A man hears from God. This is revelation. He responds in obedience and begins to order his life according to that revelation. He writes down the revelation. He builds an altar to the God who has addressed him. He tells his family and friends what he has heard from God. That is the beginning of religion, something which can be described by a human observer about the activities of another human being.
Most people do not want to simply be part of a religion. They want to know that the religion has a divine and supernatural reality behind it, that it is based on revelation.
The author of the Book of Hebrews starts his treatise by reminding the readers of a long history of God’s revelation among them: In the past God spoke to our forefathers through the prophets at many times and in various ways (Hebrews 1:1). “Hebrews” are the people who sprang from Abraham, the father of the faithful. The ancient root of the word “Hebrew” may mean “to cross over,” referring to Abram leaving Ur of the Chaldees, crossing the Euphrates River, and coming to Canaan. This journey was in response to a word God spoke to him. God told him to leave Ur and go to this new land. This word from God was a revelation to Abram. The God of the universe spoke to him and wanted to be his friend. Abram responded by believing God and doing what God told him to do.
Thereafter followed a long succession of men and women who heard from God and sought to be faithful, people like Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Joshua, Deborah, Ruth, Samuel, David, Solomon, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Daniel. Every Sunday these first readers, followers of Jesus, heard readings from the ancient texts of Moses and the Prophets.
The God who had been speaking spoke again. This in itself is not something new. He is the God who speaks as well as the God who acts. This time, however, the nature of the revelation is qualitatively different. In contrast to how God spoke in the past through the prophets, this time he spoke to us “by his Son.”
The long history of prophetic speech is what Judaism is about. It was legal in the Roman Empire to practice the Jewish religion. This business about God’s Son was a new idea. And it was not legal in the Roman Empire to adhere to that religion. The author of Hebrews went right to the sticking point—Jesus Christ, his person and work.
THE NEW REVELATION IS FAR SUPERIOR TO THE OLD ONE: But in these last days he has spoken to us by his son, whom he appointed heir of all things, and through whom he made the universe (v2)
Anyone would prefer to deal with the Son rather than other messengers. When you are dealing with the Son, you are dealing with the Father. The new revelation is superior in every way to the old one because it is all about what the Son unfolds.
As would be typical with a Father-Son relationship, this Son is both the HEIR and the AGENT. He is the HEIR because the Father is giving everything to his Son. To use a Saints metaphor, this is like Tom Benson passing on the Saints to his granddaughter, Rita Benson LeBlanc. The Son is also the AGENT of the Father’s activity—“through whom he made the universe.” Rita Benson is stepping into the limelight as the new Owner. Everyone is going to have to deal with her now. The Son has been the agent of the Father for all Eternity. This was so even before the universe came into existence. So he holds this position of HEIR and AGENT for time and eternity.
The Son is described here in three other ways (Hebrews 1:3-4):
1. The Son is the RADIANCE of God’s glory. The glory of God RADIATES from the throne room like the sunlight radiating from the sun, and that RADIANCE is his Son. We have never seen anything like this on Planet Earth. We have heard second hand from the prophets. But we have never before heard from the Son himself who is the Father’s very essence.
2. The Son is the EXACT REPRESENTATION of the Father’s nature. We have had glimpses of God in the past. We have pieced together the revelations that came through the various prophets and patriarchs. We have a faithful representation of the God who made us and loves us, but it is done in PENCIL, in black and white, and the resolution is not too sharp.
Now comes the Son. He is the revelation of God in living color, in HD 1080p and Dolby sound. He is the 12 megapixel revelation of God.
3. He SUSTAINS ALL THINGS by his Powerful Word. The Son is the power which sustains this universe and holds it together. The very fabric of being would unravel without the Son holding it together.
This is the New Revelation, far superior to anything that came before, which makes us Christians instead of Jews or pagans or atheists or agnostics.
The Son’s work is described in one half sentence, “He had provided purification for our sins” (v3). This is what the Son of God accomplished. He came to deal with sin.
Then he sat down at the position of power in the throne room of heaven. He sat down because his WORK was DONE. This is the meaning of “it is finished” which Jesus uttered from the cross.
And this is the meaning of Christmas. God has “in these last days” spoken to us through his Son who revealed the very nature of God, died on the cross for our sins, and sat down at the center of the universe having completed the work he came to do.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
And so
You’ve got to get the love.
You’ve got to notice it, perceive it, and turn it over in your mind. You’ve got to get it.
Christmas at its core is about love. The world has gone on off on this theme and tried to own it. What the world does with love is turn it into things. The commercialization of Christmas was inevitable once the world ran with it.
The world gets Christmas wrong because they suppose it’s about our love—our love for our kids and our spouses and our fiancés.
That’s not the love at the core of Christmas. If we make our own love the core, Christmas loses its power and purpose, its hope and its joy.
We do not celebrate at Christmas the limited, flawed, temporary, fickle love that humans extend so feebly to one another. If every kiss really begins with Kay Jewelers, as the jingle implies, then “love” is for sale at the mall. You can get that kiss if you purchase for her a big enough diamond. This is stinking thinking, as someone said. It takes the idea of love, empties it out like an old box, and feels it with wispy nothings.
Christmas has been separated from the love that started it. It is almost unrecognizable now in many homes and almost all stores. You have to dig to find even a hint of the root of Christmas.
Christmas has “Christ” in it for a reason. His love, not ours, is the reason for the season.
We will have opportunities to sit down with various groups through this holiday season. We should consider it our privilege and responsibility to remind others from whence this celebration comes. God demonstrated his love for us by sending his One and Only Son. Especially among our children and grandchildren this truth should be known and reinforced.
God’s mission was to save us by sending his Son. Our mission is to make this truth known at home and around the world. Christmas, properly understood, is the heralding of God’s amazing love.
Join that angelic chorus in proclaiming the Savior’s birth in Bethlehem so long ago.
You’ve got to notice it, perceive it, and turn it over in your mind. You’ve got to get it.
Christmas at its core is about love. The world has gone on off on this theme and tried to own it. What the world does with love is turn it into things. The commercialization of Christmas was inevitable once the world ran with it.
The world gets Christmas wrong because they suppose it’s about our love—our love for our kids and our spouses and our fiancés.
That’s not the love at the core of Christmas. If we make our own love the core, Christmas loses its power and purpose, its hope and its joy.
We do not celebrate at Christmas the limited, flawed, temporary, fickle love that humans extend so feebly to one another. If every kiss really begins with Kay Jewelers, as the jingle implies, then “love” is for sale at the mall. You can get that kiss if you purchase for her a big enough diamond. This is stinking thinking, as someone said. It takes the idea of love, empties it out like an old box, and feels it with wispy nothings.
Christmas has been separated from the love that started it. It is almost unrecognizable now in many homes and almost all stores. You have to dig to find even a hint of the root of Christmas.
Christmas has “Christ” in it for a reason. His love, not ours, is the reason for the season.
We will have opportunities to sit down with various groups through this holiday season. We should consider it our privilege and responsibility to remind others from whence this celebration comes. God demonstrated his love for us by sending his One and Only Son. Especially among our children and grandchildren this truth should be known and reinforced.
God’s mission was to save us by sending his Son. Our mission is to make this truth known at home and around the world. Christmas, properly understood, is the heralding of God’s amazing love.
Join that angelic chorus in proclaiming the Savior’s birth in Bethlehem so long ago.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Ruby Bridges Went to School
Ruby Bridges Went to School
By David E. Crosby, Pastor
First Baptist New Orleans
November 14, 2010
Little Ruby Bridges walked into William Frantz Elementary School in the Upper Ninth Ward the morning of November 14, 1960, escorted by four U.S. marshals. She and Leona Tate, Tessie Prevost, and Gail Etienne at the McDonogh 19 Elementary School in the Lower Ninth Ward were the first black students after the federal court order mandating the end of segregation to attend a previously all-white elementary school.
Mandated integration was a windfall for private education in the South. Thousands of small schools, nonsectarian as well as religious, sprang up in the wake of the court order. De facto school segregation continued in many communities. Public education in the South sunk to new lows through these 50 years in part because white people who sent their children and grandchildren to private schools controlled public school boards and were often highly resistant to any school tax increases and marginally invested in the public school system.
The evident resistance to integration, not only in education but in all aspects of society, has been wide-ranging and far-reaching in its effect. Sunday morning worship continues to be the most segregated hour of the week in America. This reality seems to be changing as a new generation rises in our churches.
Race itself is a dimension of almost every discussion about education, economic development, criminal justice, religion, and medical services in our community though it is frequently unmentioned. As with gender or religion, our ethnicity is so thoroughly a part of our identity that to discuss it is to become intimate with and vulnerable to strangers in the room. Board rooms and court rooms are not generally peopled with good friends and family members. Who wants to open up such portals to the soul among those who do not really know you and probably do not love you?
Finding a vocabulary to discuss race is difficult. We fumble for words because we do not want to offend or deceive the listener, but we seem doomed to do one or the other. If we say what we are thinking we run the risk of broken relationships. If we skirt the real issues we propagate relationships built on mutual misunderstanding. Words have a life of their own once they are spoken. Detached from their context, intimate and heartfelt comments may be twisted and reinterpreted for political advantage. So we fall back into the safety of silence.
We are surrounded by fear. We are fearful about race itself and about the discussion of it. We fear losing ourselves as we open our minds and hearts to new relationships with a broader reach. We fear the loss of traditions and heritage. We also fear the loss of existing support structures and friendships should we step into the discussion about race relations. Words and actions have consequences in all communities.
Half a century has passed since that integration order, and we continue to work on the same problem. We struggle to love our neighbors as we love ourselves, even the very good ones. Jesus’ ancient tale about the Good Samaritan makes ethnicity the centerpiece in the question, “Who is my neighbor?” Our own “Samaritans,” whatever despised ethnicity that might be, we see as villains instead of heroes, subjects of suspicion and fear rather than admiration and respect. We who seek to follow Jesus tumble and stumble in a stuttering effort to obey this Great Command.
We are making progress. Many of our churches are more diverse than they were 50 years ago. The world is gathering at our doorstep, of course, and population trends have introduced new realities.
But attitudes have changed as we have drunk from the same fountains. The end of separate restrooms, restaurants, and schools was a beginning for greater common ground. Closer proximity tempered unreasonable fears and increased the cross-cultural dialogue.
The way forward is in part a personal and persistent effort at friendship, cooperation, and communication that recognizes and values our individual histories and emphasizes the shared concerns of living in the same space. Peace on earth is a dream that happens inch by inch, not mile by mile. Sometimes success is seen not so much in distance covered but in baggage set aside.
Today we acknowledge and lament the terrible injustices and deep wounds of the Jim Crow era. We ask forgiveness for the stubborn prejudices of race and class that plague us all and plague us still. And we celebrate the progress made, such as it is, toward mutual respect and neighborly love.
By David E. Crosby, Pastor
First Baptist New Orleans
November 14, 2010
Little Ruby Bridges walked into William Frantz Elementary School in the Upper Ninth Ward the morning of November 14, 1960, escorted by four U.S. marshals. She and Leona Tate, Tessie Prevost, and Gail Etienne at the McDonogh 19 Elementary School in the Lower Ninth Ward were the first black students after the federal court order mandating the end of segregation to attend a previously all-white elementary school.
Mandated integration was a windfall for private education in the South. Thousands of small schools, nonsectarian as well as religious, sprang up in the wake of the court order. De facto school segregation continued in many communities. Public education in the South sunk to new lows through these 50 years in part because white people who sent their children and grandchildren to private schools controlled public school boards and were often highly resistant to any school tax increases and marginally invested in the public school system.
The evident resistance to integration, not only in education but in all aspects of society, has been wide-ranging and far-reaching in its effect. Sunday morning worship continues to be the most segregated hour of the week in America. This reality seems to be changing as a new generation rises in our churches.
Race itself is a dimension of almost every discussion about education, economic development, criminal justice, religion, and medical services in our community though it is frequently unmentioned. As with gender or religion, our ethnicity is so thoroughly a part of our identity that to discuss it is to become intimate with and vulnerable to strangers in the room. Board rooms and court rooms are not generally peopled with good friends and family members. Who wants to open up such portals to the soul among those who do not really know you and probably do not love you?
Finding a vocabulary to discuss race is difficult. We fumble for words because we do not want to offend or deceive the listener, but we seem doomed to do one or the other. If we say what we are thinking we run the risk of broken relationships. If we skirt the real issues we propagate relationships built on mutual misunderstanding. Words have a life of their own once they are spoken. Detached from their context, intimate and heartfelt comments may be twisted and reinterpreted for political advantage. So we fall back into the safety of silence.
We are surrounded by fear. We are fearful about race itself and about the discussion of it. We fear losing ourselves as we open our minds and hearts to new relationships with a broader reach. We fear the loss of traditions and heritage. We also fear the loss of existing support structures and friendships should we step into the discussion about race relations. Words and actions have consequences in all communities.
Half a century has passed since that integration order, and we continue to work on the same problem. We struggle to love our neighbors as we love ourselves, even the very good ones. Jesus’ ancient tale about the Good Samaritan makes ethnicity the centerpiece in the question, “Who is my neighbor?” Our own “Samaritans,” whatever despised ethnicity that might be, we see as villains instead of heroes, subjects of suspicion and fear rather than admiration and respect. We who seek to follow Jesus tumble and stumble in a stuttering effort to obey this Great Command.
We are making progress. Many of our churches are more diverse than they were 50 years ago. The world is gathering at our doorstep, of course, and population trends have introduced new realities.
But attitudes have changed as we have drunk from the same fountains. The end of separate restrooms, restaurants, and schools was a beginning for greater common ground. Closer proximity tempered unreasonable fears and increased the cross-cultural dialogue.
The way forward is in part a personal and persistent effort at friendship, cooperation, and communication that recognizes and values our individual histories and emphasizes the shared concerns of living in the same space. Peace on earth is a dream that happens inch by inch, not mile by mile. Sometimes success is seen not so much in distance covered but in baggage set aside.
Today we acknowledge and lament the terrible injustices and deep wounds of the Jim Crow era. We ask forgiveness for the stubborn prejudices of race and class that plague us all and plague us still. And we celebrate the progress made, such as it is, toward mutual respect and neighborly love.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Surrender the Center
The center of the universe is somewhere near the Superdome. In fact a big banner hanging from the rafters in the Dome reads, “World Champions.” So there should be no doubt.
My son-in-law is a world champion. He won the grand prize at the Memphis in May barbecue cook-off several years ago.
My brother lives in San Saba County, Texas, the “pecan capital of the world,” as the small wooden sign reads.
We all live in the geographical center of the universe—our own address. And we are all world champions in some way in our own minds. Does anyone make a better biscuit than you? Does anyone understand better how to master video games or paint nails? You’re the one!
This is why we assume the world is coming to an end if our family is struck by disaster—or our county or our country. We are the center of biblical prophecy, and the world cannot go on without us or without things as they are for us.
People in Haiti and Indonesia, in the wake of recent earthquakes and tsunamis, may assume that the final apocalypse is upon us all. The world, of which they are the center, is collapsing.
Citizens of nation-states, including these United States, consistently adopt this egocentric and ethno-centric perspective. THE world is coming to an end if MY world seems to be ending. Most good stories—e.g. Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, the television series Fringe—involve the end of the world. Fringe, as the story unfolds this fall, is not about the edge of things, as the name implies, but the middle of things. If the main characters do not act fast, the entire universe is going to collapse.
You are only being modest when you suggest that you are on the fringe of things. What you really mean is that despite the skewed perspectives of those who may disagree, you are on target and dead center.
Life as we knew it is over, that is for certain. The aging process alone guarantees this. From communication to transportation to social conventions to the passing away of loved ones and heroes, the world I became familiar with as a boy and young adult is gone forever. Conservation and conservatism, political and social, only pertains where things are passing away and wasting away, as they always are.
Age itself is one reason why elderly people are sometimes targets of the false prophets. When funerals begin to dominate my schedule, the biblical warnings about plagues and disease ring louder. The longing to return to the past—the secure and familiar world of youthful health, assurance and simplicity—is strong in all of us. The politicians exploit that longing in order to get elected, the radio hosts to sell advertising. And the false prophets connect with that longing in us in order to find a way to our wallets.
“All men are like grass” (1 Peter 1:24). This is truth about our temporary and transitory sojourn on Planet Earth, and it is our best protection against the falsehood that we stand at the center of it all. If you and I can resist the arrogance that pushes us toward the pinnacle we will be wiser and better and more faithful people.
We are not the center, but we can point to it: “The word of the Lord stands forever” (1 Peter 1:25). Some things do not wither or fade or age. Humility is deference to the transcendent Truth. To surrender the center—this is hope and peace and progress in a world that still brims with possibilities and opportunities. The center of the universe is not half way between a democrat and republican or a liberal and conservative. The center is the Creator God whose spoke it all into being and will one day give the final benediction.
My son-in-law is a world champion. He won the grand prize at the Memphis in May barbecue cook-off several years ago.
My brother lives in San Saba County, Texas, the “pecan capital of the world,” as the small wooden sign reads.
We all live in the geographical center of the universe—our own address. And we are all world champions in some way in our own minds. Does anyone make a better biscuit than you? Does anyone understand better how to master video games or paint nails? You’re the one!
This is why we assume the world is coming to an end if our family is struck by disaster—or our county or our country. We are the center of biblical prophecy, and the world cannot go on without us or without things as they are for us.
People in Haiti and Indonesia, in the wake of recent earthquakes and tsunamis, may assume that the final apocalypse is upon us all. The world, of which they are the center, is collapsing.
Citizens of nation-states, including these United States, consistently adopt this egocentric and ethno-centric perspective. THE world is coming to an end if MY world seems to be ending. Most good stories—e.g. Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, the television series Fringe—involve the end of the world. Fringe, as the story unfolds this fall, is not about the edge of things, as the name implies, but the middle of things. If the main characters do not act fast, the entire universe is going to collapse.
You are only being modest when you suggest that you are on the fringe of things. What you really mean is that despite the skewed perspectives of those who may disagree, you are on target and dead center.
Life as we knew it is over, that is for certain. The aging process alone guarantees this. From communication to transportation to social conventions to the passing away of loved ones and heroes, the world I became familiar with as a boy and young adult is gone forever. Conservation and conservatism, political and social, only pertains where things are passing away and wasting away, as they always are.
Age itself is one reason why elderly people are sometimes targets of the false prophets. When funerals begin to dominate my schedule, the biblical warnings about plagues and disease ring louder. The longing to return to the past—the secure and familiar world of youthful health, assurance and simplicity—is strong in all of us. The politicians exploit that longing in order to get elected, the radio hosts to sell advertising. And the false prophets connect with that longing in us in order to find a way to our wallets.
“All men are like grass” (1 Peter 1:24). This is truth about our temporary and transitory sojourn on Planet Earth, and it is our best protection against the falsehood that we stand at the center of it all. If you and I can resist the arrogance that pushes us toward the pinnacle we will be wiser and better and more faithful people.
We are not the center, but we can point to it: “The word of the Lord stands forever” (1 Peter 1:25). Some things do not wither or fade or age. Humility is deference to the transcendent Truth. To surrender the center—this is hope and peace and progress in a world that still brims with possibilities and opportunities. The center of the universe is not half way between a democrat and republican or a liberal and conservative. The center is the Creator God whose spoke it all into being and will one day give the final benediction.
Monday, October 25, 2010
God-forsaken
Dr. Crosby,
I went to a talk recently on faith and doubt. One thing mentioned, quoting John Ortberg, was that Jesus doubted God on the cross when he asked, "Why have you forsaken me?" The speaker thought Jesus may have doubted God's plan without doubting his existence. I was wondering if you had any thoughts about Jesus' faith while on the cross.
Sincerely, *********
What a good question! Jesus quoted Psalm 22:1 when he spoke these words. It is a psalm of David about the suffering of the righteous. David was lamenting that his enemies had not been defeated. He felt like God wasn’t helping him.
Psalm 22 is quoted in the New Testament more than any other psalm. In particular it is applied to the crucifixion. If you read Psalm 22:7-8, you see the foreshadowing of Jesus on the cross. Verses 14-15 and 17-18 describe details about Jesus in his death. In verse 24 the psalm declares that God has not hidden his face after all.
I think Jesus was experiencing the penalty of sin when he spoke these words. He died in our place, and our place is a terribly dark place. Paul describes our lostness as being “without God in the world” (Ephesians 2:12). Jesus experienced the absence of fellowship with his Father on the cross. That is what I believe. Since I also believe in the progressive understanding of Jesus about his own person and mission (e.g. Luke 2:52), being forsaken by his Father could have been a surprise to Jesus on the cross. But my own opinion is that Jesus knew fully what he was getting into, that this was the “cup” which he prayed in Gethsemane would “pass from me” (Mark 14:36). He quoted Psalm 22:1 on purpose because it expressed his own brokenness in bearing our sin and it referenced the psalm which described best the event he was going through.
I think there were times that Jesus was tempted to abandon the path his Father gave him, not just in the wilderness with Satan but also along the way with the stubborn unbelief of his disciples, the blindness of Israel’s leaders, and the terrible price he was called upon to pay. We all wonder sometimes why he didn’t come down from the cross or abandon the path of suffering and just nuke ‘em.
Jesus experienced being forsaken by the Father. Did he doubt in that moment the effectiveness of the Father’s plan? Maybe. Was he helping us understand the terrible consequence of sin? Surely.
These words of Jesus from the cross may stand in line with his prayer in Gethsemane: “If it is possible, let this cup pass from me.” I don’t understand all that Jesus knew and felt in those hours before his crucifixion. But his prayer indicates that he was hoping for or looking for a way out. Yet he was completely obedient to the Father’s will, and he walked the path that was most difficult.
When we feel that God isn’t “there for us,” when it seems that we are going alone through our trouble, we question his love and sometimes we question his existence. Doubt is a frequent intruder both in our faith and in the atheist’s unbelief. We may be attacked by doubt at times. But so also are those who deny God’s love and/or existence. Some people simply become agnostic—“no knowledge,” insisting that we cannot know. Unfortunately, the agnostic builds his life the same way the atheist does. Agnostics never live as if God does exist and they will give an account to him one day. Instead, they order their lives as if God does not exist. They simply ignore him. I think that atheism and agnosticism are pretty much the same thing in the end.
The way of faith, believing in the God we cannot see with our eyes, is not without its intellectual supports and powerful arguments. But in the end it is FAITH which we exercise. Rarely Jesus saw GREAT faith in people. He encouraged his disciples by telling them that even a “little” faith could move mountains. We are often like the fellow who said, “Lord I believe. Help my unbelief! (Mark 9:24).
Faith is not sight. Faith is not completely a leap into the unknown, but it is in part such a leap. Doubt is often the unwanted but persistent companion of faith. None of us are strangers to doubt. As long as we are in this world not a single one of us has absolute certainty about all that we believe or confess including atheists and saints and everyone in between.
Jesus lived and died as a human being in this world. I am comforted by his question on the cross. It helps me when I feel abandoned by God. As it turns out, the times that I have felt God-forsaken my feelings were actually mistaken. In retrospect I can see God’s hand at work in my life even in its most painful moments. Ultimately Jesus’ fellowship with his Father was fully restored and his descent into the darkness, which accomplished our salvation, was followed by his ascent into the Father’s presence.
I went to a talk recently on faith and doubt. One thing mentioned, quoting John Ortberg, was that Jesus doubted God on the cross when he asked, "Why have you forsaken me?" The speaker thought Jesus may have doubted God's plan without doubting his existence. I was wondering if you had any thoughts about Jesus' faith while on the cross.
Sincerely, *********
What a good question! Jesus quoted Psalm 22:1 when he spoke these words. It is a psalm of David about the suffering of the righteous. David was lamenting that his enemies had not been defeated. He felt like God wasn’t helping him.
Psalm 22 is quoted in the New Testament more than any other psalm. In particular it is applied to the crucifixion. If you read Psalm 22:7-8, you see the foreshadowing of Jesus on the cross. Verses 14-15 and 17-18 describe details about Jesus in his death. In verse 24 the psalm declares that God has not hidden his face after all.
I think Jesus was experiencing the penalty of sin when he spoke these words. He died in our place, and our place is a terribly dark place. Paul describes our lostness as being “without God in the world” (Ephesians 2:12). Jesus experienced the absence of fellowship with his Father on the cross. That is what I believe. Since I also believe in the progressive understanding of Jesus about his own person and mission (e.g. Luke 2:52), being forsaken by his Father could have been a surprise to Jesus on the cross. But my own opinion is that Jesus knew fully what he was getting into, that this was the “cup” which he prayed in Gethsemane would “pass from me” (Mark 14:36). He quoted Psalm 22:1 on purpose because it expressed his own brokenness in bearing our sin and it referenced the psalm which described best the event he was going through.
I think there were times that Jesus was tempted to abandon the path his Father gave him, not just in the wilderness with Satan but also along the way with the stubborn unbelief of his disciples, the blindness of Israel’s leaders, and the terrible price he was called upon to pay. We all wonder sometimes why he didn’t come down from the cross or abandon the path of suffering and just nuke ‘em.
Jesus experienced being forsaken by the Father. Did he doubt in that moment the effectiveness of the Father’s plan? Maybe. Was he helping us understand the terrible consequence of sin? Surely.
These words of Jesus from the cross may stand in line with his prayer in Gethsemane: “If it is possible, let this cup pass from me.” I don’t understand all that Jesus knew and felt in those hours before his crucifixion. But his prayer indicates that he was hoping for or looking for a way out. Yet he was completely obedient to the Father’s will, and he walked the path that was most difficult.
When we feel that God isn’t “there for us,” when it seems that we are going alone through our trouble, we question his love and sometimes we question his existence. Doubt is a frequent intruder both in our faith and in the atheist’s unbelief. We may be attacked by doubt at times. But so also are those who deny God’s love and/or existence. Some people simply become agnostic—“no knowledge,” insisting that we cannot know. Unfortunately, the agnostic builds his life the same way the atheist does. Agnostics never live as if God does exist and they will give an account to him one day. Instead, they order their lives as if God does not exist. They simply ignore him. I think that atheism and agnosticism are pretty much the same thing in the end.
The way of faith, believing in the God we cannot see with our eyes, is not without its intellectual supports and powerful arguments. But in the end it is FAITH which we exercise. Rarely Jesus saw GREAT faith in people. He encouraged his disciples by telling them that even a “little” faith could move mountains. We are often like the fellow who said, “Lord I believe. Help my unbelief! (Mark 9:24).
Faith is not sight. Faith is not completely a leap into the unknown, but it is in part such a leap. Doubt is often the unwanted but persistent companion of faith. None of us are strangers to doubt. As long as we are in this world not a single one of us has absolute certainty about all that we believe or confess including atheists and saints and everyone in between.
Jesus lived and died as a human being in this world. I am comforted by his question on the cross. It helps me when I feel abandoned by God. As it turns out, the times that I have felt God-forsaken my feelings were actually mistaken. In retrospect I can see God’s hand at work in my life even in its most painful moments. Ultimately Jesus’ fellowship with his Father was fully restored and his descent into the darkness, which accomplished our salvation, was followed by his ascent into the Father’s presence.
Monday, September 27, 2010
FINISH STRONG
I have received many testimonies of God’s grace and provision through these last weeks of fasting, prayer, and giving.
Teresa Bovia lost her son, U.S. Marine Sergeant Joseph Bovia, on the battlefield in Afghanistan August 29. She writes:
The phrase "walking with Jesus" has a new meaning during this time in our life. However, I will also tell you that without Jesus I wouldn't be standing much less walking. As I look back over the events of the last days I see God's hand woven through each and every part of our loss. I would not begin to tell you we are through with our grief or that the tragedy is over, but what God is doing is drawing us each closer to him as we move through the grieving process.
Billy Benson writes the story of God’s grace in his marriage:
This certain young lady would later on pray for me as I went on a six week trip to the Middle East, and even adjust her schedule to be awake at the times I was awake. When I got back from the trip with a huge picture of God's love for all nations, God began to bring us together and we courted and were engaged for four months before getting married.
Cimbrey Brannan tells a part of their story:
When Mark and I began considering adoption, it was very evident to both of us that if God was leading us to begin the process, He would have to come through for us financially. Inter-country adoption is between $25,000 and $50,000, and that figure seemed impossible for two young married adults. Moreover, we were convinced that if God was calling us to adopt, He wanted us to do so in a fiscally responsible way.
Cimbrey recounts God’s provision through unanticipated pay raises, bonuses, and awards.
I was amazed that God was clearly providing for the adoption payments we would have to make this year. All the while, Mark and I have been able to give our monthly tithe to First Baptist New Orleans. God has given over and beyond what we could imagine.
We have only one Sunday left in our praying, fasting, and giving emphasis. Our offerings have been amazing, but we still have a ways to go. Let’s all participate to some degree, and we will see God’s provision for all our ministry needs.
Teresa Bovia lost her son, U.S. Marine Sergeant Joseph Bovia, on the battlefield in Afghanistan August 29. She writes:
The phrase "walking with Jesus" has a new meaning during this time in our life. However, I will also tell you that without Jesus I wouldn't be standing much less walking. As I look back over the events of the last days I see God's hand woven through each and every part of our loss. I would not begin to tell you we are through with our grief or that the tragedy is over, but what God is doing is drawing us each closer to him as we move through the grieving process.
Billy Benson writes the story of God’s grace in his marriage:
This certain young lady would later on pray for me as I went on a six week trip to the Middle East, and even adjust her schedule to be awake at the times I was awake. When I got back from the trip with a huge picture of God's love for all nations, God began to bring us together and we courted and were engaged for four months before getting married.
Cimbrey Brannan tells a part of their story:
When Mark and I began considering adoption, it was very evident to both of us that if God was leading us to begin the process, He would have to come through for us financially. Inter-country adoption is between $25,000 and $50,000, and that figure seemed impossible for two young married adults. Moreover, we were convinced that if God was calling us to adopt, He wanted us to do so in a fiscally responsible way.
Cimbrey recounts God’s provision through unanticipated pay raises, bonuses, and awards.
I was amazed that God was clearly providing for the adoption payments we would have to make this year. All the while, Mark and I have been able to give our monthly tithe to First Baptist New Orleans. God has given over and beyond what we could imagine.
We have only one Sunday left in our praying, fasting, and giving emphasis. Our offerings have been amazing, but we still have a ways to go. Let’s all participate to some degree, and we will see God’s provision for all our ministry needs.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Loving Muslims
Religious liberty is falling on hard times around the world. This includes many countries dominated by Islamic majorities. True religious freedom includes freedom of assembly, speech, and the press and a guarantee of equal respect and treatment under the law. This is the only peaceful way forward in a world as small as ours.
The model for such religious liberty is right here in these United States where our Congress “shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof” (First Amendment, U.S. Constitution). This is a guarantee that all religions will be treated equally before the law.
I include the content and meaning of the First Amendment when I speak to Muslims at home and abroad. The Bible teaches that true faith in God cannot be coerced, that God seeks a free response of love from those he freely loves, that all individuals on the planet are made in God’s image. This is the religious seedbed out of which the First Amendment emerged.
The first Baptist pastor in America, Roger Williams, founded Rhode Island and invited Muslims to settle there without fear of reprisal. He also guaranteed all residents of Rhode Island that there would be no religious test for holding public office.
Building a mosque near the site of the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks may be foolish and ill-advised, but the demands of religious liberty require that our government officials step aside.
Government cannot block the building of this mosque without communicating to the world that we believe Islam was the true source of the terrorist attacks and that it is out of favor in these United States. Such a message sent by our government violates our First Amendment guarantee of freedom of religion and negates its positive impact around the world. It polarizes Islam and Christianity on the world stage and reinforces the idea that our governments are involved in a “holy war.”
Some Christians believe that Christianity and Islam are squared off in the Middle East, Africa, and here at home. As a follower of Jesus I find no basis for taking up the sword against another religion. Nor do I believe that faithfulness to Christ requires fighting for world domination.
I find no grounds in the teachings of Jesus for the mobilization of military troops on behalf of the gospel. Quite the opposite, I hear Jesus calling me to pour out my life for the sake of the gospel.
If called upon I would fight and die to preserve this freedom which is ours as Americans, including freedom of religion. Since Christ must be followed from the heart I am not prepared to force anyone to deny their conscience or force them to espouse Christianity.
America is having a conversation about Islam and Muslims in our midst. What is the Christian point of view? We are to love Muslims as our neighbors. We are to care for them in their needs. We are to make room for those who are strangers among us.
Love prompts us to look for the good and the best in others. I believe that Christians can find much common ground with their Muslim neighbors. Since we are commanded to live in peace with all men these areas of common interest could be the focus of our discussion with Muslims rather than troubling texts or groups who express their faith with violence.
We are called to love our God completely and our neighbor as ourselves. Our commitment is to love Muslims—to work for their good, both here and around the world.
A billion Muslims are listening to this American dialogue about Islam. Many of them live in oppression and poverty. They can scarcely envision such a place as free and just as America given what they see and experience from their rulers and competing brands of their religion. They are wondering if the American dream is really true, if America is still the land of the free and the home of the brave.
We must send the message of liberty for all. We must fly the flag of true religious freedom. We must not reinforce the perception that Christians oppose Muslims and are seeking to overthrow them. Rather, consistent with the call of Christ, we must sound the trumpets of love and liberty. These notes, more powerful than guns and bombs, will be heard around the world by the oppressed and the downcast and will plant the seeds of the fruit we truly seek—peace among and within the peoples of this tiny planet.
The model for such religious liberty is right here in these United States where our Congress “shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof” (First Amendment, U.S. Constitution). This is a guarantee that all religions will be treated equally before the law.
I include the content and meaning of the First Amendment when I speak to Muslims at home and abroad. The Bible teaches that true faith in God cannot be coerced, that God seeks a free response of love from those he freely loves, that all individuals on the planet are made in God’s image. This is the religious seedbed out of which the First Amendment emerged.
The first Baptist pastor in America, Roger Williams, founded Rhode Island and invited Muslims to settle there without fear of reprisal. He also guaranteed all residents of Rhode Island that there would be no religious test for holding public office.
Building a mosque near the site of the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks may be foolish and ill-advised, but the demands of religious liberty require that our government officials step aside.
Government cannot block the building of this mosque without communicating to the world that we believe Islam was the true source of the terrorist attacks and that it is out of favor in these United States. Such a message sent by our government violates our First Amendment guarantee of freedom of religion and negates its positive impact around the world. It polarizes Islam and Christianity on the world stage and reinforces the idea that our governments are involved in a “holy war.”
Some Christians believe that Christianity and Islam are squared off in the Middle East, Africa, and here at home. As a follower of Jesus I find no basis for taking up the sword against another religion. Nor do I believe that faithfulness to Christ requires fighting for world domination.
I find no grounds in the teachings of Jesus for the mobilization of military troops on behalf of the gospel. Quite the opposite, I hear Jesus calling me to pour out my life for the sake of the gospel.
If called upon I would fight and die to preserve this freedom which is ours as Americans, including freedom of religion. Since Christ must be followed from the heart I am not prepared to force anyone to deny their conscience or force them to espouse Christianity.
America is having a conversation about Islam and Muslims in our midst. What is the Christian point of view? We are to love Muslims as our neighbors. We are to care for them in their needs. We are to make room for those who are strangers among us.
Love prompts us to look for the good and the best in others. I believe that Christians can find much common ground with their Muslim neighbors. Since we are commanded to live in peace with all men these areas of common interest could be the focus of our discussion with Muslims rather than troubling texts or groups who express their faith with violence.
We are called to love our God completely and our neighbor as ourselves. Our commitment is to love Muslims—to work for their good, both here and around the world.
A billion Muslims are listening to this American dialogue about Islam. Many of them live in oppression and poverty. They can scarcely envision such a place as free and just as America given what they see and experience from their rulers and competing brands of their religion. They are wondering if the American dream is really true, if America is still the land of the free and the home of the brave.
We must send the message of liberty for all. We must fly the flag of true religious freedom. We must not reinforce the perception that Christians oppose Muslims and are seeking to overthrow them. Rather, consistent with the call of Christ, we must sound the trumpets of love and liberty. These notes, more powerful than guns and bombs, will be heard around the world by the oppressed and the downcast and will plant the seeds of the fruit we truly seek—peace among and within the peoples of this tiny planet.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Protect and Serve
Herbert Bovia was wearing the blue uniform of the New Orleans Police Department when he arrived at his home in Kenner to receive the death message about his oldest son, Joseph, a sergeant in the U.S. Marine Corps felled by sniper fire Tuesday, August 31, in Afghanistan.
Teresa, Herbie’s wife, was home alone when three uniformed Marines knocked on her door: a chaplain, a captain, and a sergeant. They delivered the message every parent of soldiers in combat fears to hear and stayed with her until her husband and friends arrived to weep and console.
Herbie, a 30-year veteran of the NOPD, was a towering presence in the room. His hands trembled as he read a line from Joey’s handwritten letter that arrived the Monday before he died. In it Joey was wondering why he had volunteered for a third tour in Afghanistan. “Nonetheless,” he wrote, “I am at peace.” He spoke of the new recruits he was training for their dangerous mission and observed that they were “getting it”—the urgency and nobility of their work.
All his life this outstanding marine, 24 years old, had watched his father proudly don the police uniform and depart his home to put himself in harm’s way on behalf of others. Joey learned well the meaning of “serve and protect.”
Joey volunteered to help disarm roadside bombs in Afghanistan. When the unit he led and trained hit the field, he insisted on taking point. They were waiting on the bomb squad when Taliban fighters ambushed them.
The Bovias left with military escorts to receive the body of their son in Dover, Delaware. Joey was dressed in Dover and brought home for burial. More than 2,000 persons filed by to greet family members and to pay their respects to this fallen American hero. The solemn procession from First Baptist New Orleans to Garden of Memories cemetery traveled the streets escorted by officers of the NOPD and other law enforcement agencies who blocked all traffic even on the interstate.
Joey’s body was laid to rest with the calm assurance and confident faith that Joey himself was with the Lord Jesus in the Father’s House, just as Jesus promised. Joey trusted Christ at an early age and was a man of faith and prayer, courage and determination.
We owe an enormous debt of gratitude to the Bovia family both as a community and a country. Herbie has given his adult life to protect and serve our city, and now he and Teresa have given their oldest son in service to his country.
Jesus said, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). That is what U.S. Marine Sergeant Joseph Anthony Bovia did on August 31, 2010, on a battlefield in Afghanistan. He laid down his life for his friends.
Teresa, Herbie’s wife, was home alone when three uniformed Marines knocked on her door: a chaplain, a captain, and a sergeant. They delivered the message every parent of soldiers in combat fears to hear and stayed with her until her husband and friends arrived to weep and console.
Herbie, a 30-year veteran of the NOPD, was a towering presence in the room. His hands trembled as he read a line from Joey’s handwritten letter that arrived the Monday before he died. In it Joey was wondering why he had volunteered for a third tour in Afghanistan. “Nonetheless,” he wrote, “I am at peace.” He spoke of the new recruits he was training for their dangerous mission and observed that they were “getting it”—the urgency and nobility of their work.
All his life this outstanding marine, 24 years old, had watched his father proudly don the police uniform and depart his home to put himself in harm’s way on behalf of others. Joey learned well the meaning of “serve and protect.”
Joey volunteered to help disarm roadside bombs in Afghanistan. When the unit he led and trained hit the field, he insisted on taking point. They were waiting on the bomb squad when Taliban fighters ambushed them.
The Bovias left with military escorts to receive the body of their son in Dover, Delaware. Joey was dressed in Dover and brought home for burial. More than 2,000 persons filed by to greet family members and to pay their respects to this fallen American hero. The solemn procession from First Baptist New Orleans to Garden of Memories cemetery traveled the streets escorted by officers of the NOPD and other law enforcement agencies who blocked all traffic even on the interstate.
Joey’s body was laid to rest with the calm assurance and confident faith that Joey himself was with the Lord Jesus in the Father’s House, just as Jesus promised. Joey trusted Christ at an early age and was a man of faith and prayer, courage and determination.
We owe an enormous debt of gratitude to the Bovia family both as a community and a country. Herbie has given his adult life to protect and serve our city, and now he and Teresa have given their oldest son in service to his country.
Jesus said, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). That is what U.S. Marine Sergeant Joseph Anthony Bovia did on August 31, 2010, on a battlefield in Afghanistan. He laid down his life for his friends.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
New Orleans' Snaggletooth Smile
Five years after Hurricane Katrina socked us and soaked us, we are tired, but we still sport that snaggletooth smile. We have hope and faith and dark circles under our eyes.
Our smile reflects a true hospitality and a determined hope for our future. Nobody knows the trouble we’ve seen. But how could they? They come to see our parades and ballgames, not our soup kitchens and crime scenes.
The past five years are a blur. We worked liked Trojans, lived one day at a time, and crammed eternity into the blink of an eye. Who knew five years was over—or would ever pass? We slogged through a Katrina time warp when all the clocks drowned. Like the kid in the backseat, I am perpetually wondering, “Are we there yet?”
Truthfully, we have not emerged from our submerged world no matter how much we long to be rid of it. Those sickening brine lines—marking the height of the flood and the depth of our misery—are still tattooed on fences, pillars, buildings, and on our souls. What simply could not happen did, slicing a horizontal reminder through everything we know. My vision may be better or worse, but the world looks different from here.
I have passed from feeling condemned to feeling confused to feeling useful to feeling hopeful. But I am ever one step away from the murk of disturbing memories. Honestly, my mind resists going back to Hurricane Katrina and the immediate aftermath. As time goes by the details fade but the overall impression of the great flood is sobering and painful.
Today hundreds of construction cranes cast their shadows on our half-recovered landscape, and they are towers of hope. Going east, those Twin Spans across Lake Pontchartrain are an engineering marvel, almost completed. New ramps and fly-overs are taking shape at the interchange of Interstate 10 and Causeway Boulevard. The Huey P. Long Bridge is bulging with giant new biceps for wider lanes.
Our most interesting bridge, the Danziger, once the largest vertical-lift bridge in the world, has become a symbol for police brutality and corruption. We are horrified and heartbroken by these revelations. Rampant lawlessness in our streets is certainly related to any disregard for the law among our police, in our courts, and in our culture.
The drive from the Industrial Canal east to Interstate 510 remains a disturbing and depressing journey. We cannot get comfortable with our current reality in the footprint of the flood.
People are generally optimistic, I find, but also frustrated at the slow progress in some areas. Unattended infrastructure problems detract from the work we have accomplished in our homes and neighborhoods. The astonishing levels of murder and mayhem cause widespread anxiety and confusion about the safety and stability of our city.
The faith community is vibrant and deeply involved and invested in the city’s restoration. We leapt up after the storm, addressed the immediate needs, and helped clean up the mess. Collectively, we deployed a million volunteers. We continue the work of rebuilding our city. The flood washed us out of our pews and into our streets. Thousands of congregations here and elsewhere have found renewed purpose and joy in the hard work of serving people in need. This may prove to be a permanent course correction for many households of faith.
Vast resources have been expended through our churches and affiliated nonprofits, as with all sectors of our community. We are delighted to see progress in housing, education, health care, and flood protection and eager to enjoy and highlight these permanent improvements to life in New Orleans.
We remember those who perished in the great flood. We acknowledge the historical significance of Katrina in our personal and collective lives. We embrace and assimilate the lessons we learned in our time of trouble. And we renew our resolve to fashion a more peaceful and prosperous future for the city that we love.
Our smile reflects a true hospitality and a determined hope for our future. Nobody knows the trouble we’ve seen. But how could they? They come to see our parades and ballgames, not our soup kitchens and crime scenes.
The past five years are a blur. We worked liked Trojans, lived one day at a time, and crammed eternity into the blink of an eye. Who knew five years was over—or would ever pass? We slogged through a Katrina time warp when all the clocks drowned. Like the kid in the backseat, I am perpetually wondering, “Are we there yet?”
Truthfully, we have not emerged from our submerged world no matter how much we long to be rid of it. Those sickening brine lines—marking the height of the flood and the depth of our misery—are still tattooed on fences, pillars, buildings, and on our souls. What simply could not happen did, slicing a horizontal reminder through everything we know. My vision may be better or worse, but the world looks different from here.
I have passed from feeling condemned to feeling confused to feeling useful to feeling hopeful. But I am ever one step away from the murk of disturbing memories. Honestly, my mind resists going back to Hurricane Katrina and the immediate aftermath. As time goes by the details fade but the overall impression of the great flood is sobering and painful.
Today hundreds of construction cranes cast their shadows on our half-recovered landscape, and they are towers of hope. Going east, those Twin Spans across Lake Pontchartrain are an engineering marvel, almost completed. New ramps and fly-overs are taking shape at the interchange of Interstate 10 and Causeway Boulevard. The Huey P. Long Bridge is bulging with giant new biceps for wider lanes.
Our most interesting bridge, the Danziger, once the largest vertical-lift bridge in the world, has become a symbol for police brutality and corruption. We are horrified and heartbroken by these revelations. Rampant lawlessness in our streets is certainly related to any disregard for the law among our police, in our courts, and in our culture.
The drive from the Industrial Canal east to Interstate 510 remains a disturbing and depressing journey. We cannot get comfortable with our current reality in the footprint of the flood.
People are generally optimistic, I find, but also frustrated at the slow progress in some areas. Unattended infrastructure problems detract from the work we have accomplished in our homes and neighborhoods. The astonishing levels of murder and mayhem cause widespread anxiety and confusion about the safety and stability of our city.
The faith community is vibrant and deeply involved and invested in the city’s restoration. We leapt up after the storm, addressed the immediate needs, and helped clean up the mess. Collectively, we deployed a million volunteers. We continue the work of rebuilding our city. The flood washed us out of our pews and into our streets. Thousands of congregations here and elsewhere have found renewed purpose and joy in the hard work of serving people in need. This may prove to be a permanent course correction for many households of faith.
Vast resources have been expended through our churches and affiliated nonprofits, as with all sectors of our community. We are delighted to see progress in housing, education, health care, and flood protection and eager to enjoy and highlight these permanent improvements to life in New Orleans.
We remember those who perished in the great flood. We acknowledge the historical significance of Katrina in our personal and collective lives. We embrace and assimilate the lessons we learned in our time of trouble. And we renew our resolve to fashion a more peaceful and prosperous future for the city that we love.
Friday, July 16, 2010
The Chief and the Immam
We went to see the Chief today. He is a man of power and influence in the Songhai community here, and we should not try to do our work without his knowledge.
We missed him by ten minutes, but his brother was there. We talked to him and told him about our hope of returning to conduct medical clinics and educational programs. The brother was enthusiastic about our goals and said they would cooperate in notifying the people.
The immam who advises the Chief arrived as we were talking in the Chief's office. He, too, seemed supportive and eager to help.
We talked for 15 minutes and left with the impression that the Songhai community would readily receive medical and educational assistance. Their are no medical clinics operating among them, as far as we know, and the teaching of English is almost exclusively governmental.
Team members were entertaining school children when we returned to the school which was our meeting place. Denise was telling Bible stories. Yvette was helping an autistic young man and his family. Anna was visiting with a young mother and her child, asking about hair-braiding and how long it takes.
Chad, an intern from Tennessee, was trying to mimmick me, he said, by falling asleep on a bench. My clock never quite adjusted, so I perfected the art of cat-napping anywhere, anytime, but not without a lot of jealousy and protest from other team members. Any pictures or stories you may encounter about this are likely borne of frustration and ill humor.
Sim had gotten on the concrete floor with the children and was in need of help to rise. Adam was just taking it all in. And Fourcows (aka Kristen) was insisting that her father had raised the price on her dowry, putting it out of range of almost all prospects.
We are approaching dinner time here when we will enjoy a feast prepared by Adeline. She cooks American dishes and nails them every time.
At 9 p.m. we will leave for the airport and a endure long process of checking bags and going through customs. Flights leave in succession around midnight, and the lines are long. Our flight leaves at 1 a.m. Saturday morning. We hope to be home by noon.
Our team is tired, but we are happy. We have had a marvelous experience in Africa. All of us want to return. The Songhai people have captured our hearts, and we are eager to follow up with more teaching, more learning, and more opportunities to incarnate the love of Christ.
We missed him by ten minutes, but his brother was there. We talked to him and told him about our hope of returning to conduct medical clinics and educational programs. The brother was enthusiastic about our goals and said they would cooperate in notifying the people.
The immam who advises the Chief arrived as we were talking in the Chief's office. He, too, seemed supportive and eager to help.
We talked for 15 minutes and left with the impression that the Songhai community would readily receive medical and educational assistance. Their are no medical clinics operating among them, as far as we know, and the teaching of English is almost exclusively governmental.
Team members were entertaining school children when we returned to the school which was our meeting place. Denise was telling Bible stories. Yvette was helping an autistic young man and his family. Anna was visiting with a young mother and her child, asking about hair-braiding and how long it takes.
Chad, an intern from Tennessee, was trying to mimmick me, he said, by falling asleep on a bench. My clock never quite adjusted, so I perfected the art of cat-napping anywhere, anytime, but not without a lot of jealousy and protest from other team members. Any pictures or stories you may encounter about this are likely borne of frustration and ill humor.
Sim had gotten on the concrete floor with the children and was in need of help to rise. Adam was just taking it all in. And Fourcows (aka Kristen) was insisting that her father had raised the price on her dowry, putting it out of range of almost all prospects.
We are approaching dinner time here when we will enjoy a feast prepared by Adeline. She cooks American dishes and nails them every time.
At 9 p.m. we will leave for the airport and a endure long process of checking bags and going through customs. Flights leave in succession around midnight, and the lines are long. Our flight leaves at 1 a.m. Saturday morning. We hope to be home by noon.
Our team is tired, but we are happy. We have had a marvelous experience in Africa. All of us want to return. The Songhai people have captured our hearts, and we are eager to follow up with more teaching, more learning, and more opportunities to incarnate the love of Christ.
Timber Market Madness
Two girls about 12 years of age stopped to gaze at a mob scene in the Timber Market in Jamestown. Sim was in the middle of a jostling crowd with fifty outstretched hands. He was the only one who would own up to having any CDs left to give out, and people were loudly demanding that he give them one.
I was on the periphery enjoying the view because, as I told them, "I am finished." That is, I have no more CDs. The two girls stood before me, one with fifty bags of water balanced in a bowl on her head and the other balancing a bowl of food but without any cloth beneath the bowl. It seemed to roll around on her head as she talked, and she was skilled enough to keep it centered.
They asked politely in English what was going on, and they wanted audio CDs, these two girls. I suspected they might not be Songhai, and the CDs were in the Zarma language. I had heard many times this week, "I cannot hear Zarma." These amazing people are all tri-lingual, but Zarma is not widely spoken.
"Are you Songhai?" I asked them, and they said yes. But I was suspicious. Here in the Timber Market people were now claiming to be Songhai so they could get a free CD.
"Mate gum," I said to them, a traditional Zarma greeting (or close). They went wide-eyed and dissolved into giggles without upsetting the balance of their burdens. I realized then that they were indeed Songhai and that this was very likely the first time in their lives they had heard a white man speak Zarma. I am one of only a very few white guys on the planet that can greet someone in Zarma (more or less).
I became one of the 50 demanding CDs from Sim who delivered some of the last two to the girls. We hurried out of the market lest we cause an even bigger scene. Everywhere the Songhai people walked carrying CDs others wanted to know what they had in their hand and where they got it. Hence, the discreet and private conveyance of the initial CDs to a small, select group of men that Gomer, the missionary, already knew turned into people hurrying down the dusty roads between long racks of rough lumber looking for white people bearing gifts.
After eight days, we're still learning how to do this properly.
Earlier, one veteran laborer in the vast Timber Market in the Jamestown area of Accra had estimated for us that 1,000 Songhai work there. I think they all tried to get their hands in Sim's backpack.
Even Muslim men wearing long shiny robes and round caps and toting prayer beads wanted CDs. They could have been--and probably were--suspicious of these white Christians. But they were also curious, I am sure, about the contents of a CD about Jesus.
I longed to snap some pictures, but my camera stayed in the backpack until I saw a king-size wooden bed sitting in the middle of the road between the lumber racks. Following the lead of one of the Songhai who thought his wife might be interested in the bed and took photos with his cell phone, I whipped out my camera and caught the bed and its craftsman with hundreds of boards in the background. The Timber Market may be the size of eight or ten city blocks. The scale of African life is way to wide and deep and high to capture in a photo or a film. All of my senses are under continual overload everywhere I go.
The poorest residents of Accra live in the Jamestown area, the center of which is James Fort Prison. It is an ancient structure on the seashore where slaves were held before their transport across the Atlantic. Ghana was one of the favored areas for slave traders. What a sad and tragic part of Africa's history--and the history of the world.
Some of our team members have taken African names like Freckles, Peppers, and Fran. Our youngest member, Kristen, is now "Fourcows." We should have her officially engaged before the end of the day. Suitors are everywhere.
Suitcases are bouncing down the terrazzo staircase. People from all over the world come and go at the Baptist guest house with dizzying rapidity. My coffee needs refreshed as the world wakes up, and my last day in Africa (this trip) opens before me.
I was on the periphery enjoying the view because, as I told them, "I am finished." That is, I have no more CDs. The two girls stood before me, one with fifty bags of water balanced in a bowl on her head and the other balancing a bowl of food but without any cloth beneath the bowl. It seemed to roll around on her head as she talked, and she was skilled enough to keep it centered.
They asked politely in English what was going on, and they wanted audio CDs, these two girls. I suspected they might not be Songhai, and the CDs were in the Zarma language. I had heard many times this week, "I cannot hear Zarma." These amazing people are all tri-lingual, but Zarma is not widely spoken.
"Are you Songhai?" I asked them, and they said yes. But I was suspicious. Here in the Timber Market people were now claiming to be Songhai so they could get a free CD.
"Mate gum," I said to them, a traditional Zarma greeting (or close). They went wide-eyed and dissolved into giggles without upsetting the balance of their burdens. I realized then that they were indeed Songhai and that this was very likely the first time in their lives they had heard a white man speak Zarma. I am one of only a very few white guys on the planet that can greet someone in Zarma (more or less).
I became one of the 50 demanding CDs from Sim who delivered some of the last two to the girls. We hurried out of the market lest we cause an even bigger scene. Everywhere the Songhai people walked carrying CDs others wanted to know what they had in their hand and where they got it. Hence, the discreet and private conveyance of the initial CDs to a small, select group of men that Gomer, the missionary, already knew turned into people hurrying down the dusty roads between long racks of rough lumber looking for white people bearing gifts.
After eight days, we're still learning how to do this properly.
Earlier, one veteran laborer in the vast Timber Market in the Jamestown area of Accra had estimated for us that 1,000 Songhai work there. I think they all tried to get their hands in Sim's backpack.
Even Muslim men wearing long shiny robes and round caps and toting prayer beads wanted CDs. They could have been--and probably were--suspicious of these white Christians. But they were also curious, I am sure, about the contents of a CD about Jesus.
I longed to snap some pictures, but my camera stayed in the backpack until I saw a king-size wooden bed sitting in the middle of the road between the lumber racks. Following the lead of one of the Songhai who thought his wife might be interested in the bed and took photos with his cell phone, I whipped out my camera and caught the bed and its craftsman with hundreds of boards in the background. The Timber Market may be the size of eight or ten city blocks. The scale of African life is way to wide and deep and high to capture in a photo or a film. All of my senses are under continual overload everywhere I go.
The poorest residents of Accra live in the Jamestown area, the center of which is James Fort Prison. It is an ancient structure on the seashore where slaves were held before their transport across the Atlantic. Ghana was one of the favored areas for slave traders. What a sad and tragic part of Africa's history--and the history of the world.
Some of our team members have taken African names like Freckles, Peppers, and Fran. Our youngest member, Kristen, is now "Fourcows." We should have her officially engaged before the end of the day. Suitors are everywhere.
Suitcases are bouncing down the terrazzo staircase. People from all over the world come and go at the Baptist guest house with dizzying rapidity. My coffee needs refreshed as the world wakes up, and my last day in Africa (this trip) opens before me.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Trampled by Dance Troupe
The drums were not for us--all 12 of them.
The dancers were not dancing for us as a preliminary to the showing of the Jesus Film. They were conducting one of their three weekly two-hour practices.
And they were terrific. I wish they had been wearing their costumes.
We found out later that this troupe performed in Sweden and Norway last year.
They had the community center rented. We did not.
We watched them, though, fascinated by their energy, stamina, and synchronized choreography. They pounded the concrete with their bare feet. I could feel the vibrations beneath my feet. I think the entire concrete slab was throbbing.
The 12 drummers drumming were also chanting with the 12 dancers dancing. They were truly amazing, and the total effect in the darkness of an African evening made for an unforgettable, if accidental, experience for we Americans.
We postponed the showing of the Jesus film until a later date. We did not want this scheduling conflict to cause a rift within the community. We thanked the dancers for allowing us to watch their practice, and we told them it was fine that we had to wait. Some of them were members of Christian churches in Accra, and they were disappointed that the film would not be shown.
The sound for the film was not working, we discovered later, and the advertisements had not been distributed, so it was just as well. We settled in our hearts that God would use this delay to make the public viewing an even more effective event when it does occur. As far as we know, the Jesus film has never been shown in Accra in the Zarma language.
We have had a long discussion about whether to give shoes to the onion boys who are teaching us Zarma and learning English simultaneously. Their culture does not wear shoes, but it is a rural culture, not urban, and the hazards of wearing sandals are evident from the condition of their feet. These wounds are dangerous because of sanitation conditions.
The onion boys might or might not wear the shoes, though they have expressed real interest in them. And they might or might not wear them properly. For now, we have decided against the shoes.
The gift of learning English is truly precious to them. They are learning to write their letters and numbers. They are learning the names of body parts and articles of clothing. They are bright and motivated. They know that English spoken and read and written will open up a new world of opportunities for them.
The ladies will teach in the primary school again this afternoon, after the lessons with the onion boys (they sell onions by the roadside for those not following this blog), and we men will go to the large timber market or lumberyard run by Songhai men. This is a rough environment, according to our missionary, and the ladies should not venture into it. Advances to the ladies are common everywhere we go, but they could be mistreated at the timber market.
The Baptist guest house where we are staying is a revolving door for missionaries from around the world of all different Christian denominations and groups as well and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) doing al kinds of engineering and medical work among the Ghanaian population. We are encouraged to see how many Christians feel the calling to help articulate and demonstrate the gospel for these wonderful people. Dozens of tribal groups are represented in Accra, and dozens of languages. While most Africans we have met speak several languages, communication is still a critical need, especially for new immigrants like the Songhai.
The time here is a little past 10 a.m. This is the slow part of the morning for selling onions and a good time to talk to the Songhai men.
So I am out of this internet cafe and off to the roadside where I will sit under a tree and practice my newly acquired Zarma vocabulary.
The dancers were not dancing for us as a preliminary to the showing of the Jesus Film. They were conducting one of their three weekly two-hour practices.
And they were terrific. I wish they had been wearing their costumes.
We found out later that this troupe performed in Sweden and Norway last year.
They had the community center rented. We did not.
We watched them, though, fascinated by their energy, stamina, and synchronized choreography. They pounded the concrete with their bare feet. I could feel the vibrations beneath my feet. I think the entire concrete slab was throbbing.
The 12 drummers drumming were also chanting with the 12 dancers dancing. They were truly amazing, and the total effect in the darkness of an African evening made for an unforgettable, if accidental, experience for we Americans.
We postponed the showing of the Jesus film until a later date. We did not want this scheduling conflict to cause a rift within the community. We thanked the dancers for allowing us to watch their practice, and we told them it was fine that we had to wait. Some of them were members of Christian churches in Accra, and they were disappointed that the film would not be shown.
The sound for the film was not working, we discovered later, and the advertisements had not been distributed, so it was just as well. We settled in our hearts that God would use this delay to make the public viewing an even more effective event when it does occur. As far as we know, the Jesus film has never been shown in Accra in the Zarma language.
We have had a long discussion about whether to give shoes to the onion boys who are teaching us Zarma and learning English simultaneously. Their culture does not wear shoes, but it is a rural culture, not urban, and the hazards of wearing sandals are evident from the condition of their feet. These wounds are dangerous because of sanitation conditions.
The onion boys might or might not wear the shoes, though they have expressed real interest in them. And they might or might not wear them properly. For now, we have decided against the shoes.
The gift of learning English is truly precious to them. They are learning to write their letters and numbers. They are learning the names of body parts and articles of clothing. They are bright and motivated. They know that English spoken and read and written will open up a new world of opportunities for them.
The ladies will teach in the primary school again this afternoon, after the lessons with the onion boys (they sell onions by the roadside for those not following this blog), and we men will go to the large timber market or lumberyard run by Songhai men. This is a rough environment, according to our missionary, and the ladies should not venture into it. Advances to the ladies are common everywhere we go, but they could be mistreated at the timber market.
The Baptist guest house where we are staying is a revolving door for missionaries from around the world of all different Christian denominations and groups as well and nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) doing al kinds of engineering and medical work among the Ghanaian population. We are encouraged to see how many Christians feel the calling to help articulate and demonstrate the gospel for these wonderful people. Dozens of tribal groups are represented in Accra, and dozens of languages. While most Africans we have met speak several languages, communication is still a critical need, especially for new immigrants like the Songhai.
The time here is a little past 10 a.m. This is the slow part of the morning for selling onions and a good time to talk to the Songhai men.
So I am out of this internet cafe and off to the roadside where I will sit under a tree and practice my newly acquired Zarma vocabulary.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Coffee Candy at Sunset
The sun is down now, and I am in an internet cafe off a small courtyard where we will shortly show the Jesus film to a crowd of Songhai. The film is in Zarmama, their native language, and I know they will be intrigued.
Today we have distributed dozens of CDs and DVDs among the Songhai. We have seen a good-sized lot full of thousands of bottles and Songhai boys washing them in a large concrete trough. They sort the used glass bottles and recycle them as a business. Everyone at the lot wanted CDs.
A drum is sounding in the courtyard. It stands more than three feet tall and is 18 inches wide. It is part of the presentation, but I don't know how. Another drum has been added, higher pitched.
I looked for small, individually wrapped coffee candies up and down the main street here in Nima but without success. I found them yesterday from a young man with a trey of candies balanced on his head. They were inexpensive and delicious. A lady with a small stand promised me she would have them for me tomorrow when I come by.
We are situated across from the Nima market, a maze of hundreds of shops varying in size from the tiniest stands to the large timber market. Along the street are many women plying their wares, especially great sacks of corn and beans and peppers. They are eager for visitors to see and buy.
The people here seem to have marriage continually on their minds. All of the women have been propositioned multiple times, and even Sim became the object of a young woman's admiration. Denise still doesn't believe this, but I was there and I know it is true. I just witnessed a man and woman in a tugging contest at the front gate of the courtyard. He told me that she was pursuing him, but that she was too short for his tastes. I told him that I thought she was fine-looking and a woman of good character. At that point, she released him and ran away. I have never been a great match-maker.
The coffee candy will wait until tomorrow. The Songhai are gathering, and I am eager to see what happens with this public viewing of the Jesus film. We are learning their ways, and they are learning some of ours. So far the friendships have been rewarding, and all of our contacts with the Songhai have been pleasant.
Our youngest team member, Kristen, has been propositioned the most. I finally contacted her father and asked he would me to broker a deal and at what price. Kristen insisted she was worth a billion, but her father set her price at four cows.
Listen to the drumbeats!
Today we have distributed dozens of CDs and DVDs among the Songhai. We have seen a good-sized lot full of thousands of bottles and Songhai boys washing them in a large concrete trough. They sort the used glass bottles and recycle them as a business. Everyone at the lot wanted CDs.
A drum is sounding in the courtyard. It stands more than three feet tall and is 18 inches wide. It is part of the presentation, but I don't know how. Another drum has been added, higher pitched.
I looked for small, individually wrapped coffee candies up and down the main street here in Nima but without success. I found them yesterday from a young man with a trey of candies balanced on his head. They were inexpensive and delicious. A lady with a small stand promised me she would have them for me tomorrow when I come by.
We are situated across from the Nima market, a maze of hundreds of shops varying in size from the tiniest stands to the large timber market. Along the street are many women plying their wares, especially great sacks of corn and beans and peppers. They are eager for visitors to see and buy.
The people here seem to have marriage continually on their minds. All of the women have been propositioned multiple times, and even Sim became the object of a young woman's admiration. Denise still doesn't believe this, but I was there and I know it is true. I just witnessed a man and woman in a tugging contest at the front gate of the courtyard. He told me that she was pursuing him, but that she was too short for his tastes. I told him that I thought she was fine-looking and a woman of good character. At that point, she released him and ran away. I have never been a great match-maker.
The coffee candy will wait until tomorrow. The Songhai are gathering, and I am eager to see what happens with this public viewing of the Jesus film. We are learning their ways, and they are learning some of ours. So far the friendships have been rewarding, and all of our contacts with the Songhai have been pleasant.
Our youngest team member, Kristen, has been propositioned the most. I finally contacted her father and asked he would me to broker a deal and at what price. Kristen insisted she was worth a billion, but her father set her price at four cows.
Listen to the drumbeats!
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Religious Fervor in Ghana
The Second Coming of Christ will be May 21, 2011, according to a prominent billboard in Accra. The end of the world will be October 21, 2011.
Predictions continue even though "no one knows the day or the hour" and "it is not for you to know the times or seasons" (it's in your Bible). What we do not know we make up, and what we know for sure to do (feeding the hungry, prayer, sharing the gospel, etc.) we ignore.
Religious signs and sayings are everywhere in Accra. Taxi drivers display their faith. Signs on school buildings mention "blessings" and "glory." Businesses have names with theological and biblical terms in them.
The headmaster of one school we visited said that she was a member of a "powerful Charismatic church." This church is known throughout the country.
I have seen two churches with annual themes for 2010. One featured "The Year of Fruitfulness" with Psalm 1:3 as the year's verse and the other "Abundance." Themes of abundance and prosperity are very common in the preaching, teaching, and advertising of Christian churches here.
Only a few weeks ago the president of Ghana told the world that Ghana "is a Christian nation." He meant by this, I assume, that Christianity is the dominant religion of the country. The Ghanaian constituion guarantees religious liberty. No religion receives tax support here.
The president may have been prompted to make this remark because many Muslims are migrating south to Ghana and Accra in search of jobs. The Sahara Desert is growing. Their agricultural livelihoods are disappearing. They come to Ghana to work, to sell their products, and to send their money back home. This is true of many tribal groups including the Songhai with whom we are working. Boys 12 years of age have left their homes in Niger to live and work in Accra for months.
The growing presence of Islam is obvious and problematic for many Ghanaians. Christianity and Islam coexist in Africa but not always peacefully. Tribal laws and values are shaped by religious persuasion. Religious conversion may be--and often is--the end of family ties, friendships, business relations, and educational opportunities. We have discovered only one Christian among the thousands of Songhai who are new residents of Accra. And we have heard the personal testimony of Muslims who convert to Christianity at great personal and economic cost.
Even so, Ghana is a gerat mission field with many opportunities for presenting the gospel of Christ and building friendships across religious, denominational, and tribal boundaries. New immigrants have dreams of getting good jobs, going to school, and building new lives in the great urban sprawl that is Accra.
We are learning a little Zarma, the tribal language of the Songhai, as we are teaching them English. Loving Muslims means having a genuine desire to know them and to see their hearts and hopes. The love of Christ will open our hearts to them as they open their hearts to us.
Religious fervor, Christian and Muslim, will be part of the landscape here in Accra for the foreseeable future. The coexistence of these two powerful religions here is not just theoretical. It is the daily experience of life.
I am no expert on Islam. This is one of few opportunities in my lifetime to build friendships with Muslims and learn their ways. Those I have met have beautiful smiles and warm hearts. Their struggles are just like ours. If genuine love of neighbor prevails, then peace should also prevail and fear of one another should dissipate.
My church in Houston sponsored an Arab Christian church that met in our facility and interacted with us weekly. Fahed Karmoot was their pastor. I know that we cannot represent Christ well when we are intimidated, afraid, and ignorant of one another.
How Christianity and Islam relate to each other may determine more about the peace and prosperity of Accra--and the world--in the 21st century than any other factor. We who know Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord must lead the way in love and understanding--loving Muslims just like they are and checking ourselves daily for faithfulness to Christ in every word and deed. When Christian faith is warm-hearted and passionate and truly looks and sounds like Jesus, it is the most compelling force in the world.
Predictions continue even though "no one knows the day or the hour" and "it is not for you to know the times or seasons" (it's in your Bible). What we do not know we make up, and what we know for sure to do (feeding the hungry, prayer, sharing the gospel, etc.) we ignore.
Religious signs and sayings are everywhere in Accra. Taxi drivers display their faith. Signs on school buildings mention "blessings" and "glory." Businesses have names with theological and biblical terms in them.
The headmaster of one school we visited said that she was a member of a "powerful Charismatic church." This church is known throughout the country.
I have seen two churches with annual themes for 2010. One featured "The Year of Fruitfulness" with Psalm 1:3 as the year's verse and the other "Abundance." Themes of abundance and prosperity are very common in the preaching, teaching, and advertising of Christian churches here.
Only a few weeks ago the president of Ghana told the world that Ghana "is a Christian nation." He meant by this, I assume, that Christianity is the dominant religion of the country. The Ghanaian constituion guarantees religious liberty. No religion receives tax support here.
The president may have been prompted to make this remark because many Muslims are migrating south to Ghana and Accra in search of jobs. The Sahara Desert is growing. Their agricultural livelihoods are disappearing. They come to Ghana to work, to sell their products, and to send their money back home. This is true of many tribal groups including the Songhai with whom we are working. Boys 12 years of age have left their homes in Niger to live and work in Accra for months.
The growing presence of Islam is obvious and problematic for many Ghanaians. Christianity and Islam coexist in Africa but not always peacefully. Tribal laws and values are shaped by religious persuasion. Religious conversion may be--and often is--the end of family ties, friendships, business relations, and educational opportunities. We have discovered only one Christian among the thousands of Songhai who are new residents of Accra. And we have heard the personal testimony of Muslims who convert to Christianity at great personal and economic cost.
Even so, Ghana is a gerat mission field with many opportunities for presenting the gospel of Christ and building friendships across religious, denominational, and tribal boundaries. New immigrants have dreams of getting good jobs, going to school, and building new lives in the great urban sprawl that is Accra.
We are learning a little Zarma, the tribal language of the Songhai, as we are teaching them English. Loving Muslims means having a genuine desire to know them and to see their hearts and hopes. The love of Christ will open our hearts to them as they open their hearts to us.
Religious fervor, Christian and Muslim, will be part of the landscape here in Accra for the foreseeable future. The coexistence of these two powerful religions here is not just theoretical. It is the daily experience of life.
I am no expert on Islam. This is one of few opportunities in my lifetime to build friendships with Muslims and learn their ways. Those I have met have beautiful smiles and warm hearts. Their struggles are just like ours. If genuine love of neighbor prevails, then peace should also prevail and fear of one another should dissipate.
My church in Houston sponsored an Arab Christian church that met in our facility and interacted with us weekly. Fahed Karmoot was their pastor. I know that we cannot represent Christ well when we are intimidated, afraid, and ignorant of one another.
How Christianity and Islam relate to each other may determine more about the peace and prosperity of Accra--and the world--in the 21st century than any other factor. We who know Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord must lead the way in love and understanding--loving Muslims just like they are and checking ourselves daily for faithfulness to Christ in every word and deed. When Christian faith is warm-hearted and passionate and truly looks and sounds like Jesus, it is the most compelling force in the world.
Monday, July 12, 2010
A World Beyond Imagination
We walked today where few westerners have ever been--in the deep recesses of the market in Nima. These gracious and beautiful African people allowed us to trudge through their world in single file. We walked wide-eyed down narrow dirt paths that divide hundreds of small businesses into a giant maze of astonishing sights and sounds.
The unexpected we encountered at every step--a sawmill humming in the middle of the maze, a flour mill with white-powdered boys filling sacks, a pungent spice mill, a meat market with everything available raw or cooked, a vegetable market, and so much more all crowded and carved into the vacant urban land.
Our presence was strange to the many merchants who saw us. They seldom if ever see people like us walking those trails. Yet they greeted us with wide smiles, using their English and interacting as they could. We paused to talk along the way.
I bought a Muslim prayer mat hoping it will remind me to pray for these dear people. When the Muslim call to prayer sounds out through the maze, only a few people stop to pray. The vast majority go on with their work or discussions even those you would expect to observe the moment of prayer. Islam here, like Christianity in the USA, is often more cultural than it is devotional.
People were curious about us being Americans. Our nationality is not at all obvious to them. They think first we are European. Neither our dress nor our dialect necessarily give us away. When they learn we are American, we often hear "Obama!" His name is known widely here, and people are enthusiastic about him. Some wear t-shirts with his picture and hang Obama posters in their shops.
American music can be heard on street corners and in shops, even Lil Wayne. "New York" hats and Celtics t-shirts are fairly common. We have not picked up on any anti-American sentiment in Ghana though it may be here somewhere.
Taking pictures is problematic. The camera takes you out of the flow of humanity and objectives the people you are seeking to befriend. One team member was pelted with peppers when she innocently snapped a picture in a marketplace. Some are excited to be photographed but other are wary and even angry when they see the camera. We have often left them hidden when we longed to capture on film those giant snails or that boy dusted with flour or that enormous pile of citrus beside the road or the man at the grinder covered with spice. We ask permission before we snap, but even then onlookers may object.
We continue to pray for avenues of continuing engagement with the Songhai people. Our objectives would be to 1) befriend them, 2) help them in appropriate ways, and 3) introduce them to Jesus, our Savior and Lord.
Poverty and deprivation look similar to me whether in Latin America, Asia, or Africa. People whom Jesus loves need medical attention, education, and jobs. We want to be wise in our relationships with the Songhai. We are beginning to feel as a team that this may be God's calling for us. No other Christian church, as far as we know, is reaching out to the migrant population of Songhai in Accra. They are largely invisible even to the locals, but we have met and seen hundreds of Songhai here.
We are about to leave to visit with the onion boys. Their ages range from 12 to 26. They sell onions by the side of the road. We look forward to talking with them again and learning more about Zarma. Maybe they will learn a little English--and a little more about Jesus--from us today.
The unexpected we encountered at every step--a sawmill humming in the middle of the maze, a flour mill with white-powdered boys filling sacks, a pungent spice mill, a meat market with everything available raw or cooked, a vegetable market, and so much more all crowded and carved into the vacant urban land.
Our presence was strange to the many merchants who saw us. They seldom if ever see people like us walking those trails. Yet they greeted us with wide smiles, using their English and interacting as they could. We paused to talk along the way.
I bought a Muslim prayer mat hoping it will remind me to pray for these dear people. When the Muslim call to prayer sounds out through the maze, only a few people stop to pray. The vast majority go on with their work or discussions even those you would expect to observe the moment of prayer. Islam here, like Christianity in the USA, is often more cultural than it is devotional.
People were curious about us being Americans. Our nationality is not at all obvious to them. They think first we are European. Neither our dress nor our dialect necessarily give us away. When they learn we are American, we often hear "Obama!" His name is known widely here, and people are enthusiastic about him. Some wear t-shirts with his picture and hang Obama posters in their shops.
American music can be heard on street corners and in shops, even Lil Wayne. "New York" hats and Celtics t-shirts are fairly common. We have not picked up on any anti-American sentiment in Ghana though it may be here somewhere.
Taking pictures is problematic. The camera takes you out of the flow of humanity and objectives the people you are seeking to befriend. One team member was pelted with peppers when she innocently snapped a picture in a marketplace. Some are excited to be photographed but other are wary and even angry when they see the camera. We have often left them hidden when we longed to capture on film those giant snails or that boy dusted with flour or that enormous pile of citrus beside the road or the man at the grinder covered with spice. We ask permission before we snap, but even then onlookers may object.
We continue to pray for avenues of continuing engagement with the Songhai people. Our objectives would be to 1) befriend them, 2) help them in appropriate ways, and 3) introduce them to Jesus, our Savior and Lord.
Poverty and deprivation look similar to me whether in Latin America, Asia, or Africa. People whom Jesus loves need medical attention, education, and jobs. We want to be wise in our relationships with the Songhai. We are beginning to feel as a team that this may be God's calling for us. No other Christian church, as far as we know, is reaching out to the migrant population of Songhai in Accra. They are largely invisible even to the locals, but we have met and seen hundreds of Songhai here.
We are about to leave to visit with the onion boys. Their ages range from 12 to 26. They sell onions by the side of the road. We look forward to talking with them again and learning more about Zarma. Maybe they will learn a little English--and a little more about Jesus--from us today.
Sounds of an African Dawn
I woke up early this morning to a thousand birds singing near and far, high and low. The foreground featured half a dozen different chirps coming from the backyard. Just beyond them were half a dozen choruses ranging left to right. And back further still was a mat of song with individual sounds barely perceptible.
Some fowl cruising high above added his lonely cry to the roosters waking up. I whispered a prayer for this new day in Africa.
The ceiling fan beat out its rhythm as I pulled back the sheet. The staff of the mission house were already stirring in the kitchen and backyard. It is a leisurely morning. No one seems to be in a hurry. African time is not a commodity to sell but an experience to savor.
This culture has a rich texture full of bright colors and soul music. Yesterday at church the music leader sang a song in their native Twi language, and the congregation responded antiphonally with feeling and power. They were caught up in their music, their worship, and it was inspiring.
The pastor wore a full length robe with a gold and black pattern. His congregation dressed just as brightly.
The pace and pulse of Africa will get you thinking. Maybe rushing through life in grays and khakis is the low road. Heaven might look and sound more like this colorful rhythm.
Today we try to help the "onion boys" with their English and get to know the Songhai in the communities where they are majority population. The onion boys are Songhai who market onions by the side of the road. The Songhai are descendants of a once-dominant tribe that built an extensive empire across West Africa. Now they are displaced and generally impoverished. The expanding Sahara has devoured their traditional livelihood, and the urban centers have not been an easy adaptation.
We met a Songhai youth yesterday who, after years of cultivation in Niger, trusted Christ. He is the only Christian Songhai we know among the thousands who live here.
The coffee is brewing and breakfast is about to be served. Better move on with the morning!
Some fowl cruising high above added his lonely cry to the roosters waking up. I whispered a prayer for this new day in Africa.
The ceiling fan beat out its rhythm as I pulled back the sheet. The staff of the mission house were already stirring in the kitchen and backyard. It is a leisurely morning. No one seems to be in a hurry. African time is not a commodity to sell but an experience to savor.
This culture has a rich texture full of bright colors and soul music. Yesterday at church the music leader sang a song in their native Twi language, and the congregation responded antiphonally with feeling and power. They were caught up in their music, their worship, and it was inspiring.
The pastor wore a full length robe with a gold and black pattern. His congregation dressed just as brightly.
The pace and pulse of Africa will get you thinking. Maybe rushing through life in grays and khakis is the low road. Heaven might look and sound more like this colorful rhythm.
Today we try to help the "onion boys" with their English and get to know the Songhai in the communities where they are majority population. The onion boys are Songhai who market onions by the side of the road. The Songhai are descendants of a once-dominant tribe that built an extensive empire across West Africa. Now they are displaced and generally impoverished. The expanding Sahara has devoured their traditional livelihood, and the urban centers have not been an easy adaptation.
We met a Songhai youth yesterday who, after years of cultivation in Niger, trusted Christ. He is the only Christian Songhai we know among the thousands who live here.
The coffee is brewing and breakfast is about to be served. Better move on with the morning!
Saturday, July 10, 2010
First Day in Accra
Ghana is a linguistic blizzard. Maybe monsoon is a better word since we are only 5 degrees north of the equator. I have met a hundred Africans already, and they all speak at least four languages, even those who cannot read one.
All of western Africa seems represented here in Accra to some degree or other. Mustapha is a Beasa man and is one of our guides for the week. His 19-month-old son, Moses, can already get around in four languages. He speaks with all four laced together in one communication stream. One of his languages his own father does not know. Moses is learning it from his friend next door who is from a different tribe.
Tribal descent is vital to true understanding and truly confusing for a foreigner. If somebody hadn't told me, "That's a Songhai," I would have had no idea. Tribal markings help only if you know what you're looking for.
The live, giant snails, dried fish and a basket full of cow's feet were highlights of our trip through the Makola Market this afternoon. People were everywhere, generally sweet and polite, and we were wide-eyed white people more curious to everyone else than the agricultural anomalies impressing us.
Accra has 3 million people in it. I believe we passed them all at least once. This city is in motion. The sounds and smells are arresting. Construction is everywhere. A cubic foot of open sidewalk is an entrepreneurial opportunity. Taxis and tro-tros jam the roads. Drivers ride their horns while chatting with passing motorcyclists.
This is day one, and already Africa is overwhelming me!
For an interesting (yawn) story about our day, check out Anna's blog.
All of western Africa seems represented here in Accra to some degree or other. Mustapha is a Beasa man and is one of our guides for the week. His 19-month-old son, Moses, can already get around in four languages. He speaks with all four laced together in one communication stream. One of his languages his own father does not know. Moses is learning it from his friend next door who is from a different tribe.
Tribal descent is vital to true understanding and truly confusing for a foreigner. If somebody hadn't told me, "That's a Songhai," I would have had no idea. Tribal markings help only if you know what you're looking for.
The live, giant snails, dried fish and a basket full of cow's feet were highlights of our trip through the Makola Market this afternoon. People were everywhere, generally sweet and polite, and we were wide-eyed white people more curious to everyone else than the agricultural anomalies impressing us.
Accra has 3 million people in it. I believe we passed them all at least once. This city is in motion. The sounds and smells are arresting. Construction is everywhere. A cubic foot of open sidewalk is an entrepreneurial opportunity. Taxis and tro-tros jam the roads. Drivers ride their horns while chatting with passing motorcyclists.
This is day one, and already Africa is overwhelming me!
For an interesting (yawn) story about our day, check out Anna's blog.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Wineskin in the Smoke
“I am like a wineskin in the smoke,” wrote the Psalmist in Psalm 119:83. The metaphor takes my mind back to the high Andes Mountains in northern Peru nearly 20 years ago, to a cemetery of Incan warriors and a little man in that cemetery who had a tiny pot to sell.
He told us that he found the pot while digging around in those open graves. The huge pyramid-shaped stones that once covered the graves and been blasted apart by grave robbers. All the gold was stolen. But stirring with a stick in one crypt, he hit something, he said, and it turned out to be the little pot.
It had been sitting in this house for a long time, he told us, but he would sell it to us. I took it in my hand and handed him the money. The pot smelled like smoke and was tarnished with soot.
“What happened to this pot?” I asked Larry Johnson, the missionary. He told me that the Quechua Indians did not build chimneys or smokestacks in their homes. The smoke curls up from the perpetual fire used for cooking and heat, rises to the ceiling, and creeps around the top of the room until it finds a crevasse or crack through which to escape. In doing so, the odor of smoke permeates their clothing and blankets, and the soot coats everything.
A Bedouin tent in the Middle East does not have a chimney. As with the little Quechua houses, the smoke from their fires curls around the tent until it makes its way out.
A wineskin is a bottle made of leather. The leather needs to be dried when it is new, but continual drying will ruin it. A wineskin in a Bedouin tent, hanging on a line, would be coated with soot and partially dried and cooked by the smoke. It would eventually be dried and cracked, tested and damaged by heat and smoke. The metaphor calls to mind a tent rather than a palace, and indicates a nomadic life, maybe even the life of a fugitive.
Think of King David no longer in the palace but on the run from his enemies, hiding in the hills, living in tents. This psalm points to the contrast between good times and bad, between the palace and the tent, between sitting on the throne and running from those who want to kill you. It is a variation on the theme of life’s extremities.
The psalmist was in a very difficult part of life’s journey, and the difficulty had lasted for a very long time. He was worn out, confused, and crying out for help.
Despite his trying circumstances he confessed again, “I have put my hope in your word” (Psalm 119:81). Threaded throughout this psalm are the polarities of painful despair and irresistible hope. This hope that has survived such pain and trials is anchored by the word of God that does not change with changing seasons. When your hope is anchored in God’s word, you are spiritually and emotionally prepared for life’s surprises.
And you weather the trials, no matter how severe, because you know that God is honest and faithful and always keeps his word.
He told us that he found the pot while digging around in those open graves. The huge pyramid-shaped stones that once covered the graves and been blasted apart by grave robbers. All the gold was stolen. But stirring with a stick in one crypt, he hit something, he said, and it turned out to be the little pot.
It had been sitting in this house for a long time, he told us, but he would sell it to us. I took it in my hand and handed him the money. The pot smelled like smoke and was tarnished with soot.
“What happened to this pot?” I asked Larry Johnson, the missionary. He told me that the Quechua Indians did not build chimneys or smokestacks in their homes. The smoke curls up from the perpetual fire used for cooking and heat, rises to the ceiling, and creeps around the top of the room until it finds a crevasse or crack through which to escape. In doing so, the odor of smoke permeates their clothing and blankets, and the soot coats everything.
A Bedouin tent in the Middle East does not have a chimney. As with the little Quechua houses, the smoke from their fires curls around the tent until it makes its way out.
A wineskin is a bottle made of leather. The leather needs to be dried when it is new, but continual drying will ruin it. A wineskin in a Bedouin tent, hanging on a line, would be coated with soot and partially dried and cooked by the smoke. It would eventually be dried and cracked, tested and damaged by heat and smoke. The metaphor calls to mind a tent rather than a palace, and indicates a nomadic life, maybe even the life of a fugitive.
Think of King David no longer in the palace but on the run from his enemies, hiding in the hills, living in tents. This psalm points to the contrast between good times and bad, between the palace and the tent, between sitting on the throne and running from those who want to kill you. It is a variation on the theme of life’s extremities.
The psalmist was in a very difficult part of life’s journey, and the difficulty had lasted for a very long time. He was worn out, confused, and crying out for help.
Despite his trying circumstances he confessed again, “I have put my hope in your word” (Psalm 119:81). Threaded throughout this psalm are the polarities of painful despair and irresistible hope. This hope that has survived such pain and trials is anchored by the word of God that does not change with changing seasons. When your hope is anchored in God’s word, you are spiritually and emotionally prepared for life’s surprises.
And you weather the trials, no matter how severe, because you know that God is honest and faithful and always keeps his word.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
My Word, My Heart
My father insisted his boys memorize Psalm 2 word for word from the King James Bible. The first line reads, “Why do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain thing?” The text is filled with strange words in unfamiliar order, and the concepts are tough to assimilate.
But I learned it anyway and can recite it word for word to this day.
The picture from Psalm 2 of God laughing has visited me at many opportune moments. When tempted to defy God’s word, these words scroll before me: “The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together against the Lord and against his anointed, saying, ‘Let us break their bands asunder, and cast away their cords from us.’ He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh; the Lord shall have them in derision.”
This memorized word kept me from defiant actions against God more than once. I did not want God to “vex” me “in his sore displeasure.”
My text for this Sunday (June 27, 2010), Psalm 119:9-16, I also memorized as part of Dad’s creative club activity for boys in the church, “Hawley Loyal Legionnaires.” I was loyal, and I received a lot of patches on my jacket for memorizing those verses as a seven-year-old.
“Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? By taking heed thereto according to thy word.” That is how Psalm 119:9 goes in my mind. I learned early that if I heeded the word of God, not just memorized it, I would live a cleaner life.
Memorizing Bible verses at that tender age embedded God’s truth in my mental, moral and spiritual development. It is not a cure-all or a certain guarantee of faithfulness to God. But hiding the word deep in your heart surely will change both your ROM (read only memory) and your RAM (random access memory).
The word of God “is quick and powerful and sharper than any two-edged sword” (Hebrews 4:12). Hide this in your heart, and you are ready for battle.
But I learned it anyway and can recite it word for word to this day.
The picture from Psalm 2 of God laughing has visited me at many opportune moments. When tempted to defy God’s word, these words scroll before me: “The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together against the Lord and against his anointed, saying, ‘Let us break their bands asunder, and cast away their cords from us.’ He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh; the Lord shall have them in derision.”
This memorized word kept me from defiant actions against God more than once. I did not want God to “vex” me “in his sore displeasure.”
My text for this Sunday (June 27, 2010), Psalm 119:9-16, I also memorized as part of Dad’s creative club activity for boys in the church, “Hawley Loyal Legionnaires.” I was loyal, and I received a lot of patches on my jacket for memorizing those verses as a seven-year-old.
“Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? By taking heed thereto according to thy word.” That is how Psalm 119:9 goes in my mind. I learned early that if I heeded the word of God, not just memorized it, I would live a cleaner life.
Memorizing Bible verses at that tender age embedded God’s truth in my mental, moral and spiritual development. It is not a cure-all or a certain guarantee of faithfulness to God. But hiding the word deep in your heart surely will change both your ROM (read only memory) and your RAM (random access memory).
The word of God “is quick and powerful and sharper than any two-edged sword” (Hebrews 4:12). Hide this in your heart, and you are ready for battle.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Guarding the city
Contemplate the fate of cities in our world through the centuries. They rise and fall like tides on the sea. The great cities of today are often built upon the rubble of great cities of the past. Historically, losing a city completely, whether to sudden catastrophe or long decay, is nothing new to the human race.
Cities are living social systems, and they are mortal. They are vulnerable to war, economics, weather, disease, and changing demographics both natural and sociological. They respond to positive and negative input from natural resources, commerce, education, medicine, and public morality.
Cities dominate the landscape for humans. They are the centers of learning, business, transportation, and healthcare. They are also centers of moral and ecological pollution.
Only 4 percent of the human population of the world lived in cities in 1800. Today 45 percent of all humans reside in urban areas. But 2025 that number will grow to 60 percent.
We are on target as followers of Jesus to pray for and focus our work in the City of New Orleans. We are the church of Jesus Christ in our city, and we have an enormous opportunity and challenge before us. Through the preaching and teaching of the good news of Jesus Christ, through practical deeds of kindness and love, and through addressing systemic evils and injustices in our city, we promote the welfare of all citizens and bless our city.
God is the only one who can protect our city. “Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchmen stand guard in vain” (Psalm 127:1b). God is already and always at work in New Orleans. Therefore, we find out what God is doing in our city and join him in his work. We do not ask God to join us. We seek to join him.
How do we identify the activity of God in our city? We know that God cares for those in need. This truth is explicit throughout scripture. “ Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world” (James 1:27). If we reach out to those in need, we are following the hand of God. If we speak words of comfort to the bereaved, we are following the voice of God. God is ahead of us with the hurting, and he does not leave their sides. God does not simply make weekly or monthly forays into needy places—he lives there. His heart is with the wounded.
We are surrounded by need — overwhelmed by need. When we realize that God is with the hurting, the next step is to find the people along our own path who need us. We follow Christ when we reach out to them. The way of the cross is the way of suffering. The suffering that persons around us endure is tragic and inexplicable. But it is the one reality which most often opens us to divine intervention and insight. God wants us to feed the hungry because he wants them to eat. But he also wants to speak his love to them.
Our city is so in need of God’s hope and healing. Let’s engage the persons and structures as we have opportunity, and let’s do so knowing that God is the one who must give deliver on the hope and healing.
Cities are living social systems, and they are mortal. They are vulnerable to war, economics, weather, disease, and changing demographics both natural and sociological. They respond to positive and negative input from natural resources, commerce, education, medicine, and public morality.
Cities dominate the landscape for humans. They are the centers of learning, business, transportation, and healthcare. They are also centers of moral and ecological pollution.
Only 4 percent of the human population of the world lived in cities in 1800. Today 45 percent of all humans reside in urban areas. But 2025 that number will grow to 60 percent.
We are on target as followers of Jesus to pray for and focus our work in the City of New Orleans. We are the church of Jesus Christ in our city, and we have an enormous opportunity and challenge before us. Through the preaching and teaching of the good news of Jesus Christ, through practical deeds of kindness and love, and through addressing systemic evils and injustices in our city, we promote the welfare of all citizens and bless our city.
God is the only one who can protect our city. “Unless the Lord watches over the city, the watchmen stand guard in vain” (Psalm 127:1b). God is already and always at work in New Orleans. Therefore, we find out what God is doing in our city and join him in his work. We do not ask God to join us. We seek to join him.
How do we identify the activity of God in our city? We know that God cares for those in need. This truth is explicit throughout scripture. “ Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world” (James 1:27). If we reach out to those in need, we are following the hand of God. If we speak words of comfort to the bereaved, we are following the voice of God. God is ahead of us with the hurting, and he does not leave their sides. God does not simply make weekly or monthly forays into needy places—he lives there. His heart is with the wounded.
We are surrounded by need — overwhelmed by need. When we realize that God is with the hurting, the next step is to find the people along our own path who need us. We follow Christ when we reach out to them. The way of the cross is the way of suffering. The suffering that persons around us endure is tragic and inexplicable. But it is the one reality which most often opens us to divine intervention and insight. God wants us to feed the hungry because he wants them to eat. But he also wants to speak his love to them.
Our city is so in need of God’s hope and healing. Let’s engage the persons and structures as we have opportunity, and let’s do so knowing that God is the one who must give deliver on the hope and healing.
Monday, March 29, 2010
I Have Seen the Lord!
“I have seen the Lord!” This is Mary Magdalene’s report to the disciples.
Seeing the empty tomb is startling, confusing, and amazing. Seeing angels is fearful and astonishing. But seeing Jesus is the best possible news in this universe. Mary saw Jesus when she was left alone in the garden.
Soon it would be Peter who would say, “I have seen the Lord,” and then John and the other disciples. Thomas missed the first group meeting with Jesus and refused to believe when he was told they had seen the Lord. Like so many of us, he had to see for himself. And when Jesus invited him to put his finger in his wounds and “be not faithless, but believing,” even doubting Thomas abandoned his skepticism and embraced Jesus as “my Lord and my God.”
The two people on the Road to Emmaus walked and talked with Jesus and did not realize until he broke the bread. I think that is when they saw the wounded hands. They returned to Jerusalem and told the disciples, “It is true! The Lord is risen! (Luke 24:34).
Saul of Tarsus would see the risen Christ on the Damascus Road and believe. In his first letter to the church at Corinth he wrote that Jesus was seen by over 500 people at one time (1 Corinthian 15:6).
These testimonies of the post-resurrection appearances of Jesus, together with the evidence of the empty tomb and the coming of the Holy Spirit, gave birth to the church of Jesus Christ.
We come to the garden alone. Each one of us enters the garden with personal questions and beliefs. We stand before the empty tomb alone in mind and heart. Here before the tomb we make our personal decision and live with that personal choice.
Seeing the empty tomb is startling, confusing, and amazing. Seeing angels is fearful and astonishing. But seeing Jesus is the best possible news in this universe. Mary saw Jesus when she was left alone in the garden.
Soon it would be Peter who would say, “I have seen the Lord,” and then John and the other disciples. Thomas missed the first group meeting with Jesus and refused to believe when he was told they had seen the Lord. Like so many of us, he had to see for himself. And when Jesus invited him to put his finger in his wounds and “be not faithless, but believing,” even doubting Thomas abandoned his skepticism and embraced Jesus as “my Lord and my God.”
The two people on the Road to Emmaus walked and talked with Jesus and did not realize until he broke the bread. I think that is when they saw the wounded hands. They returned to Jerusalem and told the disciples, “It is true! The Lord is risen! (Luke 24:34).
Saul of Tarsus would see the risen Christ on the Damascus Road and believe. In his first letter to the church at Corinth he wrote that Jesus was seen by over 500 people at one time (1 Corinthian 15:6).
These testimonies of the post-resurrection appearances of Jesus, together with the evidence of the empty tomb and the coming of the Holy Spirit, gave birth to the church of Jesus Christ.
We come to the garden alone. Each one of us enters the garden with personal questions and beliefs. We stand before the empty tomb alone in mind and heart. Here before the tomb we make our personal decision and live with that personal choice.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Saints Triumphant!
Jesus rode a colt on his triumphal entry, and our football team did the same last night.
I never prayed that the New Orleans Saints would win the Super Bowl, although I was running in circles in my living room, screaming my head off when it happened.
I prayed with the team in their chapel services several times, but I did not pray for them to win. Win or lose, my prayers were that they would respond with the Christian character I know many of them possess. I prayed that they would give God the glory, speak unselfishly, and embrace their role as civic leaders and cheerleaders in a city still struggling to gain its footing.
I prayed for the New Orleans Saints. The players are young men with great athletic abilities under an intense spotlight. They respond spontaneously when the microphones are thrust in front of them. They face great temptations and great opportunities all at once.
My prayers were answered last night. By and large, the Saints responded to their astonishing victory with joy and self-restraint, celebration and thanksgiving, and often an explicit acknowledgment of faith in God. I was proud of them.
The term “Saints,” meaning “holy ones,” comes right out of the Bible. It is used most often in the letters of the Apostle Paul to refer to the members of the churches. It points to the holiness of God which he applies to us through the death of Christ upon the cross. We are “set apart” for God when we trust Christ as Savior and Lord. Saints are special in that they have been set apart for the purposes of God.
“Saints” also comes right out of New Orleans. We are and have been the “city of the saints” from the names of our streets to the names of our many churches (Catholic, Protestant, and others) to the monuments in our parks. You will not visit a city in America with more visible religious roots or more spiritual public culture.
The team here uses a religious term to designate their players. We use a religious symbol—the fleur de lis—as our team emblem. Down here in the bayou, we mean it. “Bless you, boys,” is our common commendation for these star athletes. Three archbishops have blessed this team with their interest and widely publicized attendance at games. Their presence is always front page news. So also is the display of the bones of Mary Magdalene and Ash Wednesday.
The local newspaper put a religious spin on the pilgrimage of our Saints. “Hell froze over” when we won the NFC championship, and we were “at heaven’s gate,” according to the headlines. The Saints went marching in last night. We were all in their number. Monday’s front page said it all: “Amen! After 43 years, our prayers are answered.”
The country—and maybe the world—have been cheering for us because we were the underdog. Our city and region are still struggling back to normalcy from a disaster of staggering proportions. The Saints have given a resounding answer to the question, “Can New Orleans recover?”
We are happy to be “America’s team” this year. We have been the subject of prayers and the destination of thousands of mission teams since Hurricane Katrina visited our shores. This outpouring of benevolence, perhaps unparalleled in the history of America, is followed appropriately by a great victory which all caring souls can embrace. As the Indianapolis Colts knew, the Super Bowl was a road game for them and a home game for the Saints.
New Orleans is an enigma, especially to those who view it from the outside, but also to us who live and work here. The city of the Saints is known to be one of the country’s flesh markets. The television shots bounced back and forth last night between Sun Life Stadium in Miami and the wall-to-wall, throbbing party on Bourbon Street. Is there any other place on earth where people dressed like nuns and popes lead parades of revelers? Is there another city where “revelers” is common lingo for Super Bowl enthusiasts?
Professional athletic competition may be mostly about entertainment, but it is also about character. The courage, determination and team work of the athletes inspire us to greater effort and better performance in our own contests of faith and strength.
The Saints are leading the charge in a city that aims to do better on every front. With the highest per capita murder rate in America and the lowest literacy rate and the highest rate of child hunger and rampant public corruption, the urgent needs in New Orleans transcend our tourist-focused Bourbon Street. The time for prayer has just begun.
The city elected a new mayor Saturday, Mitch Landrieu. Now there is a man to pray for! The son of a former mayor and brother of a current United States senator, “Mitch” won a landslide victory in the primary against five opponents—as startling a win as the Super Bowl.
The church of Jesus Christ, full of worshiping saints, is marching boldly into the future of this city, energized by the Holy Spirit, full of hope and faith, and prepared to do battle for the souls who live here. With the Good Samaritan as our model, we plunge into the fray eager to demonstrate the care of Christ in “the city that care forgot.”
I never prayed that the New Orleans Saints would win the Super Bowl, although I was running in circles in my living room, screaming my head off when it happened.
I prayed with the team in their chapel services several times, but I did not pray for them to win. Win or lose, my prayers were that they would respond with the Christian character I know many of them possess. I prayed that they would give God the glory, speak unselfishly, and embrace their role as civic leaders and cheerleaders in a city still struggling to gain its footing.
I prayed for the New Orleans Saints. The players are young men with great athletic abilities under an intense spotlight. They respond spontaneously when the microphones are thrust in front of them. They face great temptations and great opportunities all at once.
My prayers were answered last night. By and large, the Saints responded to their astonishing victory with joy and self-restraint, celebration and thanksgiving, and often an explicit acknowledgment of faith in God. I was proud of them.
The term “Saints,” meaning “holy ones,” comes right out of the Bible. It is used most often in the letters of the Apostle Paul to refer to the members of the churches. It points to the holiness of God which he applies to us through the death of Christ upon the cross. We are “set apart” for God when we trust Christ as Savior and Lord. Saints are special in that they have been set apart for the purposes of God.
“Saints” also comes right out of New Orleans. We are and have been the “city of the saints” from the names of our streets to the names of our many churches (Catholic, Protestant, and others) to the monuments in our parks. You will not visit a city in America with more visible religious roots or more spiritual public culture.
The team here uses a religious term to designate their players. We use a religious symbol—the fleur de lis—as our team emblem. Down here in the bayou, we mean it. “Bless you, boys,” is our common commendation for these star athletes. Three archbishops have blessed this team with their interest and widely publicized attendance at games. Their presence is always front page news. So also is the display of the bones of Mary Magdalene and Ash Wednesday.
The local newspaper put a religious spin on the pilgrimage of our Saints. “Hell froze over” when we won the NFC championship, and we were “at heaven’s gate,” according to the headlines. The Saints went marching in last night. We were all in their number. Monday’s front page said it all: “Amen! After 43 years, our prayers are answered.”
The country—and maybe the world—have been cheering for us because we were the underdog. Our city and region are still struggling back to normalcy from a disaster of staggering proportions. The Saints have given a resounding answer to the question, “Can New Orleans recover?”
We are happy to be “America’s team” this year. We have been the subject of prayers and the destination of thousands of mission teams since Hurricane Katrina visited our shores. This outpouring of benevolence, perhaps unparalleled in the history of America, is followed appropriately by a great victory which all caring souls can embrace. As the Indianapolis Colts knew, the Super Bowl was a road game for them and a home game for the Saints.
New Orleans is an enigma, especially to those who view it from the outside, but also to us who live and work here. The city of the Saints is known to be one of the country’s flesh markets. The television shots bounced back and forth last night between Sun Life Stadium in Miami and the wall-to-wall, throbbing party on Bourbon Street. Is there any other place on earth where people dressed like nuns and popes lead parades of revelers? Is there another city where “revelers” is common lingo for Super Bowl enthusiasts?
Professional athletic competition may be mostly about entertainment, but it is also about character. The courage, determination and team work of the athletes inspire us to greater effort and better performance in our own contests of faith and strength.
The Saints are leading the charge in a city that aims to do better on every front. With the highest per capita murder rate in America and the lowest literacy rate and the highest rate of child hunger and rampant public corruption, the urgent needs in New Orleans transcend our tourist-focused Bourbon Street. The time for prayer has just begun.
The city elected a new mayor Saturday, Mitch Landrieu. Now there is a man to pray for! The son of a former mayor and brother of a current United States senator, “Mitch” won a landslide victory in the primary against five opponents—as startling a win as the Super Bowl.
The church of Jesus Christ, full of worshiping saints, is marching boldly into the future of this city, energized by the Holy Spirit, full of hope and faith, and prepared to do battle for the souls who live here. With the Good Samaritan as our model, we plunge into the fray eager to demonstrate the care of Christ in “the city that care forgot.”
Monday, January 11, 2010
Homeless Shelter Cold Snap
Beth is an employee of Winn-Dixie. She works at night in the bakery. She also has experience working in a pharmacy. She is articulate, bright, and interesting. I met her Friday night at the Allie Mae Williams Auditorium. She is homeless.
She was working to husband her funds so that she could spend the night Sunday night in a hotel. I saw her again Sunday night at dinner at the temporary homeless shelter, and she told me that she would not be spending the night. She came to eat, but she had a hotel room for the night.
Beth is pleasant and full of smiles. I do not know why she is homeless. I do not think it has to do with drug use or mental illness.
Rocky is a big talker. He, too, is interesting and cheerful and homeless.
Thanks to all who helped and gave and served and prayed us through this cold weekend just past. We communicated the love of Christ to many homeless people who told me how grateful they are for the food and other goods we provided them. We worked alongside city employees, Unity for the Homeless, and other churches to man the center and feed the people.
God is good to give us new friends and new connections to people who are very precious to him.
She was working to husband her funds so that she could spend the night Sunday night in a hotel. I saw her again Sunday night at dinner at the temporary homeless shelter, and she told me that she would not be spending the night. She came to eat, but she had a hotel room for the night.
Beth is pleasant and full of smiles. I do not know why she is homeless. I do not think it has to do with drug use or mental illness.
Rocky is a big talker. He, too, is interesting and cheerful and homeless.
Thanks to all who helped and gave and served and prayed us through this cold weekend just past. We communicated the love of Christ to many homeless people who told me how grateful they are for the food and other goods we provided them. We worked alongside city employees, Unity for the Homeless, and other churches to man the center and feed the people.
God is good to give us new friends and new connections to people who are very precious to him.
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