You Can't Shine Over Dirt

Isn’t it amazing the things people remember from their childhood? My dad use to rip off one-liners all the time and what’s startling is that I still remember them. When I protested of chores he would say, “There are some things in life you have to do even if you don’t like it.” Or “If you don’t stop crying, I’ll give you something to cry about.” Some of his sayings were meant for encouragement, others were threats. They usually worked.

The other day when I was getting ready for a meeting I got some polish out to put a new coat on my dull and dusty shoes. Before applying I heard my dad say, “Son, you can’t shine over dirt.” Instinctively I got up and got a moist cloth to clean my shoes before I smeared on the black. I dwelled on that saying while I continued my chore. What a great principle for life, I thought.

We all know that most of God’s creatures spend a lot of time trying to keep the shine on. In a social setting I find it fascinating, and times a bit annoying, listening to people go on and on about their life, their career, their kids, their importance. They spend so much time talking about themselves it never occurs to them to ask about you, your life or story. Some people work really hard at projecting their shine by the clothes they wear and the accessories that are meant to impress. But for many, under that shine is a lot of dirt.

In the news recently there is a story of an evangelical leader who seemingly had it all -- pastor of a large church, beautiful family, invitations even to the White House to counsel on morality. It all came to and end when it was found out that he had for years been taking methanphanmine and seeing a male prostitute. His confession was that for decades he lived with the reality that he had a dark and diabolical other self. His shine was a beautiful family, the gift of verbal persuasion and a ministry that was successful. What the world did not know, but he and God did, was that beneath the shine was grime and in the end the shine came off because you can’t shine over dirt.

Character, they say, is what you are when no one else is around. Persona doesn’t tell the whole story, sometimes not the real story. I find this thought troubling as I think of the dirt that creeps into my own life. Like the thin film of soot that hovers over the city of Delhi and rests on my computer, desk and floor, so, too, does the dirt of this world settle over my soul each day. The daily battle to keep the dust from my life is wearing and, like Paul I say, “I want to do what is right, but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway…Oh what a miserable person I am! Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death?”

Though I cannot escape the grunge of self, I don’t have to live with it. I do have a choice, I can either try to keep the chambers of the heart clean or I can let the muck build. If I choose the latter it will one day come back to bite me for nothing stays hidden from God and I can’t shine over dirt.

My God, Why?

Flipping through the TV channels the other night I stopped at a movie already in progress called Awakenings. It’s an old movie, starring Robert DeNiro and Robin Williams, a story about people who have a disease that causes them to be in a statue like, frozen state of being. This true story, set in the 60’s, is about a doctor who finds a drug that bring these patients come out of their comatose state and they experience an awakening. For a short period of time these people feel the joy of walking and talking once again. Unfortunately the effect of the drug was not long lasting and the patients would revert back to their catatonic condition.

There is a scene in the movie where a mother is speaking to the doctors about her hope for her son. “When my son was born,” she said, “seemingly healthy and normal, I never questioned, ‘Why am I so fortunate, why am I so blessed with such a healthy baby?’ But, now, you bet I ask, ‘Why has this happened to us? What have I done so wrong that my son would suffer so?’”

At so it is with all of us. When things are going well we are not emotionally perplexed with why we are so fortunate. By our actions of not probing our blessings we may even think that our lives, free of heartache, is somehow normal, or the way things should be. It’s only when things begin to go wrong that we wonder what we’ve done to incur God’s disfavor.

Because I live in a developing country I get pretty jaded with the disease and poverty I see around me each day. People who visit this country seem not to be able to cope with the beggars, dirty street kids and the squalors that many call home. Because it’s my environment I am sometimes oblivious to such tragic surroundings. However, the next morning after watching Awakenings, I was on my daily walk and saw the trash pickers as they roamed the neighborhood. These young women and girls get up before dawn, and pick up paper and plastic that people have thrown out the night before. Scavengers with no education, I can only imagine where they slept the night before and what a miserable existence they have. No opportunity to go to school, to learn a trade, to raise a family in a decent home. Their children will perpetuate their hopeless condition; their future is as bleak as the morning fog.

As I made my rounds that morning I thought, “God, why am I blessed so much? Why have you allowed me to enjoy good health, a decent home and a wonderful family? Why have I found favor in your eyes?”

In reality all of the sons of Adam should be as alarmed with any blessing we experience. Born in sin, rebellious to our Creator, any good thing should cause us to stop in our tracks and ask, “My God, why are you so good to me?” I’m not sensitive enough to His goodness, but will awaken when things go wrong. When difficulties come into my life you can bet I will run to Him and plead for relief, healing, salvation. In reality I should be awakened to His goodness each day the sun shines and ask with urgency, “Why have you shown favor to me?” The answer of course is one word – Grace, the most profound act of God.

The Flight Of Time

My niece sent this picture titled, “A Biker And His Babe: What happens when the kids take away your drivers license.” God help me if this is Sandy and I in a few years.

Since crossing the sixth decade of life I am sensitive to social time. In the past month I have been asked to speak to a couple of youth groups and my theme has been from Ecclesiastes 11:9, 10:

Young people, it’s wonderful to be young. Enjoy every minute of it. Do everything you want to do; take it all in. But remember that you must give an account to God for everything you do. So refuse to worry, and keep your body healthy. But remember that youth, with a whole life before you, is meaningless.

Solomon, also refereed to as “The Preacher,” wrote these words at the end of his life, when time had nicked him and he became cynical of man’s existence. I can relate. Every time I speak before young people I can hear Billy Crystal’s speech in “City Slickers” in my head (go to: http://youtube.com/watch?v=Q2Mh_2a29qk). Both Solomon and Crystal had a similar themes…enjoy your youth for time quickly flies by.

In many countries old age is celebrated, as the elderly are perceived to be closer to God. That is certainly true physically, but their reference is more to old age and spiritually. As one grows older and the body begins to breakdown, mortality is more evident than when you are twenty and have more energy than common sense. In every country I’ve had the privilege to work in it is the elderly who go to church. It’s the elderly in Bolivia and the babushka’s in Russia who go to daily mass. I visited an Orthodox Church in Romania a few years back and the ten people who attended were all over seventy, even the priest who faithfully recited the prayers out of duty, not out of passion. It is the elderly who visit the Hindu temples, the “blue hairs,” who go to church. Why? Because they are aware that the clock of life is set on one minute to midnight, and the second hand can neither be reversed or stand still.

My message to the youth, however, is not that different from my message to any group of any age. First, “man makes his plans but God directs his steps.” I’m not a determinist and believe that I do indeed have a say on what happens in my life. The grand design for our lives does have some predetermined components. I can’t change where I was born, my gender, my parents, and my culture. But there are many variables that I do have control over. God has given us an opportunity to write the script of our lives and that leads to the second point of my outline -- choices. As Stanley Barrett wrote in “The Rebirth of Anthropological Theory,”

Virtually every value, norm, act and decision has one or more plausible alternatives that contradict it. All social action involves choices between alternatives.

Everyday I (we) get to determine how the story of our life will turn out. The food I eat, the books I read, how I spend my time each day, all is the screenplay I am creating. It’s possible that I will get hit by a bus today (something I think about daily as I walk the congested streets of Delhi), and be rendered paralyzed and bedfast for the rest of my life. Perhaps I will suffer a stroke that will make and end to my writing and teaching life. But, apart from those things I cannot control, God has given me freedom to travel my course without interference. Of course the key is to allow God to direct our steps as well as not abuse the freedom we possess. I can do all things, but not all things are edifying, either to God, others or myself.

While I may be closer to God than the young idealistic youth I speak to (though I remind them there is no guarantee as the curtain of their play may fall before mine), I pray that I have a few acts left before I leave the stage. If I make the right choices, stay close to Him, I will finish well. I just hope I exit before someone takes a picture of my babe and me as we toddle down the last mile of life.

The Bane of Vision

Ahh, the comfort of the status quo. Can anyone think of a more peaceful place than a rut that is constant? No surprises, no challenges, no criticism, no hassles. I remember watching the goat herders in Kenya who all they did everyday was tend to their flocks. They would get up in the early morning, throw rocks at the wanders to get back with the bunch, take a nap in the hot afternoon sun when the goats rested, herded them back to the kraal at night. What a life!

In this fast pace world we live in, especially if you are, like myself, self-employed, you can’t afford to “go with the flow.” My clients are those who have entrusted me with their resources to take the message of the Good News to people who have never heard. As I look at this new year I am forced to consider my teaching schedule in India, Kenya and the U.S.; launching a new initiative called the Center for Advanced Mission Studies (CAMS); publishing training material; upgrading everything from my webpage to real-time lectures online. My clients presume I will go beyond status quo; more importantly, my omnipresent Boss expects more of me than being in the rut of life.

I am well aware that many people in my profession, once in the system, can get lost in a rut and few people in the states know or care. Sad, but true, all one needs to do to continue to get support is write a newsletter once a quarter, tell a few stories about someone getting “saved,” about the neighbors coming down with beriberi, or how hard it is to find good bread at the local market and one can live a lifetime on the field. That’s a sad commentary on missionaries, it’s even more of an indictment to the local sending church and mission agency. Accountability is almost non-existent in my work and those back home who try to hold people to a standard usually know so little about missions they wouldn’t know how to evaluate a work if they were inclined to do so.

Does God expect us to have vision and goals? Yeah, I think so, but we need to keep things in perspective. God is more interested in our relationship with Him than sacrifice. But just being faithful, which is often code for “I’m unproductive but I’m still on the field,” isn’t what God has in mind either. He expects us to make plans as He directs our steps, to consider the work ethic of the ant and recognize that a little slumber and a little folding of the hands leads to poverty. I’d love to find a rut to ride, but I’m too paranoid that in the end I will end up cast into outer darkness because I didn’t diligently work out my own salvation. Okay, that may be stretching it, but a little holy fear keeps me on my toes.

As I look forward to 2007 I make no resolutions, except one. I resolve not to just let life happen, but, with His help, move toward some measurable goals. One day, maybe when I’m too old to move, I will take the time to throw rocks at goats.

Hand Out

In talking with a friend of mine recently he said, “I feel sorry for you guys (missionaries). Everyone seems to have his or her hand out asking for support. The problem is that you all are fishing from the same pond…the local church.”

Of course I can’t disagree with his underlying argument. There are a lot of people crisscrossing the country every Sunday giving their pitch on their ministries, ranging from orphanages, sports ministry, Bible translation, schools, youth camps and feeding programs. I, too, have a tendency to be jaded by the dog-and-pony shows of missionaries who put on silly looking national dress, have their kids sing songs in Swahili, show pictures of the poor in Cambodia and tell fantastic stories that border on Ripley’s Believe It Or Not. It doesn’t help my attitude when I turn on the GOD channel and see the televangelists who wear outrageous costumes, jump up and down like Masai warriors with people lying on the floor, presumably slain by the Spirit, jerking as though they are having an epileptic seizure. It’s embarrassing and I hate that some people would lump me in with others who “have their hand out.”

Though I disdain the reality that missions have become a business, which requires that each program must seek funding, I’m not sure there is an alternative. The corporate world certainly isn’t going to advance the Kingdom nor will secular NGO’s. I may not be convinced that Christian camp programs in Moldova are strategic or that distributing food to the hungry will produce anything but “rice Christians,” but because I don’t buy into it doesn’t make those ministries illegitimate. I’ve been in the business long enough now to realize that God uses some of the dumbest ideas for His glory, which includes some of my dumb ideas. This is not a defense for nonsense, but a check on being critical for sake of putting down ministries we personally may not agree with.

Missionaries go to the local church because, as Willy Sutton said of banks, “That’s where the money is.” God’s people, interested in God’s work are challenged to give for the cause of reaching the world with the message of Christ. While it does seem that there are a lot of people “with their hand out,” statistics consistently report that not much more that five cents of every Christian dollar given ever gets to the mission field. Missionaries are not competing with other mission projects but with new church buildings in the states, sound systems, church parking space and short-term mission trips for the youth. Missionaries, with their “hands out,” struggle with funding, not because there isn’t enough money to go around, but rather because they are competing with local interests.

In reality, most people in this world have their “hands out.” The politician who wants to get reelected solicits funds, the employee who fills out a job application, the businessman who seeks clients, the NGO who tries to get a government grant, the church passing the collection plate are all, in a sense, begging “Brother can you spare me a dime?” I suppose it’s a matter of perception and presentation. The skeptics, like myself, need to show a little more grace. Most missionaries are honorable and sincere people who just want to serve Christ. Even if they wear funny shoes or hat, God give me the grace not to see them as just having their “hands out.”

A Life Hidden

Many years ago I visited Mali, West Africa. Mali is one of those countries in the world that gets little notice. It’s poor, hot and insignificant. It’s greatest claim to fame is that there is a city in the north called Timbuktu, and though many have heard of it, few know that it is really a city and that it is in this non-descript country.

In a village called Keniba, there is a hospital built by a missionary by the name of Robert Correll. Correll was the son of the founder of a mission agency called United World Mission and he had a tragic death. One night, in the mid-60’s, Correll was trying to siphon gas into his Land Rover by the light of a kerosene lantern. As the story was told to me, he sucked too much gas into this mouth and instinctively spit the petrol out in the direction of the lantern. Immediately engulfed in flames his body was so badly burned that he only lived a couple of days. When I visited Keniba in 1992 I saw where he was buried, in the tall grass in an abandoned compound. The hospital was, for the most part, also abandoned, used primarily for storage of grain.

As I think of this missionary I never knew and few have heard of, it causes me to pause and ask questions of life and legacy. In today’s world where success is measured by the size of the project, its effectiveness, it’s “bang for the buck,” what good was Correll's life? There seemingly is no lasting fruit from Correll's existence on earth…no thriving church, no ongoing presence of a medical mission to help the disadvantaged. It’s as if his life didn’t matter and in the end, his death was a cruel reward for his sacrifice to a thankless people.

Correll did live; he did exist. And though the efforts of his life are not seen today it is because of our, my, inability to see God’s eternal handiwork. Correll lived for his day, not necessarily for legacy. All the education he accumulated in becoming a medical doctor, the money raised for his support and building of hospital was for a brief snapshot in time. Wasted? If that is my conclusion then I will have to take it up with the One who orchestrated Correll’s life, work and death. Harnessed with the limits of time, I do not now see those who were influenced by Correll’s life. Did his brief existence bring one or two people to know the love of Christ through his humanitarian efforts? Though the church in Keniba is small, are they not enough to justify the life of a young doctor whose remains are hidden in an African field?

Correll’s story is sobering. What is mission effectiveness? How is success measured? Perhaps we have it all wrong. Life is for what we accomplish for the moment, not a legacy to build. The ongoing results of a life well lived will continue, though as hidden as unmarked grave, until it all is revealed in eternity.

Friends from the OLD Days

One of the great things about going back to Kenya was to see old friends. When you work in country for as long as we did you don’t just work, you develop relationships…lifelong relationships. Almost everyone made comment on how old I had become, but what do they expect after seventeen years? Three of the first five guys baptized in those early days of our work we were able to see while on this trip.

David Gagula was not much more than a teenager when he came to Christ. David crossed the border into Makutano to find work in the mid-70's, walked into our newly established church in Makutano, heard the Good News and became a believer. After we left the country in 1989 he returned to Uganda where he is a pastor of a church and has established a Bible study-training program.


Dedokias Ochieng, another early convert, worked for our family for ten years. Dedokias, his wife ,Lucia, and three boys came over to our house for tea. It was grat to hear how they are still faithfully serving Christ in their local church in Kitale.


Of course Pastor Paul Gichuki has been a friend since 1977. His wife, Jecentia passed away in April of last year. The family structure of Kenyans are different than Americans and for Paul not to have a wife is almost against culture. Paul will soon be married toWinfredia, a godly woman, which the church and Paul’s children are very happy about.


We were fortunate enough to visit one of our bush churches in Pokot, in a town called Kacheliba. The four men in this picture are some of the early converts and who are still faithful members of the church. From left to right, Thomas, who is the present pastor;Magala, who was the first convert; Joel, who is an elder in the church; Rotich, who was once pastor of the church but is now a chief in the area, but still a member of the congregation.



There wasn’t nearly enough time to see everyone, but it was great to see those we met…though I couldn't get over how old they all look!

Giving Vision

Along with celebrating with the Bible Institute graduates, Pastor Paul Gichuki asked me to be a part of three-day conference for the Makutano Baptist Church. MBC was the first church we established back in 1977 and Sandy and I were honored to be a part of the teaching program.

In the past seventeen years that we have been out of Kenya we have learned a lot, visited over forty countries and have a different perspective of the task world evangelism than when we left in 1989. With fresh, though older eyes, I challenged the church to think less about their own needs and emphasized taking the Gospel beyond their region and taking the Good News to those who have never heard.


In some areas of Kenya the people have more than an adequate witness. In fact, in many places there are so many churches that if half of them died today there would probably still be too many. I revealed to the members of MBC that over ninety-five percent of Christian work in Kenya were to those who have already heard, but less than five percent were working among the unreached people groups of animism, Hinduism or Islam. My challenge to MBC was to think about missions, about preparing people for cross-cultural ministries and to their neighboring countries Sudan or Somali.

Sandy, whose passion is in-depth and quality Bible study, challenged the congregation to go beyond mere surface study of God’s Word; to go to a higher level in their spiritual walk. Sandy’s right, we don’t need more churches, we need better churches.


From our time in West Pokot last month, Sandy and I are thinking and praying about facilitating those things we spoke to MBC about. The vision is to establish a Center for Advanced Missions Studies (CAMS), which will provide training for nationals, on-field training for North Americans and to provide teachers (from seminaries, pastors and professional laymen) in helping the church go to that next level.

What will it take to make it happen? One or two couples who have a MDiv. who would be willing to develop a quality training program; partners in the states who will provide work teams, teaching and financial assistance. Let’s pray and see where God will lead.

Seeing His Hand At Work

From my previous post I wrote about the history of the Makutano Bible Institute. After a few years of meeting in the mud huts, we built four larger mud buildings and plastered them with a thin layer of cement. Twenty-five years later those classrooms and dormitory buildings began to crumble.


Five years ago, while visiting Kenya, I sat down with the leaders of the school and they asked if I could help raise money to build permanent and classrooms. The budget for the project was $30,000. I told them that I didn’t have that kind of money and didn’t have contact with anyone that did have that kind of cash. But, I said, “You pray, and I will my best to raise funds. But, I can’t make any promises.”

I sent out an appeal letter, but my faith wasn’t very strong. One church member scolded me for such a little project, saying, "Remodeling my garage costs that much." He didn't, however, make a contribution. A few churches responded, my daughters said they would help, I took money out of our ministry funds and we were still $25,000 short.


The director of a foundation heard about the need and requested that I submit the project for their consideration. I have never raised money from a foundation and was surprised that they were interested (show’s my faith, doesn’t it?). Their grant to us was for $20,000 and when I wrote Pastor Paul Gichuki about God’s faithfulness, he wept.


In giving the dedication speech last month I told the crowd assembled that the credit for the new classrooms and dorm does not go to me but to those who prayed and believed God; second, to a generous funding organization whose focus is in helping worthy projects; third, and most importantly, to the Father who knows our needs, hears and answers prayers and grants blessings on those who trust in Him.


Seeing God’s hand at work is amazing. I am grateful to those who were sensitive to God’s leading, but this little project (which was huge for us, but pretty small in comparison to most building programs) is really a story of His blessings on a group Kenyan Christian leaders who prayed and trusted God to supply their needs. It’s a story that I need to visit often when my faith is weak and my little mole hills look like mountains.

Thirty Years Equipping Others

Thirty years ago we established a church in a backward village in WestPokot, Kenya called Makutano. Following the command to baptize and disciple those who became followers of Christ, I established a training program. The people of Makutano were not highly educated and therefore we felt no need to begin a formal Bible school but rather a non-formal program that concentrated on equipping people for ministry (Eph. 4:12). I traveled on the dusty/muddy road to Makutano each month, sleeping in a mud hut, eating ugali, teaching new believers by kerosene lantern. With no study material available in Swahili, over the course of eight years, I wrote an entire three-year curriculum, which included take-home study notes and books.


This past month I was invited back to Kenya to speak at the graduation ceremony of the Bible Institute. It was with great pleasure and satisfaction that I spoke to the fifteen graduates and the forty first and second year class. I came away from the experience convinced that the greatest need for Kenyan Church was to move them away from the milk of the Word to meat for maturity. Though our early efforts in church planting and discipleship continue to show fruit, with thirty-five churches planted since our departure, there is a greater need for the pastors of these congregations to go to the next level in their spiritual growth.


God of course is faithful, but so, too, are the teachers and staff of the Makutano Bible Institute. May God continue to bless our partnership.