Prologue Jog:
By now you should know how these things go: this is the warm-up to another verbal marathon. The good news is, it’s divided in stages, and I saved the last half for next time. Besides, no one says you have to run. You can walk, jog, crawl, summersault, or my personal favorite, skip: just read the parts that look interesting. The sections this time are all short stories and reflections from my trip to Colombia in February. (The dates of each section correspond to the time of the story, not of the writing. In other words, they’re dated by the occurrence of the event, not by the occurrence of my over-heated cerebrum.)
It’s hard to believe that two and a half months have already gone by since February 16-21, when I was privilege to help staff an international missions conference in Medellín, Colombia. I even had the opportunity to speak in one of the afternoon workshops. Normally I would have said “no thanks” and made some excuse about not being able to speak Spanish, but its miraculous how the Spirit of God can put the words in your mouth and a smile on your face as He impresses your mind with the infinite love, mercy, justice, and power of God.
The theme of this year’s congress was Entrega Total, or Total Surrender, and the conference banners and bulletins pictured the silhouette of a young man kneeling before a cross formed by the words of Matthew 16:24. Speakers David Gates, Steven Bohr, Rimberto Parada, and others, challenged attendees to a fuller commitment to Jesus Christ and service to others.
In the cultural Christianity of today, too many of us have forgotten the true meaning of the cross of Christ. When Christ said, “Take up your cross and follow Me,” He did not mean for us to hang crucifixes on our necks, key chains, and rearview mirrors while continuing to live self-centered and self-seeking lives. To take up the cross means to go against the grain of human nature, to die to self, and to sacrifice your life to work for the salvation of others.
Recently we took the kids bridge jumping at kilometer 31. It’s not a really high bridge, six meters, maybe seven when you jump from the top of the railing, but its enough to intimidate a few of the more acrophobic. Julio in particular just couldn’t bring himself to make the drop. He clung to the railing for close to half an hour, peering down at the water, sometimes leaning out, but never letting go.
“Just take the railing with you!” we teased.
When it comes to the Christian life, it’s all or nothing. We have to take the plunge; we have to be all in. We should be unashamed of radical commitment. Who cares if people say, “oohh, he’s really gone off the deep end!” Who’s afraid of the deep end? God specializes in the deep end! Is not the deep end where God Himself dwells? “He discovers deep things out of darkness, and brings out to light the shadow of death.” His “judgments are a great deep” and His “thoughts are exceedingly deep.” (Job 12:22 Psalms 36:6, 92:5). And yet He longs for us to experience more of that depth. He came to give us life and that more abundantly (John 10:10). He longs to grant us according to the riches of His glory to be strengthened with might by the Spirit in the inner man; to dwell in our hearts by faith, that being rooted and grounded in love we might be able to comprehend the breadth, and length and depth, and height, and to know His love that passes knowledge that we might be filled with all His fullness (Eph 3:16-19). I don’t know about you, but I long for a deeper experience. But all too often, I’m like Julio on the bridge. I know I have no control in a free-fall and I am afraid to let go of my guardrails and just jump.
God’s Wings. February 16, 2010
There are six of us in the twin-engine Aerostar 600 A, piloted by Capitan Jeff Sutton, director of GMI’s aviation program here in Bolivia. As we climb through the early-morning fog, I notice that the reflection of the cockpit cabin is mirrored in the chrome just behind the prop on the right wing, and it seems a good reminder of what holds us up.
I think of James 1:23-25, Exodus 20, and Psalm 91:4, and I wonder if the Divine Law, as a transcript of God’s character and a monument to His creative and sustaining power, is the chrome on the wings of the Almighty.
“By Their Food You Shall Know Them”
About six hours later we descend into Medellín, Colombia’s version of Interlaken, Switzerland: green and pristine, a slice of paradise in the mouth of the mountains.
When we arrive on the university campus, my host, Señora Isabela, the girl’s dean for off-campus housing, is waiting to greet me and take me to her apartment where her whole family gives me a warm welcome, and she shows me my room and the shower. After I clean up, she asks me what I would like to eat. I’m not picky I tell her: I’ll eat anything as long as its vegetarian, though I also try to avoid dairy products. So she serves me a full-course meal with a huge bowl of fresh-cut mangoes and several whole-wheat peanut-butter sandwiches on the side. Afterward she won’t even let me clear my plate from the table, and I don’t know what to do with this first-class treatment. Later, when I ask if I can borrow an iron to press my clothes, she tells me to just leave them out and she will iron them. If I were Pastor Steven Bohr himself I wouldn’t have been treated better.
One morning I leave the house early to attend the 7:30 meeting, and since the family doesn’t seem to be up yet, I figure I’ll skip breakfast. Not so. I’m helping to set up chairs for the morning workshops when Jerry tells me there’s someone looking for me. I go outside to find a distressed Isabela packing a complete breakfast-to-go.
“No no no, mi Kodito, we can’t let you go hungry! That’s terrible! You need to have your breakfast!” As if that isn’t enough, she takes me to the nearby University breakfast bar and buys me grape juice and empanadas. If I had a better tan and spoke better Spanish everyone would think she was my mom!
My friend Lyli doesn’t fare as well. Her host (who happens to be a pastor) forgot to tell his wife that they were going to have company. When Lyli arrives, the Señora is so upset about the surprise that all she can manage is to show Lyli her room before disappearing into the inner recesses of the house without even a word of greeting. No supper, eight hours, and no breakfast later, poor Lyli is starving and, I would think, sorry she ever came to Colombia. Instead, she tries to make the best of it.
“God knows,” she tells me. “Maybe I need this experience.”
“Maybe your host needs a smack on the head!” (Apparently I have as much to learn about Christianity as the pastor’s wife).
Thankfully I remember that I have a couple granola bars in my backpack, so she at least has something to take the edge off her hunger while we work all morning setting up the school’s booth and manning the registration booth. I want her to come to “my” house for lunch, but she feels bad coming without an invitation.
Later, over a plate of rice, lentils, plantain, and salad, I tell Isabela about Lyli’s situation. She is horrified, and scolds me for not making Lyli come for lunch while she packs up a plate to go.
If Every Home Were a Hospital…
There would be a lot more homeless people. On the other hand, maybe home hospitals would drop the cost of health care. One thing I’ve noticed in South America is there seems to be a lot more in-home medical care. For example, the abuelita, Isabela’s mother, is suffering from high blood pressure, and the doctor stopped by this evening for a consultation. I ask if that’s normal, and they say it depends on the doctor, but most are quite willing to make home calls. I’m not surprised, considering Isabela invites him to stay for supper. I wonder if the greater number of home calls is more about convenience, or more about the fact that the hospitals here aren’t always the clean, healing machines one might expect. In any event, I was thinking about what defines a hospital and I somehow got stuck on the word hospitality—not surprising perhaps, in light of my current context. But what does hospitality have to do with hospitals? It seems like a typical English Learner question: difficult, but logical. Upon a little reflection, however, I would respond “more than you might think!” Hospitality is treating even visitors and strangers as if their lives depend on it, being solicitous and attentive of their needs, and letting them go feeling better than when they arrived. If every home practiced true hospitality, maybe there would be more real Christians and fewer sick and homeless among us.
Unwitting Walk. February 19, 2010
On my way to the University campus for the morning meeting, my head must have been in the clouds (or so it seemed to me as I inhaled traffic fumes) because I turned right at the corner instead of taking the direct route straight to the east entrance. I considered turning back, but I was already over halfway up the block to the next street, I decided to keep going.I had just turned left for the University when a security guard in a maroon suit called to me from the corner. Oh no, I thought. Did I just walk on someone’s lawn, or break some neighborhood code? (It hadn’t taken me long to discover that Medellín’s orderly appearance is largely the result of legislative rather than personal initiative.)
“Brother!” he greeted me. “Can you pray for me?” Whew what a relief. That’s easy! Wait, is this guy serious, or is he making fun of me? With my shirt and tie and my Bible in my hand, I suppose I looked prayer-worthy.
But as I approached I could tell by the look in his eye that he was serious.
“Of course!” I replied. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Javier”
“Any requests in particular?”
“Yes, for my family.” And he proceeded to explain an all-too-typical tale of family tragedy. I put my hand on his shoulder and said a prayer for him and his family. As I turned to leave I remembered I had some Centinela tracts with the title “Does God care when I’m hurting.”
It wasn’t until I’d almost reached the University entrance that I remembered that a mere two hours earlier I had asked the Lord to guide every facet of my day and give me opportunities to share His love with those around me! It amazes me how God can use us in spite of ourselves!
February 20, 2010. Walls. You see them everywhere here. People say that the Hispanic culture is a lot more open, but you sure wouldn’t guess it by the architecture. Granted, we’re in a big city, and one has to take precautions against thieves. But you would think that in broad daylight one could at least open the gate between the church and the street, and if not every day of the week, at least early on Sabbath morning. But then there wouldn’t be this colorful pilgrimage or worshippers wending their way along half a kilometer of walls and fences, a living metaphor of the straight gate and narrow way and the few there be who find it.
