Measuring Meaning

Rich Strahm, who invited me to teach a class on “Response To World Religions,” asked me how I felt about teaching so few students? A former missionary to the Philippines, he and his wife have been working in Ukraine for the past 10 years. His vision is to mobilize Ukrainians for cross-cultural work and the missions program at the Kiev Theological Seminary is relative new. It’s a work in progress, but he is involved in a noble calling.

Before I made the commitment to teach I was aware it was not a large class. Unfortunately it was smaller than expected as some of the students in the program didn’t show up. How did I feel about teaching to a small class?

First of all, the size of a class or meeting has never been a criterion for me. I realize that many pastors in the states thrive on big numbers; it gives them meaning. I remember an Indian pastor who told me that if I moved to Chennai I could have big seminars. I told him I am more interested in finding the place of need, which to me, was in Delhi where the church was much smaller and I was not interested in a hall full of those who have ample opportunities to attend seminars. My colleagues in Kenya criticized me when I decided to work in the bush among two tribal groups, Turkana and Pokot. They thought the size of those tribes, about 250,000 each, spread over a vast desert was not strategic; they preferred working in the cities where the numbers were greater. However, I countered, no one was working among the semi-nomads whereas there were plenty of mission activity in their region. Numbers is not always a gauge in who and where one should work.

Second, the quality of those attending is more important to me than how many bodies there are. People preparing for cross-cultural work will always be a smaller group, but they are usually the most dedicated. I am not suggesting that those who take the theology courses are less godly or committed, but those who seek to serve Christ in another land among a different people than their own, usually, not always, have a depth about them that is unique and profound.

Third, though I never know who God will use in His work, I believe my teaching is a part of moving people toward His purpose. In the short time I have been working in Ukraine, one brother is now serving in Syria and another is working among the Gypsies in his country. It’s how God surprises that is more important to me than the guarantee of an audience.

Do I wish I were teaching before 50 rather than 5? Certainly. But consider those who were in my class: One lady and her husband are working in the Far East part of Russia, near Japan and North Korea. Another girl is from Kazakhstan, whose family came out of Islam. One guy is studying Mandarin and has been working with Chinese students in Kiev. He plans on moving to China after his studies. Another young lady has a desire to serve in India.

The measure of meaning cannot be only the expense of a plane ticket or the size of the class. For me it’s the heart of those I am privileged to teach, not how many listen to my words.

How Long The Road

Eighty-five degrees inside combats the sub-freezing air outside. It’s stifling and I long to crack a window, but I can’t. The swaying back and forth is both comforting and a bit nauseating. I feel the need to lessen the pressure on my bladder, but to do so means crawling down from my perch and stumbling, partly because of drowsiness, partly because of the swaying, down the hall into a gray and filthy toilet. The heat coupled with physical pressure in my lower abdomen win over my desire to just ride it out until daylight. I swing down between cots, hoping I don’t step on the two Russian women sleeping below and wonder why these rides can’t be, like in India, gender segregated. Having successfully competed my self-imposed assignment, I swing back up on my perch asking myself how many more years can I reasonably expect to perform such gymnastics?

Missions is more than merely presenting the Gospel to pagans. Paul, who slept to the sway of waves as a prisoner on his way to Rome, would understand. He, who had no place to rest his head, the One whose mission was redemption of those far away from God, certainly can relate. Skeptics of missions, those who scoff at the thought anyone should financially support someone to “see the world,” perhaps should experience the romance of sleeping on a bed of where the tailbone and hard wood is separated by a half-inch of foam or cotton mat. It wouldn’t make them a believer in the Great Commission, but it might dispel myth that this stuff is a luxurious cruise.

Back on my perch I am comforted that in just another five hours this leg of the journey will be over. Temporarily satisfied with my situation, I plug in my headphones to listen to my great uncle (not really) Clive Staples, lecture on apologetics and slowly succumb to the swaying and drift in a semi-conscious slumber. When I wake I will be in Livi, some mountain city near the border of Poland. Three days later I will make this trek again, the night train back to Kiev.

(This travel update sponsored in part by Beans4good.com)