Churches Do The Darndest Things

Standing in the front row listening to the worship music, the pastor leaned over and said to me, “In a few minutes there will be a lady in our church who will present you with a gift. We have group of older women in our church who make quilts and they give them to Alzheimer patients and missionaries.”

I nodded in the affirmation, but after a few minutes I couldn’t contain myself, almost busting out loud laughing as I thought of the pastor’s comment. I leaned toward him and said, “Think about what you just said. You give gifts to Alzheimer patients and missionaries!”

The pastor didn’t miss a step as he smiled and replied, “Yeah, I think they see you as an affinity group.”

I don’t feel a need to make a point out of this incident -- I thought it was incredibly funny. I do think, however, it’s interesting that when congregations think of charities, they think of missionaries. The days of missionary barrels (used clothing for those returning to the U.S.) is still alive and well. Missionaries are kind of like God’s Goodwill project. Since I spend so much of my time trying to elevate the profession of vocational missionaries before churches, my preference would be their admiration for us be demonstrated differently than a quilt. However, these dear women in this church gave a gift that was a truly a labor of love. The message may get mixed sometimes, but the motive is genuine. Who knows, next week I may get a jar of homemade jam that is given to missionaries and convicts. Churches do the darndest things.

Donor Attrition

Last night I received a call from a colleague. He was “ticked off” at a supporting pastor because he, seemingly, has dropped their monthly support. He was not so upset with the action as much as he was with the process. The pastor of the church has not written him about dropping they’re funding and this, to my friend, is unethical. Quoting my granddaughter I told my friend he needed to take a “chill pill.” Getting irate, incensed and writing a nasty letter to the pastor wasn’t going to help things. My advice to him was to pick up the phone or write an email or letter to the church and just make a casual inquiry about the fact he has not received financial backing from them for past two months. From there we talked about the reality of donor attrition.

One of the reasons this unhappy colleague called me was because I told him over lunch a couple of days before that I was in the states to shore up my donor base. Throughout the course of a year we generally lose one or two donors and I recounted that I had received a letter from one donor congregation stating they were going to discontinue their support, which reflected 5% of our budget. Living in a country where the inflation rate is over 10% a year, a significant drop of funding can result in a serious financial situation if there are not new streams of resources in the pipeline. If a vocational missionary is not actively raising support they are passively moving into deficit.

As I told my caller last night, because we depend on the freewill gifts of others we must recognize donor support will always be in a state of unrest. Churches often change pastors who don’t know our work or me. Congregations change mission philosophy; donors lose their jobs or there are economic downturns in the community. Sometimes people just don’t like what I do, or even my personality. I have lost support for all kinds of reasons; some don’t make any sense at all. (Like the pastor who said he can only support people through his denomination, as it’s too much work for his secretary to make out two checks every month). Donor attrition is a reality; it just comes with the territory.

Since I have been in the business over thirty years, I am no longer surprised or even angered when a church or individual ceases to discontinue their financial backing. It’s never fun to lose support and sometimes there is a temptation to take loss of funding as personal rejection. I have friends who are very generous in supporting other ministry projects, but for some reason don’t even think about our ministry. (It’s probably "A prophet is worthy except in his own country" syndrome.) It would be easy to feel hurt that those closest to me and my wife would think so little of what we do that they don’t perceive our work as an eternal investment. However, I refuse to dwell on that line of thinking, as it is a snare of false validation.

For me, and those who share my vocation, we must keep things in perspective as it relates to finances and ministry. While I must continue a posture of maintaining support due to donor attrition, funding is merely a means to an end. My role in God’s grand scheme is to promote and facilitate the taking of the message of Christ to those who have never heard. To get uptight about who is or who isn’t backing us is pointless. To try to analyze why someone has ceased to support us is a waste of energy. Focus on the reason why we work and Who we serve. Donor attrition is serious and sometimes painful, but it’s a historical reality. Our Lord is a pretty good example of one who lost support. Rather than becoming angry with those who left Him in His greatest need, He focused on His purpose. My advice is to keep your eye on the goal, not the financial bottom line.

Educating the Church

Neither rain, snow nor a blizzard can keep me from my appointed fund raising rounds. Last week I got caught in a “white-out” between Kansas and Colorado as the 50-mile an hour winds and blowing snow closed I-70. Like a mother cow trying to find a hole in the fence to reach her bawling calf, I headed south trying to find a highway that was open for me to cross into Colorado. Talking with my brother on a cell phone, he scanned Doppler radar guiding the best he could. I continued south until I ended up in New Mexico attacking the allusive Rocky Mountain State border going north on I-25. The twelve-hour journey ended after eighteen, but I made it, for which the host pastor was grateful.

The next morning I taught the combined Bible Study class and in the evening spoke on the importance of cross-cultural communication with my lecture on “Being a Bridge of God.” In the Q and A there was some interesting enquires of terms I used throughout, such as defining what it means to serve cross-culturally and explaining the meaning of contextualization. After services I interacted with many who said, “I have never heard of these things before.” Amazing, since many of these people have been in the church for over forty years.

The next morning over breakfast the pastor said to me, “I learned more about missions yesterday than any class I have ever taken.” This comes from a pastor who has been in the ministry for over thirty-five years and who has led his church to support missionaries for all those years.

Why was there such an awakening in the congregation about missions? Is it because I am such a profound expert on the subject that I presented new information that is just now hitting the church? Not at all. I believe there are essentially two reasons for such a reaction. (BTW, the reaction from this congregation is not isolated as I experience this response in many churches I visit).

First, most missionaries when they visit a congregation spend more time on inspiration and little or no time on education. Most missionary presentations are filled with pictures of the country, their family and ministry. With the technology that is now available PowerPoint presentations are slick with video clips, testimonies and music. The appeal is made for reaching the lost that have never heard or an anecdote how someone came to Christ and was delivered from evil spirits or idol worship. Good stuff, but designed to reach the emotion of the heart rather than informing the mind.

Second, there really isn’t that many missionaries who have a desire to educate and many more who lack mission education in their own lives. It’s difficult (impossible) to talk about contextualizing the message when in your own ministry you are still using a western method and model for your ministry overseas. If one has never wrestled with the issue of Hindu or Muslim secret followers of Christ, it’s not going to be a part of the missionaries presentation. Since the western church is focused on church planting, how does one report on what God is doing if it isn’t easily identifiable? (And how can we possibly raise forty-thousand dollars for a church building if the converts are not yet ready to openly declare their faith?)

In my talk yesterday I said that ninety-five cents of every Christian dollar given is dedicated to those who have already declared they are followers of Christ. Less than one cent of every Christian dollar given goes to the effort of reaching the two billion people who have never heard the message of Christ. In spite of this reality we are still supporting projects home and abroad that will not have any impact on the masses that have never heard the Good News.

This stuff isn’t new, it’s just seldom talked about. Churches need less inspiration and more education in world-wide outreach.

Unexpected Encouragement

The church office doors were locked, so I rang the doorbell. Sharon, the church secretary, saw me from me from the security camera and came down stairs to let me in.

“I know you,” she said with a big smile.

“Really?” I replied with surprise.

“Twenty years ago,” Sharon continued, “you preached here and it changed my husband’s life. Some people thought we were going to end up on the mission field. Obviously we didn’t, but that night had a profound impact on my husband.”

The following Sunday the pastor at another church began his introduction of me by stating, “Seventeen years ago Richard gave us some advice on how to structure our missions conference differently. Instead of the traditional approach of having services at the church each evening, he suggested we have home meetings where people could get to know missionaries on a more informal setting. It was the best advice we’ve ever received and we have been using that model every year since.”

I always resist taking time away from my “ministry” of teaching and training to visit churches in America. The stated goal for my visit is to report to our donors and hopefully find new churches and individuals who will partner with us. It’s painful for me to turn down invitations to teach as that is my passion as well as my calling. However, I realize that visiting churches is a necessary part of the job; raising support comes with the territory of taking on the profession of a career missionary.

God has blessed me in many ways, but one of His gracious acts this past two weeks came in the form of unexpected encouragement. Comments from a church secretary and a pastor were God’s way of reminding me that no matter what the venue, my service for Him has no geographical boundaries. Whether I teach in a classroom or from a pulpit, whether the location is in Delhi or Downey, the message of world evangelism and the need to take the message of Christ to every people in every cultural context is ministry. To think that God used anything I said twenty years ago is humbling. To think that anything I say on this trip may have eternal value is sobering. And so it is with all of us. No matter how mundane or even distasteful the task may seem God can use it for His honor and His purpose.

Land Of Free Refills

As the guy who lives and works in Denmark said the other day, “It’s good to be back in the land of the free refills.” Great line. There are so many things about this country that is unique and interesting. For those who live in this country it is hardly noticed, but for those who are based outside the U.S., it’s always a of bit fun to experience the land of our birth, though not the land of our residency. Here are a few luxuries that I am taking advantage of while stateside.

W/O Bucket - It’s hard to beat a good shower. I’m not talking about the refreshing feeling one has after a good scrubbing, I’m talking about exquisite sensation of standing under running water. In India my daily ablution require that I fill a five-gallon bucket with water, squat and pour water over my head. I must admit that I fill a bit guilty standing in a shower as I wonder how much more water I use under the five speed spigot (regular pressure, pulse, low rinse, etc.), but it’s an extravagance I truly enjoy.

The bonus of a shower goes beyond water pressure but also includes regulated temperature, both of water as well as room temperature. My flat in India has only one pipe running into the washroom and the water supply comes from a large tank that sits atop the flat roof of our three-story building. In the summer, when it’s 115 degrees, it’s best to fill the bucket when it is reasonably cooler. In the winter I have to guess on how long to keep the electric geezer (hot water heater) on. Too long and it’s scalding; too short and I’m taking a lukewarm bath with the air temp hovering in the 40’s. Can it get any better than standing under regulated flow knowing that when I turn off the faucet the bathroom air will be as delightful as the water itself?

Cheap Gas - I know that it’s outrageous to pay $2.50 a gallon for gasoline. I’m old enough to remember when five dollars filled up the tank. I’m also old enough to remember when petrol was four dollars a gallon in Kenya and that same gallon is now over six in India. With the profits Big Oil and the Saudis continue to make, I’m guessing over two dollars is too much to pay at the pump, but filling the tank here is less painful than other parts of the world.

One Stop Shopping - What does one do when they have jetlag and wake up at 2 a.m.? How about going to Wal-Mart? I still find it fascinating that no matter what I need I don’t have to travel all over the city, like on a scavenger hunt, to get things. To think I can get a wood screw without going to a hardware store, or a writing pen that isn’t sold exclusively in a stationary shop, or bread that is available in the same place that I can purchase a tire! And not only can I find these things under one roof but I can have a variety of choices with each item. Amazing.


If life was judged only by price index and convenience it would be hard argue that there is a better place to live than the land of the red, white, blue and dollar green. Like all countries, the U.S. has its good and bad points. But it’s still fun to be in the land of free refills.

Journey To Holy Land

Yesterday I made a trek to holy ground. As I passed the big donut sign on the corner, which was there when I was a kid, my heart picked up pace. As I drove slowly past the white building a flood of memories surfaced. The neighborhood had changed, but surprisingly remained intact. On the corner of Marine and Gramacy was Chapman Elementary where I first fell in love with a first grader, Rochelle Arnold. Amazingly, I can remember her name and face but can’t remember people I met last month…a true sign of old age. Two blocks south I turned right on 149th St. I looked at the little matchbox houses in the neighborhood that was my home nearly sixty years ago. I take another right and back to the white building that I consider sacred space.


I knocked on the door that at one time led me to the Sunday School wing. Scott, the pastor, was waiting for me as I had called the day before. After a few minutes in his office he gave me the tour. He told me that after the “fire” in the ‘70’s they remodeled the whole church, but it looks basically the same. I told him that there was a fire in 1959 as well that gutted the main auditorium and we had to meet in the back where he now has an office. As we rounded the corner I recognized the room where Dr. Loys Vess preached and my father walked forward to become a Christian. I remembered how that on that day I was perplexed as my dad didn’t cry or show any emotion when making his decision for Christ. I thought everyone cried when they became a believer, but not my dad. It was as though it was business transaction and shaking the pastors hand was like signing the deal.

When Scott led me into the auditorium my mind went back fifty-two and half years. Of course the hard wooden pews no longer existed and the concrete floor was now carpeted. I told Scott about that day, Friday August 19, 1955. It was the last day of VBS and my brother, Bill, and our friend Ronnie was sitting on the left side of the auditorium. I can still remember walking down the aisle and kneeling at what we called an altar. I cried and repented of my sins as though I was a hardened criminal, though I was only eight years old. After the service I ran back to our little home on 149th to tell my mom I got saved. A few weeks later I was baptized. The baptistery was actually a tank and the pulpit was built over it. The day I was baptized they didn’t put enough water in it and I was barely dunked. But my pastor, Gilbert Thomas, made sure I got all the way under.

Without question a humble beginning of a long and interesting journey. An obscure little boy attending a little known church led by an unheard of pastor and yet it had universal significance. The neighborhood around the Bible Baptist Church in Gardena, California may just be the inner city to some, but for me, it’s holy ground.

Worthless Rage

We live in such a fast pace world that when things slow down or doesn’t move as we think they should it’s a catalyst for stress. For some it’s a recipe for rage.

In the hustle and bustle of the New Delhi airport, standing in the British Airlines check-in line a man was yelling as loud as he could, shaking his fist and causing quite a stir. Turns out that he was told that he was going to have to pay a considerable amount for overweight baggage and he was outraged. The little girl behind the check-in desk was the object of his scorn, though he was sharing his wrath her supervisor and BA in general. His conclusion was that he wasn’t going to pay, and told his family of four that they would just go home. As they were escorted from check-in he continued his tirade and I stepped into his spot, still warm with fury.

The girl smiled and said, “Sorry about that. But he’ll be back?”

“Really,” I said, “how do you know?”

“They all do,” she answered. “They make a scene and make threats, but they won’t miss their flight.”

Sure enough, before boarding I saw the irritant man with wife and two children in-tow. I wondered if airline gave him a discount on the baggage fee? I find it interesting that some people seem to barter for anything and everything. I could as easily see this guy yelling at the vegetable vendor or the rickshaw driver as to the BA attendant. Does he really think he can negotiate the price of luggage as lettuce? Perhaps.

Our departure from Delhi was delayed over an hour. Snow and low visibility in London caused another holdup. Backlog of getting flights in and out of Heathrow caused a traffic jam and our plane wasn’t able to park at its gate. I had just forty-five minutes before my next flight but felt that I could still catch my connection. One hour later, we were still stuck on the tarmac and the natives were getting restless. In desperation/frustration a French passenger lost it and stood up to take his bags down from the overhead bin. Surrounded by three flight attendants they tried to restrain him and moved him back to his seat. I’m not sure where he thought he would go if he got his bags, open the side door and jump off?

Once off the plane rather than standing in the long line at the transfer desk I opted to go to my gate and see if the flight to Chicago was also delayed. The door to the jet way was literally closing when I arrived, but I was able to catch it before it locked. I made my flight, but assumed my bags wouldn’t. I was right.

When I started writing blogs I wanted to call it “Lost Luggage” as it seems to be my lot in life. On arriving at Northwest Arkansas Regional airport, the second thing I did after hugging my daughter and granddaughter was to tell them, “I need to file lost baggage claim.” My daughter just moaned having to go through the familiar and time-consuming ritual. Twenty-four hours later my bags arrived, a mere ten hours before my flight to Los Angeles.

I have been traveling for more years and miles than most people. In the process of time, partly through observing others, I’ve learned some crucial life lessons that help, not only when in transient, but also facing everyday challenges.

First, there are some things we can’t control. I wish it hadn’t snowed in London causing the backlog inbound/outbound traffic. But snow is one of those things that God does, not man. To pour wrath on humans for a non-human circumstance doesn’t make sense. Not only does yelling not do any good, it makes the screaming manic look like a two year old throwing a temper tantrum. I’m not impressed with those who scream at employees to vent their frustration. They just look like idiots and they solve anything.

Second, when bad things happen to good people, me, the best thing to do is rise above problem -- yeah, be better than the situation. Why? Because I still can’t change anything and if it can be changed I probably can get the same mileage in making it right by being civil rather than being hostile. I must have called American Airlines five times in one day inquiring about my lost luggage. They were courteous and so was I. Yelling at the person on the other end of the telephone line, whose only job is looking at the computer screen, wasn’t going to get my bags to me any faster.

My daughter reminded me that I wasn’t always so laid back and non-aggressive. But she also admitted that she likes this dad over the old one. Wish I had learned these lessons years ago.

Program Notice

From February 9th until April 5th I will be in the U.S., visiting friends and reporting to donors. I usually try to post something on Blue Passport a couple of times a week and I expect to continue that practice. However, plane/car travel, schedule of meetings, Internet access may play havoc on when the posts go out. Because some of you are regular readers, which I appreciate, I wanted to give you a heads-up on the possible irregular postings.

If I am in your area, let me know and we’ll see if we can work out a time to visit. Present itinerary is:

Southern California - February 10 – 19
Colorado – February 25 – March 5
Ohio – March 11-14
Texas - March 17 - 21
Kansas – March 23 – 27

My base will be NW Arkansas, Eastern Oklahoma and when not on the road in-between these dates I am available. Sending me an Email is the best way to get in touch with me.

Teaching The Salt and Light

This past weekend I had the privilege of speaking at a retreat for DevPro, a group of Christian professionals working in India. Most of these people are associated with the Emmanuel Hospital Association but they are not limited to just medical work and have members with accounting, software development, teachers, social workers and people with other workplace skills. The purpose of the retreat was standard, spiritual refreshment as well as to hear reports from DePro members throughout the country.

Why did they invite me to speak at the retreat? I’m not a business guy; I’m a culture guy. But, as I continue to tell anyone who will listen, I believe EVERYBODY in every work environment needs a concentrated course in cross-cultural studies. Why? Because every social environment, where there are more than two people working, is a setting of communication; the larger the group in that workplace environment the greater the need is for cross-cultural studies.

In the secular marketplace, where Christian professionals are in the minority, to effectively be “salt and light,” it’s important to know how to communicate a witness that is both relevant as well as non-offensive (the Cross will always be offensive to some, but that doesn’t mean we should be). My goal for this retreat was to give some guiding principles to use in the situation God had placed them and to encourage them in their vital role in the Kingdom.

What I gained from our two days together was significant. I met some incredible people, some working in some very difficult situations. Many of these good folks are underpaid, understaffed and their work environment is stressful and often times lonely. To many unbelievers in the world, these do-gooders are perceived as foolish, setting aside good careers and retirement to work with the marginalized of society. As often is the case, the teacher was taught more than he taught, and I’m obviously the better for it.

To those interested, I encourage you to visit DevPro and Emmanuel Hospital websites.

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.

Refreshing The Soul

From my second floor balcony I watch the sun rising from the horizon of the Indian Ocean. The tide is going out and soon the boats tied in the deep I will be able to walk to on dry white sand. A few joggers are out, Columbus monkeys bouncing from tree to the ground looking for food. As I look out at the beauty of the coast, I try to think of something inspiring to write to match the experience that I feel, but realize that whatever I put down in type will never do the moment justice. All I can do is record what I see and feel, knowing that anyone who reads this will only relate if they’ve had a similar experience at another time, another place.

Vacations are good for the soul because it allows me to get away from the mundane and see the world from a different perspective. As I look out at the sea my eye cannot see the beyond the horizon. Far different from my flat in Delhi, where as far as the eye can see is the building across the street. The waves breaking on the beach is such a sweeter, soother sound than the noise of auto rickshaws and vegetable hawkers that grate my ears in the city. My morning walks in a polluted city with garbage piled high and open sewers is replaced by fresh air and darting crabs scurrying to their holes in the sand. My life and my work is not here, I will be ready to leave when my time is up, but it’s all good for the moment.

Part of the coastal experience is people watching. When one steps down from the hotel compound and begin their walk by the water any number of guys come up with greetings of “Jambo. Habari yako?” They are either wanting you to book a ride on their glass bottom boat, take skin diving lessons or wanting to sell you a bracelet. They are never sure what to say when I reply in Swahili, taken back that I’m not just another Italian or German tourist. When I speak to them in their language they quickly retreat, as they know badgering does not work with people who have lived in the country.

Was it Pascal, or Voltaire, who, after seeing a naked woman was so repulsed that he never had sex again? Though I am not that repulsed, seeing the fat women wearing unflattering beach attire of the white tourist, one can understand Pascal’s horror. The men, with their pot beer bellies and Speedos, are even more embarrassing. Bay Watch is a television show shot somewhere far away from where I vacation.

Of course the greatest experience of the week is my morning talk with the Creator as I dip my toes in warm water each morning. Looking at such beauty it's impossible not to think of the magnificence and power of God who designed such a place as this. Alone with Him, telling Him my troubles, my praise to Him for allowing me and my wife to experience this semi-paradise for a season, is worth the time and money invested in this get-away. Having no TV, radio or Internet connection for a week, I am forced not to be distracted with a world that is out there with its war, poverty and godlessness. For one brief moment I am captivated by His handiwork and reminded again that He delights in me being still and know that He exists. Will heaven have a beach? I hope so.

Mugged On The Way To Mombassa

On the way to Mombassa my wife and I were mugged. Not by some thugs hiding in a dark corner, but by men dressed in blue uniforms in broad daylight.

We were about twenty minutes from Keynote International Airport for our flight from Nairobi to the coast when we came upon a police check. Not too concerned, the taxi driver rolled down his window and yielded the appropriate papers to the attending officer. Another policemen on the passenger side of the car knocked on the window for my wife to roll down her window. The mugger then said, “You are not wearing your seat belts. We are taking you to the police station where you will pay a fine.”

I was so taken back I just started blabbering, “We don’t have time to go the police station, we have a plane to catch.”

The mugger in blue said the fine would be Ks 3000 ($46). I said that was unreasonable and offered a third of that, which he quickly agreed. Pulling out the money he told me to put in the drivers license card, as he did not want others to see the stolen cash.

As we drove away I was outraged…furious at myself for not having the presence of mind to handle this mugging differently. It’s been awhile since I’ve had to deal with official extortion and there are better ways I could have handled the situation. Tips for those who face the same situation:

One, tell the officer, “Okay, take me to the police station.” It’s a hardcore bluff, which they may call you on, so be ready to play it out. Usually they will back down if you show resolve that you are willing to comply with threats of detainment.

Two, ask them their name, with pen and paper in hand, telling them you will be reporting their action before the authorities.

Three, plead ignorance. Kenyan police don’t know what to do with someone who says, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Four, tell them you want a receipt for the money they are charging for on the spot. They won’t do it of course, so prepared to follow through with suggestion number one.

My greatest outrage was with the corruption perpetrated by the man with the badge. I am a visitor to the country and they were not enforcing law but out on the street looking for opportunities to prey on the innocent. In a recent local newspaper article it noted that corruption is most prevalent among policeman, followed by politicians. Since I don’t know the law of passengers in a taxi I have no idea if we violated the law or not. If it was a violation was it my responsibility to pay the fine or the responsibility of the taxi driver to make sure his passengers were buckled up?

Willing to abide by the law, if the officer had written me a ticket I would have complied with the rules of the country, but it was obvious to me the law was secondary to their agenda. I regret the mugging, but more than being violated in the name of the law, I am disappointed with my feeble response. Maybe I should have handed the money and with a smile and a “God bless you.” Naw, what I really wanted to say was “God will curse you for this,” and “You will receive a plague of boils for this unjust act.” Boy, I can’t wait until the next time I get stopped. I’m prepared.

Different Yet The Same

For the past two weeks my wife and I have been in Kenya where we lived from 1976 to 1989. Our children grew up here; it was here I began my studies of social organization working with a semi-nomadic tribe called the Pokot. Thirty years ago I was considered a pioneer church planter, meaning, I established churches in areas where there were no churches. Kenya has had western missionaries for over one hundred years so to say we were the first to take the Gospel to Pokot or Turkana wouldn’t be accurate. However, many of the places where we did establish churches there were few and even in some areas, no churches at all.

Much has changed since we first came to this beautiful East African country. Gone are the shortages of basic items such as flour, cooking oil, sugar and building materials like cement and nails. In the old days the merchants from India determined the price of things as well as their availability, but in today’s Kenya the supermarkets, well stocked with variety, makes shopping a pleasure rather than an exercise in frustration.

When we first moved to the town of Kitale it was considered an outpost as the last town with electricity and water before going north into the bush of Pokot and Turkana. Operator assisted calls, even local dialing, has been replaced with mobiles and we can communicate with Nairobi or Lodwar from our front yard. The post office, once so revered we considered it “sacred space,” is hardly noticed today as overseas communication is now through Internet rather than aerogram.

But in some ways Kenya, especially upcountry, things have not changed. Time is still not kept and an appointment scheduled for 9 a.m. is easily delayed until 10:30 or 11. The roads, once promising with fresh tarmac, are now potholes or gone completely. Fashion has changed for some, but for most, the dress of shamba (farm) people are much the same. Even in Pokot, though cotton dress has replaced the goatskin, the beads an ornaments remain. The Kenyans still dry their maize on the ground, still barter vigorously at the market, still as friendly and jovial as they were when we arrived so many years ago.

Like the precarious existence of the Pokot, whose life is between starvation or plenty depending on the amount of rainfall they receive on any given year, Kenya continues to teeter on the brink from being a great country to one of complete ruin. With its natural resources and beauty Kenya could truly be the pearl of Africa. Surrounded by the conflict of neighboring countries, Sudan, Uganda, Ethoipa and Somalia; infested with corruption from the parliament to the police, one wonders if which way this magnificent country will fall? Time will tell, and since time is a slow process in this part of the world, we may not know the answer for at least another thirty years.

On The Road

One of the challenges of travel is finding internet access. While in the northwest of Kenya for the next couple of weeks my twice weekly posts will probably not happen. The things I'm learning, however, in this journey will be reflected in future posts.

Process of Discovery

I believe one of the most common comments I receive from those who attend my lectures, and certainly the most gratifying, is that I challenged their thinking. Whether I speak at a school or church invariably someone makes a comment such as those below from a recent class of MA students:

“Thank you, sir, for your valuable contributions through this module. You opened my eyes to come out from my shell and see others with a different perspective.” Jomon

“I am so happy to have met you and learn from you. You have cleared many of my own doubts. Thank you very much for coming here to teach us." Milton

“Thank you so much for enabling me to think afresh about my life and ministry. Indeed you are one of those who disturb our thinking so that we will think in a new way.” Justin

There are several reasons people respond to my class as they do. First, the subject is different. Every discipline focuses on certain areas of study and therefore not exposed to other subjects. If you study medicine, engineering or theology, you are not likely to study topics outside your field of specialty. Sadly, there are few seminaries that have a strong department of anthropology. You will never hear a message on contextualization or the dynamics of world religion in church. What I teach does have enormous relevance within the religious context, but because it is new for many my lectures are eye-openers.

Second, people appreciate the subject because it helps them fill in the blanks in their own lives. Theology is the study of God; anthropology is the study of us as human beings. In my lecture on the worldview animists, Hindu’s, fatalists, Muslims, secularists, the audience is drawn into comparisons of how they see the world. Are we more alike the tribal nomadic sitting under a tree in Africa than we are different? Humanity shares many things in common and my lectures reveal our similarities and in doing so help us understand what are the fundamental differences.

Third, because I use the Socratic method of teaching, my classes raises as many questions as it does answers. Rather than force-feeding people with the answers, which is common in most settings of learning, my class is guide for discovery. As the old adage states, things are best learned when caught, not just taught. Since I have disdain for lazy intellectualism and simplistic Christian platitudes I require my students to give a reason for their belief and will play the devils advocate no matter what their conclusions. I never give an “F” for disagreeing wit my assumptions, but will certainly fail someone if they can’t give a well thought out reason for why they believe what they believe.

Fourth, and most crucial, is that I discuss issues that are relevant and practical. Studying genealogies are boring, unless you can help students connect the dots on why it is pertinent in presenting the Gospel. Each topic we cover is coupled with application borne out of thirty years of experience linking theory to real life. Over fifty percent of my lectures are real-life stories of how and why the topic matters. Some of my stories reveal success, sometimes my illustrations highlight failures. My students may not remember the proper definition of structuralism, but they always remember my story of “ice cubes in the Pokot desert,” and how language relates to the structural ordering of the mind.

Seeing Through A Dark Glass

There once was man named Job. It's possible he was the precursor to
postmodernism.

Modernism and its cousin, fundamentalism, hold to objective absolutes.
They came in the form of three theolog's named Eliphaz, Bildad and
Zophar. Their theory (theology) on the acts of the Almighty was based
on history and tradition, which stated: If you live right, do right,
fear God, you'll be blessed. If you do wrong and do not fear God you
will face the wrath of God. Having heard the report that Job had lost
family, herds and health, they concluded that Job was guilty. Even
though they knew, or thought they knew, Job as a moral man, their
theology could not be changed...IT was supreme.

Job, who at one time ascribed to the accepted historical/traditional
theory, was in a quandary. Would he let his theory of God dictate his
life, or would he, dare he, question his theology? Would Job, "Lie
for the glory of God," and confess that, perhaps unknowingly, that he
was guilty of a transgress? ("I don't think I did it, but I must
have done it because my circumstance reveals it. I will seek God's
forgiveness for the secret sin of which I am unaware.")

Job was not only a man of integrity but also a person of indescribable
courage. In the face of criticism by his denomination/fellowship, he
remained (though perhaps arrogantly), unmoved. Absolutes? Yes, he had
at least one...He believed that there was a God. Beyond that,
everything was up for grabs for that One in whom he believed had blown
his theology all to hell. (Actually hell was the instigator of the
circumstance and therefore it was good and right that Job return it
back to that direction rather than maintain a heavenly theology, which
had no validity.)

This ancient postmodernist (surely a contradiction of terms) turned his
back on theory that could not be sustained, while his friends held to
their absolute theory rather than question God. Job was the first to
have the courage to say, "I don't know. What I do know is limited.
I will not waver on my absolutes, though I realize even this is
subjective faith." In the end, God honored Job, for maintaining his
absolutes, for he did not curse God as Lucifer determined he would, and
rebuked those who defended His honor through misguided and false
theology.

Witchdoctors and Preachers

In my lecture on the Anthropology of Religion, I make the case that, functionally, a witchdoctor and pastor are the same. Using the same formula I made a similar point on how witchdoctors and business consultants are functionally the same on my other blog site, Culturebiz.blogspot.com. The arguments are alike with one exception…pastors don’t make nearly as much money as witchdoctors and business consultants.

Groups and Symbols

Mankind is a symbol-displaying creature. Symbols are all around us. By symbols we communicate to others who we are, or maybe, who we would like to be. Jeans are jeans, but how one wears their jeans is a signal to others who we are or perhaps who we would like to identify with. If you’re young and slim you might get away with low-rise jeans. It’s a symbol that you’re young (or would like to be young) and that you are probably single. If you wear the elastic jeans, what my daughter’s call “mom jeans,” you’re symbol is much different from the low-rise (spoof on mom jeans can be found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T3rA2jOGhGw ). If you’re from the inner city you might wear baggy jeans that look like they could fall down at any given moment. My class laughed at me one time when I showed up wearing pressed jeans. I couldn’t understand what the big deal was, in Texas well starched jeans is stylish (George Strait wouldn’t be caught dead without his pressed jeans). I think you get my point. Whether one is talking about clothes, hairstyles, colors, tattoos, cars we drive or religious symbols, people are walking signboards communicating something to the world.

Symbols also reveal how much we value group. If you have followed my blog for any length of time you are aware that I see the world in typographies classifying people and cultures in grid and group arrangement (individualistic, bureaucratic, hierarchal and egalitarian). Individualistic and bureaucratic environments are low group. Highly group oriented cultures are hierarchal or egalitarian. It is the latter two categories that are prone to wear symbols as an identification of what group they belong to. I used the Amish, Sikh, and Muslims as an example in my last post of groups that demonstrate their community and faith through the symbols they wear. These symbols do not just reveal their faith but who they are as a people. So strong are these symbols of group that it can be, and almost always is, an obstacle for people to make individual decisions. A Sikh man cutting his hair, beard and removing his turban is tantamount to denying his family and culture. (The great debate among missiologists is whether it’s even necessary for a person to put away his cultural symbols to be a follower of Christ?)

For Western Christians, who are for the most part individualistic and not group oriented, we have few symbols or our faith. True, as one reader responded, wearing a crucifix does not mean you are a follower of Christ, though under Soviet Russia it was a powerful symbol that that person was a believer. Having a symbol of a fish on the back of your car doesn’t make you a better Christian, or even a courteous driver. Wearing symbols does not make one holy or righteous. Jesus made reference to the hypocrisy of religious leaders of his day who loved to wear symbols and perform rituals but spiritually was as dead men’s bones. However, in some social context’s, symbols can make a statement to the society at large.

Whatever you wear today, it is communicating something. For individualistic societies symbols are neutral which reveals nothing much more than style and one’s socio-economic position. I agree, it’s not what we wear but how we behave that’s most important. Our verbal presentation becomes even more important because we certainly will not reveal much of our faith to others by our symbols.

Symbols of Meaning

A couple of weeks ago the pastor of a church we attended was speaking from 1 Corinthians 11 and the issue of proper male/female dress. I usually turn off on those messages because men spend way too much time talking about appropriate attire for females and say virtually nothing about proper apparel for males. As a teenager/young adult in the ‘60’s, I grew weary of all the messages on how men should look like men (not have long hair) and women looking like women (having a butch haircut). Then as a cross-cultural trainer in different countries it was tiresome to go to Russia and hear the Baptist and Pentecostals make women’s head-covering almost a salvation issue and in India the sign of a devotion to Christ was not wearing bangles, rings or makeup. The church spends so much time on non-salvation issues that it becomes a barrier in presenting the Gospel. I just react strongly to legalism.

But then the pastor made an interesting comment that peaked my thinking. He told the story about how that growing up his mother would never think about coming to church without a head covering and would never pray without pulling the long dupatta over her head. Though the congregation we were in that morning is urban and more Western in style, this young pastor seemed to lament that this symbol of humility, respect, has been lost. His final comment is what really grabbed my attention when he said, in effect, that the church lives in a cultural context where symbols of religion are common, and that only the Christian community live without symbols.

On the drive back to our home we passed the Sikh gurdwa and I observed women in their punjabi sawar dress, the men with their turbans; passing the Muslim mosque men wearing the kufi; the Hindu temple, women dressed in sarees and I thought how void the Christian community is of symbols.

I remember attending a Bakht Singh church many years ago and the feeling I had of worshipping Christ contextually. We removed our shoes at the door, sat on mats on the floor, women on one side, men on the other, the music sung in Hindi and English. With no overheads, no keyboards we clapped as we sang to the beat of a traditional drum.

The issue of contextualization is unpredictable. To the Western style church the symbols are indeed urbane with stylish cut hair, blue jeans and young men wearing chokers. But in the larger context of a country which share similar symbols, is it no wonder that our faith is seen a religion of foreigners? A follower of Jesus in this framework is not known by its symbols of community, but rather by its adoption of symbols of another kind. Perhaps we need to pay more attention to the outward signs -- icons which, like the Amish, make a statement of identification and maybe, in a positive way, if not separation perhaps community.

Trainer/Coach

My brother, a business consultant, doesn’t like the word “trainer,” as he believes one can train dogs and horses but not people. He believes "educate" is a better term. Okay, I get his point, but don't totally agree. Training is behavior modification. Tiger Woods has a trainer who analyzes his swing and helps him modify his approach. We potty trained two little girls using all types of techniques for behavior modification (rewards, praise, yelling, etc.). My role of a trainer with cross-cultural workers is to get people to modify bad habits in ministry and steer them toward efficient and productive behavior.

Coaching is similar to training, but not synonymous. Tiger Woods’ trainer also coaches. Coaching is explaining what is wrong, how it needs to be changed and why. Coaching is philosophy -- training is physics. Woods has the natural ability to swing the clubs. If he didn’t have a trainer or coach, he could still play the game, but maybe not at his best.

Most people I work with already have some ability. They certainly have a zeal and love for the One they serve. If no one trained or coached them they would still do a work for the Lord, though maybe not be at their best. Not everyone on the field is Tiger Woods caliber. Some I meet are not even semi-pro’s but are more like weekend duffers. (And of course short-termer’s are mere weekend wannabe’s -- but don’t get me started.) That’s why I believe in focused pre-field education, post-field training and coaching.

I have consistently stated that I believe those in our profession, or if you prefer, calling, should be as serious about it as any profession in the world. Sadly we don’t’ spend nearly as much training, upgrading our skills, as does a doctor, software engineer or golfer. Having a love for the game doesn’t mean we can all play the game properly. Perhaps we need more trainers, more coaches to help us get to the top of our game.