Romanian Road #2

    It is now Sunday evening, and for a moment, darkness has prevailed: Giurgiu, an hour’s drive south of Bucharest, is experiencing an ice-storm, and so a short-lived, electrical blackout.  However, when we arrived Thursday noon, the skies were a deeply inviting blue with puffy-white, bellowed clouds — and short sleeves abounded.  How refreshing to step into spring, but not so tonight: a cold, dreary, spring rain has now coated tree buds with ice. 

    On Friday just past, my goal was to make any necessary preparations for the pastoral/ church leaders’ retreat planned for that day, 16:00 – 20:00 hours, and for Saturday, 10:00 – 15:00 hours.  Those preparations moved apace with no glitches; however, I apparently lathered too much honey upon the bread I ate for breakfast.   Soon thereafter my right cheek and then my lips began to swell, giving me a very distorted, jowl-look.  I was in no pain, but looked decidedly odd.  Thankfully one in our number — usually I carry Benadryl — gave me a tablet; by Saturday morning my allergic reaction and its swelling had mostly disappeared.
    In spite of my physical features, and of far greater significance, the retreat went very well.  Approximately 40 people (i.e. pastors, seminary students, and church leaders) attended, and they like their counterparts in Malawi and Bangladesh, delighted in a pattern of personal study, small- followed by large-group interaction.  As is the normal Johnsonian pattern, in the approximate 8 hours of study-interacting-teaching, we considered 46 verses or nearly 6 verses/hour.  From my perspective these moments provided rich fruit, as we pondered Jesus foretelling His death and His disciples’ responses to those warnings, even as we sought to characterize Him as a leader and His disciples as those led (Mark 8:22-35; 9:30-41).
    
    Today I had the privilege of preaching at the Bethel Church (i.e. a Brethern-related body of approximately 70 in attendance), followed in the afternoon by my preaching at an outreach event, seeking to share the Person and Work of Christ to non-believers: Romania, like much of Europe witnesses 1% of the population in worship on Sunday mornings.  This figure, in part, reflects the strong tie, which existed between the Orthodox Church and the Communist Party of Romania and the subsequent reaction to that tie upon the revolution of 1989.  This makes for a very different setting than that of the US.

    As I reflect upon the past 72 hours, I wonder: upon returning to Indiana, although much of my imaginative efforts have centered upon Malawi (and that focus remains), could it be that Romania might become a “Macedonian call” for me?  Certainly when we returned to Indiana, Romania was not upon my “radar screen,” but neither was “spiritual direction”; but within the past 9 months I have been providing spiritual direction to 2 Romanian pastors via Skype.

I wonder.
    Stan
    

Romanian Road #1

Last week I gave thought to “travel,” occasioned both by Mark’s repeated use of that word, and by my anticipated travel to Romania.  Well, the latter of those two causes is now my present: I am on the tarmac at Indy, the first leg of my travel to Bucharest.

As I am seated in 12B, my thoughts turn not to Jesus’s travels, but to the travels of the master-disciple, Paul.  Without question, I do not have the gifts and vision that were his, and neither is my two-week venture comparable to his life of travel and itineration.  Nonetheless, I have wondered about his travels: The days prior to his scheduled travel, were they stressful?  What farewells were spoken and promises shared?  What preparations did he make?  What parchments and writing implements were necessary?  And what legal documents and tender were required?      

Of course, my raising these question arise from my present experience: although I thought I had anticipated well the necessary preparations: sermons prepared, medicines purchased, passport at hand, iPad ready, nonetheless my last twenty-four hours, prior to Mary’s driving me to the airport were far too full.  As a consequence, I’ve pondered how I might have scheduled my time differently: To what should I have said “no”?  But more than that, perhaps the pertinent question is: To what (or whom) should I have said “yes”?

I do not mean to unduly “spiritualize” the past two days,  but without question my “prayer-connection” was fragmentary at best.  In this regard I’m reminded of a Bill Hybel’s line: “too busy not to pray.”  I’m also reminded of Paul’s words.  On the one hand he wrote of his “travels”: “Three times I was shipwrecked; a night and a day I was adrift at sea; on frequentjourneys, in danger from rivers, in danger from robbers” (2Corinthians 11:25–26); on the other hand, he wrote of his “thorny flesh”:“Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’”(2Corinthians 12:8-9).

I wonder if I really believe those words.  I wonder if my preparations and resulting consternations were a tacit admission: I assumed that “my grace” not “His grace” was sufficient.  Once again, I’m not seeking a sugarcoated spiritualization, as though Paul knew nothing of the nitty-gritty travails of earthly life — and so his shipwreck upon the island of Malta (Acts 27); but I wonder.  My days in Romania, are they about what I bring, my preparations, gifts, and abilities, or are they about what our Lord will do with or in spite of these?

I don’t mean to be rhetorical, but in truth that is the likely answer: His grace will be sufficient, whatever occurs during and in and through the three retreats of which I am privileged to be part.

Faithfully,
    Stan

Travel ...

            Yesterday, as I had opportunity to ponder afresh Mark 8:22 – 10:50, I noted that Mark consistently depicted Jesus (and His disciples) as moving from one site or locale to another, but inexorably toward Jerusalem.  From northern Decapolis to Caesarea Philippi; from Mt. Tabor to Capernaum; from Galilee to regions south, Mark regularly used the word, ἔρχομαι, “to go, “ to come,” or even “to travel.”[1]  Admittedly, this word is not particularly colorful and therefore had great utility: Mark employed the word 87 times in his Gospel, and in Mark 8-10, approximately every 8 verses.

            Not to under-whelm you with statistics, but because of the frequency of ἔρχομαι, and because I was focused upon Mark 8-10 (so that I might lead pastors and church leaders in two Romanian settings: Giurgiu, on the Danube south of Bucharest, and Cluj Napoca, near the heart of Transylvania), “travel” was near the forefront of my thinking.        

            A week today, March 14, I will fly from Indianapolis to Dulles, from Dulles to Munich, and from Munich to Bucharest.  In Bucharest I will join others from Zionsville Presbyterian Church, some of whom will then travel to Sinaia in the Carpathians, in order to lead the first MOPS conference (Mothers of Preschoolers) to be held in Romania.  While they travel north, others of us will travel (ἔρχομαι) to Giurgiu.

            While in Giurgui, at a mini-retreat for pastors, I will encourage a thoughtful consideration of Jesus’ leadership, as based upon Mark 8-10.  Within these chapters, three times He foretold His death, and upon each occasion the disciples reacted.  Their reactions are telling, particularly if we desire to emulate Jesus’ leadership.

            While in Giurgui I have also been invited to relate to and teach the Bethel Church’s youth, and preach at the church’s morning worship, and later at an evening outreach event.

            On March 19, I will travel (ἔρχομαι) to Sinaia, where, following the MOPS conference, I will encourage approximately 50 pastors in 2Timothy.  Together we will study, think, discuss, pray, sing, worship, and encourage one another vis-à-vis the themes of 2Timothy: suffering, perseverance, and triumph, all with a view to Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection.

            At the conclusion of the pastors’ conference, Thursday, March 22, I will travel to Cluj Napoca, where I will also have the opportunity to relate to and teach pastors, preach on Sunday morning, and then teach within a school settings.  I return home on March 29, Maundy Thursday.

            “Travel” (ἔρχομαι): so characteristic of our lives.  More of this later.

Hopefully,

            Stan

[1] Cf. The Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and other Early Christian Literature, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2000), p. 391-392.

Romania: Like a Child?

            On March 14, returning to the US on March 29, I will fly to Romania, where I’ll have the privilege and opportunity of leading Romanian pastors and church leaders in retreat settings.  In two of these settings, Giurgiu, south of Bucharest on the Danube, and Cluj, in the northwest (or Transylvania), we will focus upon Jesus’ leadership as seen in Mark’s Gospel: we will consider His preparing His disciples for His death in Jerusalem.  Such a focus will not be a “how-to seminar," but rather the stark reminder that leadership within the church is to be shaped by His cross.  On the one hand, such an emphasis is uncomfortable for most of us, myself included; on the other hand, I am convinced that self-sacrificing, servant-leadership is life-giving, and is the essential characteristic of the Kingdom of God.  That is, leadership within the church should reflect her Leader, who “came not to be served, but to serve and give His life as a ransom for many.”

            While in Giurgiu, I will also have the opportunity to share in a more public arena, where I will seek to direct those, culturally formed by the Orthodox tradition, to consider Jesus’ interaction with a wealthy ruler, who was himself profoundly shaped by the orthodox traditions of his day (cf. Mark 10:17-27).  In loving this man, Jesus commanded him to sell his many possessions, give the proceeds to the poor, and then follow Him.  Upon hearing this word, and offering no response, the man left Jesus’ presence downcast, his heart and mind darkened.  Without question, this was a difficult word for the ruler to receive: his obedience would have rendered him fully dependent, like a child.

            In the context of Mark 10, and just prior to His encounter with the wealthy ruler, Jesus had said: “[Whoever] does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter into it.”  The older I become, the more confident I am that the Kingdom of God is for “children.”  It is for those who will trust, who will wonder, who will delight, who will explore, who will listen, and who will receive life now and forever as grace – not as something deserved or earned, but as a great gift, fantastic beyond definition.

            I have thought about this child-like approach to life, even as I anticipate my days in Romania: What will capture my attention?  What will I learn?  Will I be dependent?  I wonder.

Faithfully,

            Stan

Ps.  Using this space, I will blog my Romanian experience.

Access

            Last week I had a delightful conversation with a dear pastor friend: together we were giving thought to Paul’s “concluding” words of Romans 5:1-11.  From that passage, my friend had us give pause to the word “access”: “Therefore, being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom we have also had access by faith unto this grace in which we have stood”.  He then enthused: “That’s like an ATM card.  All we have to do is use it.”

            Given who I am, my response was not exactly his, although I readily agreed with him; rather, I noted that the word translated “access,” προσαγωγή, consists of two words, πρός,[1] meaning “to” or “toward,” and ἀγωγή,[2] meaning “way of life” or “conduct.”  “Access” is therefore an approach to or towards something or someone, which is characterized by a particular behavior, conduct, or in a broader sense, a way of living.  In the context of Romans 5, this way of life is characterized by faith, as observed in the actions of Abraham: he believed that in their old age he and Sarah would bear a son (Romans 4:19), and they did.  Abraham was justified by faith, believing the promise of God, even as we are justified by faith, believing in Jesus’ sacrificial death and glorious resurrection (Romans 4:24).  For Paul, however, this justification was a cause for boasting and/or rejoicing.

            Paul rejoiced/boasted in the justifying grace of God, but such grace was/is very much this worldly, so that he rejoiced in suffering, “knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us” (Romans 5:3b-5).  From my perspective, I marvel, able only to reiterate Paul’s words: he was confident that hope, via suffering, endurance, and character led not to shame but to God’s love as sealed by His Spirit. 

            As I have thought about Paul’s confidence, and as I have thought about his life, I am sure that he knew this access, this way of living, whereby he regularly drew upon the gracious love of God whatever his circumstances: he had the card and used it. 

            In this season of Lent, we can do no better than to use the access.

Hopefully,

            Stan             

[1] A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and other Early Christian Literature, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2000), pp. 873-875.

[2] Ibid., p. 17.

Chosen?

Some years ago I heard a well-known, gifted pastor state: “There’s nothing like the Church when the Church works well.”  Then and now I fully concur: when we the Church relate and work well with one another, indeed nothing compares favorably.  Admittedly, this statement is a sweeping generalization, and yet I do believe that it rings true.

As a very minor, almost insignificant example, yesterday I had opportunity to reconsider that ancient story regarding Jacob and the deceit of his Uncle Laban (cf. Genesis 29).  You might recall that Jacob, fleeing the murderous threats of his brother Esau, who likewise had suffered Jacob’s treachery, sought refuge with his mother’s kin.  Refuge Jacob found within Laban’s household, including the one who became the love of his life: Rachel. 

Having virtually nothing with which to barter, Jacob agreed to labor for Laban for seven years, in order to gain Rachel’s hand; however, Laban had other designs, and so Leah, Laban’s older daughter, became Jacob’s first wife and thereafter Rachel became his second wife.  The interpersonal dynamics of all these primary relationships could only result in a profoundly painful family life, and it did.  Jacob’s family became a mess, utter and complete: one husband, four wives, twelve sons and a horrible, entangled web of deceit.         

However, and this is what I heard yesterday in worship: Leah, the daughter shuffled into the wedding tent of an inebriated Jacob; Leah, the daughter who had “weak eyes”; Leah, the wife least loved by her husband; and Leah, whose name probably means “cow” (not a particularly winsome name in American culture), became the mother of Judah, through whom Messiah came to a desperate world.  As Christ Jesus’ great ancestor, our sovereign Creator chose the one rejected and despised, Leah, not the one loved and cherished, Rachel.

For years (even decades) I have known and studied the Jacob story; but then one Sunday a dear pastor friend shares an insight I had never recognized: Leah the rejected became Leah the chosen.  How true this insight is to the entire Biblical narrative: how comforting to many of us, who identify more with Leah than with Rachel.   Moreover, for me this insight is the Church working well: one pastor encouraging another pastor; and once again I was energized to care for “the least of these” who are pastors in Malawi and Romania and soon Uganda.  That they are chosen, I am certain; that they need encouragement, I am equally certain.

Hopefully,

            Stan

Obedient Silence ...

In my last blog, I shared with you that recently I reread that well-crafted account regarding young Samuel (1Samuel 3:1-10).  From that account I found myself asking: Is anyone listening – listening to the word of the LORD?  But perhaps more damning, I wondered whether I or anyone else might truly recognize its absence.  As you well know, we live in a world of many words – and some of them horrific, reprehensible tweets issuing from the White House; but my fear, amid the declamations of right and wrong, that we might be diverted from hearing what only a small boy, attending a degenerate priest, might hear.

According to 1Samuel 3:1 and 7, “[the] word of the LORD was rare in those days” and “Samuel did not yet know the LORD,” and yet that lack of “knowledge” neither prevented Samuel’s hearing, nor more importantly the LORD’s communication.  The good news is that the LORD initiated, which is the Biblical story throughout; but nearly equally, the good news is that Samuel obediently listened.  As the author of 1Samuel later noted, Samuel “let none of [the LORD’s] words fall to the ground … Samuel was a trustworthy prophet of the LORD” (1Samuel 1:19-20).  That is, Samuel listened and shared what he had heard.

This sharing reveals a trait so characteristic of the older Samuel, and yet evident within the young Samuel: obedience.  Perhaps he knew little of his mentor, Eli the priest, neither his flagrant disregard of the “ways of the LORD” nor his wanton greed, nevertheless Samuel learned to obey.  Three times in our passage, Samuel responded to Eli: “Here I am, for you called me”, only to be redirected by Eli: “I did not call; lie down again.”  However, in obedience to Eli, when the LORD called Samuel a fourth time, Samuel offered: “Speak, for your servant is listening.”

How necessary these words are in our present, American culture; for true silence, necessary for hearing the “word of the LORD,” is rare.  In silence Samuel heard; from hearing he obeyed – and his obedience was the simple but profound willingness to serve.   Thus it seems to me that silence precedes obedience: we cannot rightly obey, if we cannot rightly hear; we cannot rightly hear, unless we quell all those clamorous voices, including those internal voices, vying for attention; and we cannot rightly quell these, unless we desire to truly serve. 

When last did you seek silence, in order to hear, in order to obey, in order to serve?

Stan

Anyone Listening?

In the presence of a friend, recently I had the opportunity to reread and reconsider that wonderfully and artfully crafted story of young Samuel (1Samuel 3:1-10).  You might recall that Samuel’s mother, Hannah, whose name means: “grace” prayed that she might conceive and bear children.  In response to her prayer, the LORD was gracious, whereby she conceived and bore her firstborn, whom she named Samuel.  Remarkably, upon her weaning this her firstborn son, she then gave him to the LORD, which meant that Samuel came under the tutelage of Eli the priest, who served “the house of the LORD” at Shiloh.

One night, according to the author of 1Samuel, the LORD spoke to Samuel, even though “the word of the LORD” was very rare in those days; even though “the lamp of God had not yet gone out”; and even though “Samuel did not yet know the LORD”.  Seemingly, from the perspective of our author, life among the ancient Hebrews, who were a loose confederation of tribes, was bleak.  Their Liberator was far distant and virtually silent, and therefore life was a recurring cycle of oppressive hard labor and conflict – perhaps in many instances meaningless.  Their lives were filled more with darkness than with light, and into this life, the LORD spoke – to a small boy, whose mentor, wrapped in priestly garb was anything but Godly.

The darkness of their lives was their own doing (and undoing), but the good news is that into this darkness the LORD spoke; into this darkness the Creator of heaven and earth initiated relationship.  Admittedly, in the context of 1Samuel 3, the word He spoke, the word Samuel was to bear, was judgment against the house of Eli; and as hard as that word was and as difficult to bear, it was necessary, if the darkness was to be dispelled.  Having been obedient to Eli, “Here I am for you called me”, so too Samuel became to the LORD he had not known.  Obedience to the one he transferred to the Other: “Speak, LORD, for your servant is listening.”

With my friend, as we looked upon our world: North Korea and Syria; sex trafficking, and sexually abusive leaders; and the American church and its wealth in the face of global poverty, we were led to ask: Amid the avalanche of our words (many that are horrible and reprehensible), is “the word of the LORD” rare in our own day – and if so, would we recognize its absence?

I wonder,

            Stan 

Christmas 'Peace'?

“Peace on earth, good will toward men”[1] are words we regularly associate with Christmas: they are the blessing bewildered and frightened shepherds heard, only to share with others.  But as often as I have heard these words – and as I look upon our world, or the Pax Romana of Caesar Augustus – I sense a Scrooge-like proclamation welling within me: “Bah Humbug.  Where is this ‘peace’?”   That is, I have felt this response until recently, for I have begun to wonder.

For some time I have viewed “peace” as not only a cessation of hostilities between belligerents; or likewise, as not only an emotional or psychological state of equilibrium and tranquility, but as a Person.  In Ephesians 2:13-14 we read that Christ is our “peace,” the One who has created in Himself a new humanity: the old but ever-present divisions of gender, race, and socio-economic standing have been abrogated in Him.  Thus, from this passage I understand “peace” to be a Person, even though others might argue that, like the Old Testament sacrificial lamb, He has effected “peace” or the shalom of right-relatedness.

To this understanding, I have more recently added Jesus’ words of John 14:26-27.  There we read:

            “But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you.  Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives.  Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”

In context, I do believe that the Advocate, the Holy Spirit is in truth the “peace” Jesus bestowed upon His disciples – either at that moment in the upper room, or later after His Resurrection in presumably that same room, when He said:

            “‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.’  When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit’” (John 20:21-22).

Although I know that I am upon less-than-solid, exegetical ground, in Luke 24:36 as in John 20, so too the Resurrected Jesus greeted His disciples with, “Peace with you.” As a consequence, I wonder: Was the angels’ greeting to the shepherds more the promise of a Person than a state of cessation or emotional calm? 

I wonder,

            Stan

[1] Cf. Luke 2:14: “men,” as was true for the Greek “ἄνθρωπος ,” is an all-inclusive, generic term.

Without Details

In these days of Advent/ Christmas, I delight in those persons, who were central to the first Advent and Christmas.  For instance Joseph: he was upright, and as daylight revealed Mary’s figure, he sought to protect her even as he sought a just solution – and then an angel of the Lord intervened.  Remarkably, he thereafter obeyed, embarking upon a course that profoundly altered his life and the lives of millions.  In his “yes,” he no doubt knew privilege, pleasure, and pain.[1]

Likewise, Mary obeyed.  When once her question, as to how she, a virgin, might bear the Holy One, she responded with those richly nuanced words: “May it be unto me according to your word.”  She then went “with haste,” in order to visit her kinswoman, Elizabeth.  Upon Elizabeth’s Spirit-filled confirmation, and after a protracted visit with her, Mary returned to Nazareth, where she had to confront the faithful Joseph.  And yes, she too knew privilege and pleasure, but oh! the pain she would know.[2]

Zechariah, in contrast to Joseph and Mary, even though he was blameless before the law, did not share their obedient faith.  Like so many before him and since, he wanted a sign.  His was not Mary’s question: How can this be?  Rather, he asked: How will I know – how will I know that my prayers have been heard?  Ironically, he did receive a sign: until Elizabeth gave birth, he remained dumb.  Not until the circumcision of his son, John, did he once again speak, and now the language of praise.[3] 

I delight in these persons and the accounts preserved for our benefit; and yet we lack many details.  For instance: How old was Mary?  How did her family respond?  When did Joseph learn of her pregnancy?  Once in Bethlehem, where did they stay: in an inn, an upper room, or a barn?  Although the answers to these questions might provide helpful details (and I'm not promoting ignorance), I am nonetheless thankful for their absence; for I am reminded of that admonition of 1Timothy:

            We are not to devote ourselves “to myths and endless genealogies, which promote speculations rather than the stewardship from God that is by faith.  The aim of our charge is love that issues from a pure heart and a good conscience and a sincere faith.”[4]

Should not our celebration of Advent/ Christmas lead us to “love,” “a good conscience and a sincere faith,” exhibited, I believe, in Joseph, Mary, Elizabeth, and Zechariah.

Faithfully,

            Stan

[1] Cf. Matthew 1:18-25.

[2] Cf. Luke 1:26-45.

[3] Cf. Luke 1:18-20; 59-66.

[4] Cf. 1Timothy 1:4-5.

The Magi & Perseverance

The Magi have often been the cause for speculation.  Were they three in number, or does that number only reflect the three gifts they bore?  Were they astronomers or were they more likely astrologers?  Did they travel in caravan?  How many days were they en route, and what landscapes did they traverse?  And at what season did they arrive in Jerusalem?

Many are the questions surrounding the Magi, but surely they were those who persevered, or at least such is how they appear to me.  Whatever the astral phenomenon they beheld and whatever the source of their knowledge, they ventured forth, the obstacles before them, if not insurmountable nonetheless difficult.  If they came from the “east,” surely they trekked barren landscapes; and when they entered Jerusalem, they had to inquire: “Where is the one born king of the Jews; for we saw his star in the east and we came to worship him” (Matthew 2:2).  That is, whatever star they saw “in the east,” no longer was its guidance available to them, and therefore they traveled to Jerusalem needing to ask, exhibiting their ignorance.

Similarly, near the close of His earthly ministry, Jesus sought to encourage His disciples via a parable.  In His parable, Luke 18:1-8, He told of an unjust judge, who refused a widow the favorable judgment she desired.  However, because of her apparent perseverance (i.e. the judge did not want to be “browbeaten” or “struck in the face”: ὑπωπιάζω [1]), he relented, in order to be rid her.  Thus, if an unjust judge might render a just verdict, Jesus argued, how much more so God, who will give justice to those “who cry to Him day and night”?  Indeed – but then Jesus asked: “[When] He comes, will the Son of Man find faith upon the earth?”

As I have thought of the Magi and their barren travels; as I have thought of the widow and Jesus’ haunting question, I have had pause for thought: today I received word from Malawi asking for prayer.  It is the rainy season and yet the central region of Malawi has only just received rain.  In the next 15-18 months, if presently they receive too little or too much rain, famine will once again stalk – and yet, in their worship, Malawians regularly (and with perseverance) affirm: “God is good and God is good all of the time.”

Praying,

            Stan

[1] Cf. A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and other Early Christian Literature, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2000), p. 1043.

Encouragement

Within the past twenty-four hours, I have been the recipient of “encouragement.”  In one instance, as I shared heart-concerns, I knew that I had been heard, and in the hearing I knew comfort.  In another instance, altogether unsolicited, I received a brief email – but in few words, I knew that a blog had been well received, and therefore I knew that my efforts of thought had been helpful.  I was encouraged.

I note these two instances, not simply because they are fresh in memory, but because they reflect my desire for the pastors with whom I have related in Malawi and Romania (and yes, in MA, IN, and elsewhere).  I know what it means to my pastor’s heart to be encouraged, and therefore I am convinced that pastors, myself included, if encouraged will then be able to better fulfill their callings – and for some, their calling is difficult, and comfort is entirely appropriate. 

As I thought of “encouragement,” my heart and mind returned to 2Corinthinas 1:3-7,* where Paul, in an effort to better relate to the Corinthians (their relational fabric had become greatly frayed), used the word “encouragement” ten times in five verses.  A cursory survey of several English translations indicates that the Greek noun, παράκλησις, or its verb form, παρακαλέω, which I am suggesting here means: “encouragement” consistently translate these cognates as “comfort.”  For instance, the ESV translates 2Corinthians 1:3-4 as:

            Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of            all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those             who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by        God.”

I have no quibble with this fine translation, for in fact, the noun, παράκλησις, can mean “comfort,” “exhortation,” “consolation,” and/ “encouragement.”[1]  With reflection, easily we can recognize that “comfort” leads to “encouragement,” and vice versa.

Clearly from these two verses (and the remaining three: verses 5-7), Paul could encourage/comfort because he had been comforted/encouraged by God – and in my mind, no greater sign of Heavenly encouragement/comfort exists than our Lord’s Crucifixion, Resurrection, and Incarnation.

My point: Just as you and I have been encouraged/comforted – and are not Advent and Christmas about encouragement/comfort? – then it is well for us to give these to others.

Encouraged,

            Stan

* See my blog for September 28.  If you are as I am, I/we need regular encouragement – and reminders.

[1] Cf. A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and other Early Christian Literature, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2000), p. 766.

Open Door

As I indicated in my previous blog, I have sensed that much happened in and to and through me during my recent sojourn in Malawi; but as I also indicated, like the farmer in Jesus’ parable (i.e. Mark 4:26-29), who planted his field only to wait, observing little of note, so too is my present. 

Prior to my leaving for Malawi, the normal pre-trip planning occurred: shots, passport and visa, medicines, phone and texting capabilities – and the normal, last minute scurrying: photocopying, spraying against mosquitoes, and weighing the bags.  And then nineteen days: seeking always to be flexible; wondering what a lower backache might signal; barely in control of one’s schedule; enjoying warm weather, when home knows winter’s prelude; certain of our Lord’s orchestration – only to return home after 33 hours en route but with this determination: the door that was open prior to leaving is now wide open – entirely removed from its hinges.

Such is my conclusion: what I experienced with 25 pastors during an “in-service retreat” in Lilongwe can and should be repeated in 2018.  However, that same experience should now be offered in Blantyre to pastors of that Synod – and if in Blantyre, why not in Livingstonia or Zambia or Zimbabwe?  Like the farmer of Jesus’ parable, I feel as though much preparation and planting has occurred, but it now seems as though I/we have entered upon a waiting season.  Is this “waiting” a factor of the cultural moment: Thanksgiving, Advent, Christmas, and New Year’s?  Is it a factor of my being an intuitive introvert given to patience?  Is it a factor of honoring those commitments postponed until my return from Malawi?  Is it a factor of admitting that the next step towards Malawi is really a step towards those at home: communicating with them what happened?  In all probability, my present “waiting” is being shaped by these and other factors; and yet, whatever the factors, close to the surface of my thinking are the parting words offered by the “president” of our retreat:         

            “Also warm, friendly and sincere [gratitude] … to the sponsors far back in America          and in Indiana in particular, for their loving [concern] … We do appreciate very much for their loving sponsorships in providing, tirelessly, funds and facilities to enable the possibilities and success of these functions.  We do not take this for granted, as well.  May the good Lord God in Jesus keep on blessing our sponsors in great abundance.”

Amen.

            Stan

Still Rambling: Process

In the past two days I have found myself turning to Mark 4:26-29, a parable whose title is not especially memorable: “The Parable of the Growing Seed.” In fact, its title is rather prosaic; nevertheless it is poetic in its suggestive beauty, and can be of great encouragement to one’s heart.

Essentially the parable depicts a farmer who plants his field; who waits day and night, noting little or nothing of significance; who admits ignorance as to what might be occurring beneath his field’s topsoil; and yet, one day he observes a faint greening, which eventually becomes many blades, then many heads of grain, and finally many, full-grained heads, heralding the advent of harvest.  With that, the reapers come – and their efforts promise bread for the eating and seed for further planting.

            Of course, the irony of my retelling is that my description is longer than the parable itself, and probably adds little to Jesus’ original, suggestive and/or imaginative construction.  His parables are truly Master-full.

At any rate, this four-verse parable speaks clearly to me of process: the Kingdom of God is a process.  At moments in this process, human engagement is important; however, at other moments, and from a human vantage, little can be discerned, requiring great patience amid the nagging question and tempting assertion:  “What’s happening?!  Why! nothing’s happening!”  However, from a Godly view, much might be happening even when nothing is visible.

Nine days ago I returned from Malawi, where, in my view, much happened in a brief span – within and to me, and I dare posit: much happened through me, although of this I cannot be certain.  Like the farmer, I do believe I scattered seed, both in terms of the rich content that is John’s Gospel, but also in terms of methodology: the interactive, discussion-based, dialogical teaching familiar in the West is not greatly present in Malawi.  Undoubtedly, Jesus taught via question-and-answer dialogue (surely His parables invite thoughtful discussion); but so too did Socrates or the prophetic schools within Hebrew tradition.  That such a methodology is not particularly common in Malawi might simply signal a lack of resources. 

I do believe that much occurred while I was present in Malawi, but I now sense, like the farmer of the parable, who, having prepared and seeded his field, wonders: Now what?  So too I am now asking that question – but my return to Malawi is not in question.  I will share more of this in my next blog.

In process,

            Stan

2017 Malawi Ramblings #15

Bloodsuckers …?  At this moment three weeks ago, I was beginning to settle-in to a warm Malawian nightfall, albeit springtime: the sounds of crickets, the yipping of watchdogs, and the occasional cluck of hens mixed with the scent of smoke and bougainvillea.  I was also beginning to re-acclimate myself to a culture, which places great stress upon honor, position and achievement.  From my previous visits, I knew that Malawians are far more comfortable addressing me as “Abusa,”  or “Reverend Johnson”; but to address me as “Stan” is not at all easy or normative.  (In fact, upon this fourth visit, I realized that many Malawians do not know the birth or first names of those with whom they have personally related.  Oh, to be sure, they know the first names of those who are family friends; but beyond these first names often remain unknown.)

However, as much as I was willing to adjust to a honor-based culture, while in flight to Lilongwe I had read a slender volume entitled: Honor & Shame: Unlocking the Door, which had nudged me to rethink the basis of Malawian culture.  Using the Biblical account of Adam and Eve’s “fall from the grace,” Roland Muller, the author of Honor & Shame, has suggested that the Garden-dwellers’ responses indicate three distinct, cultural tendencies: the guilt-based, the honor-based, or the fear-based culture.  In his view, although all cultures reflect each of these tendencies, one of these three predominates.  The focus of his volume is upon honor-based cultures as typified by the vast, complex world of Islam; but he also has given thought to the fear-based culture as manifest in Africa. 

For a fourth time, as I was beginning to settle-in to Malawian culture, I heard of a hysteria, which was seizing the country’s southern portion.  At night village vigilantes were killing neighbors, whom they suspected were murdering others, in order to suck the blood from their victims’ bodies.  For these vigilantes, bloodsuckers were the cause of “inexplicable deaths.”  In our Western, guilt-based culture, which constantly thinks and acts in terms of guilt, rights and wrongs, we will determine that a “reasonable” explanation exists for “inexplicable deaths”; but in a fear-based culture, which assumes a priori that forces and powers exist beyond our ken, vampires are a “reasonable” explanation.  Therefore, we must fight fire with fire; we must seize power to overcome a feared power.

With Roland Muller, I agree that the Gospel addresses human guilt and human fear, as well as human honor.

Still rambling,

            Stan

2017 Malawi Ramblings #14

The door remains open … in fact, if this, my fourth venture to Malawi was an “experiment,” then the experiment proved very positive and beneficial.  Prior to leaving for Malawi, I felt relatively certain that my time spent with pastors, elders, and deacons would be helpful; but as I indicated in an earlier blog, the moments with both sets of leaders: pastors, and then elders and deacons exceeded my expectations.  The question repeatedly posed to me was not “if” but “when” will I return, and with that question was the promise: we will be more organized, for we know that many more people will desire “training in John’s Gospel.”  I do not doubt the sentiment of this promise, for it was evident to me that, if those I related to are characteristic of Malawian believers, then it’s very conceivable that many church leaders hunger for a greater depth in their experience of the Scriptures, prayer, and the Christian faith in general. 

            I will be pleased and blessed, if I can help satisfy some of that hunger.

At this writing, I am seated in the Washington Dulles Airport, awaiting my flight to Indianapolis.  Apart from a few winks caught mid-Atlantic, I have been awake 34 hours, en route 27 hours, with another 5 hours until I see 846 Pebble Brook Place.  I make note of this for two reasons: the first is that this trip was also an “experiment” regarding those little stones I bear: Would they remain still?  Thankfully, and I don’t make light of this, our Lord granted me a stone-free experience; for I was mindful throughout of my 2016 visit: that I am an earthen, clay pot.

            The other reason I note my travel time is that I had ample, airborne opportunity to view portions of five or six movies, either on the screen before me or the screen of a nearby neighbor. What we provide the world through Hollywood is an arid wasteland: the violence depicted is soul-numbing at best; and at its worst, it continues to feed that self-inflicting, destructive horror we saw recently in Las Vegas, and yet again in Texas.  Without question, Malawi has its self-propagated terrors, but Malawians don’t seem to feed upon violence (and sex), as do we.

            Please do not misunderstand me: I am pleased to be home – thankful to be American – but having stepped once again upon foreign soil, I had a brief glimpse of what foreign eyes see.  Our soul is not altogether well – including my own.

Faithfully,

            Stan

2017 Malawi Ramblings #13

Is it Africa … or Malawi … or me?  Last night we had a “celebration meal,” marking the conclusion of our evenings in John’s Gospel.  While we ate, I indicated to those about me that, during Sunday’s worship, I’d like to express a simple “thank you” to the congregation.  This idea was warmly received, only I then lost something in our exchange; for I next heard that the most appropriate expression of my “thanksgiving” would be for me to preach.  “Yes,” I heard, “what better way to express your thanks than preaching from John’s Gospel?  Yes, that will be very good.”

            Briefly I demurred, but quickly I recognized that this very good idea would not be easily countered; moreover, I recalled praying that morning: “My task here is nearly done, Lord, but whatever else you desire, I’ll do” – thinking that surely the relational time remaining could be of great benefit.  I also knew that I had with me two possible sermons from John’s Gospel: I came prepared to preach upon three occasions, but I am always happy to sit under the worship leadership of others.  I’d already preached twice … so, tomorrow I will preach at the Sunday 7am English service … from John’s Gospel and I'm happy to do so.

Our Friday evening session, the fourth such evening, ended well.  The first evening’s attendance was approximately 150; Wednesday evening’s attendance was 70; and for the last two evenings the attendance was 50.  I was not disappointed by these numbers, recognizing that there would be curiosity factor; that 6-8pm is not ideal, since people would arrive from work without dinner; and that life would intervene – in this instance, a funeral, which for two days redirected energies.

            From these evenings, repeatedly I heard:  “We don’t have this kind of study.” “Will you come back?” “We’ve learned so much!” “It’s unfair – that you’re not here longer!”  I also observed that they enjoyed discussing with one another the questions I encouraged them to ponder – a theological propensity of mine, which is not merely a personality preference or a factor of cultural inculcation.  Whether or not teaching during the evening for a week is the best format is yet to be determined, but it’s clear to me that elders and deacons benefited from a deeper probing into John’s Gospel, as did their pastors.

At any rate, this might be my last blog from Malawi, until I return to Indiana on Tuesday.  Thereafter I’ll blog per usual.

I'm grateful to have been able to share with you.

Hopefully,

            Stan