction of 'God be with you'? Maybe I shouldn't have let the cat out of the bag -- I can just imagine some politically correct secularist claiming that it is innapropriate to say this word in a public place.

The whole question of what 'goodbye' really means came to me the other evening while talking to a Muslim waitress in town. For some reason, I seem to see her almost every Sunday on my way to church, and on Friday evenings on my way home. I'm not sure how it works out that her break happens exactly when I'm passing by, but we generally nod and smile and say 'hi' as I pass.

On Friday evening, I felt led to actually stop and talk to her. I noticed a slight accent and asked where she was from. When she said Cyprus, I asked what language she spoke (since it might be Turkish or Greek). She said Turkish, so I was happy that I had a particular way of reaching out. I said 'hello' to her in Turkish. She was pleased, and said 'merhaba' back. I invited her to church, and she told me she is Muslim. I said she would be welcome to come visit anyway, and she seemed pleased, but her Sunday shift starts at 9:30am so she can't make it.

As we wrapped up our conversation, I said 'goodbye' to her in Turkish. 'Allaha ismarladik'. And she responded with the classis 'Güle güle' , which spoken by the person who is staying, and actually means 'go with a smile'. And then I suddenly remembered that the word for word translation of what I had said actually meant 'I'm leaving you with God, or I put myself in the hands of God'.

That made me think of the other languages that also invoke God's blessing when you say farewell. Think of 'Adieu' (French), or of 'Adios' (Spanish).

I tried looking up some other languages, and found a website that gives common greetings in 800 languages. It turns out that many languages are very specific in how one says goodbye, depending on how many people you are speaking to, or whether you are the one going or staying, or whether it is night or morning, or whether it is formal or informal. My favorite was Kwanyama (a language I'm not familiar with). In Kwanyama you have to keep track of whether you are person #1, 2, 3 or 4 in the conversation.

Just remember that when you say 'goodbye' you are really blessing someone. In this secular day and age, it's a sneaky way of praying for someone without anyone noticing!

Goodbye!