2019: Romania Ramblings #1

Dear one,

Five hours ago, as I glanced out the window—I was seated in a middle seat of a Boeing 737–I beheld the Carpathian Mountains in white-capped majesty; and soon thereafter, as we descended into Bucharest’s Otopeni International Airport, I gazed upon sun drenched fields of vibrant green promising springtime delight, and the promise was fulfilled. Upon landing I saw an abundance of white- and pink-blossomed trees and the gentle hint of other deciduous trees leafing green. Of course I really do not know, but it appears to me that southern Romania is two-to-three weeks ahead of Indiana’s current, seasonal change.

You might recall that I am now in the first hours of a week-long visit to Romania: Friday and Saturday I’ll seek to encourage church leaders in Giurgiu through a study of John 18-19, Jesus’ arrest and trial; and then Sunday I’ll preach twice at the invitation of the Biserica Betel (a local church). On Monday we will travel to Sinaia, where I’ll lead fifty pastors into Mark’s narration of Jesus’ arrest, trial, crucifixion, and resurrection. The Sinaia conference begins Monday evening and concludes Thursday noon. From my perspective these studies will be rich in thought and meaning.

But equally meaningful, I pray, will be the conversations I hope to have regarding The Sent One and The Great Opening. That is, if helpful, I would like to pursue the possibility of these resources being translated into Romanian, and then being provided gratis to pastors and church leaders. Even so, of greater import than the translation and publication of these resources will be our engaging one another in a much larger conversation: if the Kingdom of God is a process, as I believe it is (Mark 4:26-29), then how can we encourage a continuous birthing-maturing-harvesting process, which allows for both breadth and depth? In my mind this question is fundamental, not only for Romanian but for Malawian, Ugandan, and American believers; and yet, in answering this question we dare not seek to be formulaic. The parable of Mark 4 depicts a natural process that isn’t always uniform; rather, like life it allows for both ambiguity and mystery.

No doubt you have rightly perceived: this visit will not be one-sided. I have much to glean from those here, just as I did at dinner this evening: even during the Communist era, Romanian Easter traditions remained strong and vital—but more of that in the next day or two.

Faithfully (and in need of sleep),

Stan

Ps. Your prayer and financial support make these visits possible. Thank you.

2019: Romania Ramblings #4

Dear one,

For the next several days, I do not know what opportunities I’ll have to communicate with you, but I do have a thought or two I’d like to share with you. For the moment, however, know that I’m seated in the lobby of the Manger Square Hotel in Bethlehem, a great variety of peoples near me—particularly Muslims and Christians.

When last I wrote, I noted that both in Giurgiu and Sinaia the focus of our teaching moments had been Jesus’ arrest, trial, and crucifixion. As I shared with you, these texts encouraged us to view our lives vis-à-vis Jesus’ suffering; but only subsequently did I fully recall that many with whom I related had known much of suffering during the Ceausescu years. Apart from the deprivations all Romanians had known—the hours in queues to purchase scarce staples from barren groceries—pastors and their families also suffered great social, psychological, economic, and physical abuses and tortures. Some disappeared altogether … at night … gone.

With these reminders, I then recalled that I would soon visit a land, whose peoples had experienced millennia of persecution and suffering. Without question, the story of the ancient Hebrews, and their descendants, has been one of oppression, persecution, and near-annihilation; but in many regards that has been the story of their neighbors. Given this latter statement, I seek only to make a simple observation: the region delineated by European powers as “the Middle East,” a land mid-way to the East, is land characterized by turmoil, with its various peoples consistently subject to despotic leaders, who furthered their suffering by entanglements with powers beyond their ken.

On the one hand, I share these thoughts with you, in order to underscore this truth: as recorded by John and Mark, Jesus endured the suffering of sin, in order to eliminate the world’s suffering and sin. That is, the Middle East sufferings are a microcosm very like those of Romania, Uganda, and Malawi—and these reflect the sufferings of human history in the macrocosm. By His death, Jesus sounded the death knell to sin in the micro- and the macrocosm.

On the other hand, as I anticipated days in Israel, and now that I’m here, I realized that I’m as interested in the people as I am in the places of Jesus’ birth, life, death, and resurrection. How does He view this Palestinian-Israeli world, and does He view it any differently than He did two millennia ago?

More pondering,

Stan

2019: Romania Ramblings #3

2019: Romania Ramblings #3

Dear one,

The room is quiet; sunlight streams through the window; and not far distant I hear jets ascending from Bucharest’s Otopeni International Airport. But for the moment my heart and mind return to the past three days: the experience of sharing with fifty pastors from Fetesti, Constanta, Alexandria, Giurgiu, Alba Iulia, Cluj, and from small villages in between these towns and cities. Together we found ourselves inexorably drawn into Jesus’ experience in Gethsemane, into the kangaroo courts presided by Caiaphas and then by Herod, only to hear again His cry of utter abandonment, and to watch the women’s fear-filled flight from His empty tomb: Mark 14:32-16:8.

For some time I will picture those fifty: some are white-haired and balding, nearing the end of their ministries; others mid-career, confident but harried as they seek to care for their families, flocks, and friends; and still others, trim and bright of eye, youthfully bearded—and almost all appear open and eager, willing to learn and share with one another, desiring the rest and encouragement found among the family of faith. For me a delightful picture—and with that picture, the words “hope” and “renewal” come to mind.

Even though we could not escape the ever-pervasive theme of our shared moments: we too are called to share in Jesus’ sufferings, knowing however that His suffering means redemptive healing and love, as we parted from one another, we truly shared renewed hope and energies. Many of the fifty expressed heart-felt thanksgiving, comparable to our rejoinder: “Please know, our lives have been greatly enriched by yours”—and so the mutuality of faith, hope, and love. This mutuality, however, was captured with winsome mirth by one leader’s closing remarks : “Stan moved us to a depth of ‘profound confusion’ (an observation from the previous day, which was greeted with peals of laughter) and always closer to Jesus.” Whatever the truth of his words, I look forward to returning to Romania this fall.

Tomorrow I fly to Tel Aviv, and then on to Jerusalem and Bethlehem, shifting from teacher-pastor to pastor-teaching. Nonetheless, I am fully cognizant that what we pondered in Sinaia, in some form I will observe in Israel. Moreover, our second week in Israel coincides with Holy Week. We leave Israel on the eve of Good Friday.

Restfully tired,

Stan

Ps. My experience of fifty pastors is greatly dependent upon skilled translators, hopeful traveling, and your great support and encouragement!

2019: R-U-M "Home"

Dear one,

Both negatively and positively, the word “home” evokes various feelings, thoughts, and/or images within most of us. For some of us “home” signifies a structure, which provides protection from the vicissitudes of wind and rain, heat and cold. For others of us, “home” also bespeaks an emotional environment: physical warmth and protection might be integral to that emotional environment, but relational warmth and protection far outweigh a warm oven and cinnamon, or wood chips and pine. 

As fundamental as these “homeward” characteristics are to us, at this writing they are very present for me: First, in a week I will be en route to Romania, where I will have the privilege of encouraging church leaders in Giurgiu (on the Danube), and then pastors in Sinaia (in the Carpathians). Following Sinaia and the pastoral conference, I will have the gift of travel in Israel with members from the Zionsville Presbyterian Church. In all, I will be en route for over three weeks, which means I will be pleased to return home—and especially to Mary.  

            And second, because we are in the Season of Lent, I am reminded that the Lenten “journey” culminates in Good Friday and Easter Sunday—but always in the light of Jesus’ promise to His disciples:

            “In my Father's house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and   will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also” (John. 14:2-3).

Within this promise, the word translated “house” (ἐν τῇ οἰκίᾳ) does equally suggest “home” and “family.” Likewise, the word translated “rooms” (μοναὶ), although rightly translated bears the nuasce of “life” and “remaining.” In other words, Jesus promised a “home” and a “family”— a “forever family”—with Him and His Father.[1]

It might simply be a factor of my age, but I don’t think so; rather, I believe there is within us that longing for “home,” where and when we can be “at home” within ourselves, with one another, and at home with the One who loves us as no other. Lent, I believe, directs us to our true “home.”

Homeward,

            Stan

Ps. With you I grieve for the thousands in Zimbabwe, Mozambique, and Malawi who have lost their homes—their lives—to Cyclone Idia. They have no infrastructure to protect them against such devastations, and none from which to build. Please pray and give through well-established agencies.

[1]Cf. John 14:23, “If anyone loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him.”

2019: R-U-M "Mortality"

Dear one,

            “Mortality”: this morning, at some moment in the waking hours, that word floated into my consciousness. As far as I can recall, it was not associated with any particular dream, let alone a nightmare; but most likely its impetus was the crash that occurred this past Sunday: an Ethiopian Airline 737 Max 8 crashed six minutes after takeoff from Addis Ababa en route to Nairobi. Upon the five occasions I’ve flown to Malawi, I have flown Ethiopian Airlines; whether or not I’ve ever flown on a 737 Max 8, I do not know, but I’m sure I’ve flown some iteration of the Boeing 737.
 
            Two weeks ago I booked flights to Malawi via Ethiopian Airlines, and the “equipment” for the flight from Addis to Lilongwe is a 737-800, which is not a Max 8. Now I share this with you, not to express concern about my next travel to Malawi, nor callously to minimize the great, horrific grief for family and friends of those  who died on Sunday; rather, I am reminded: I am mortal.  
 
            In part, it is this reminder the season of Lent seeks to impress upon us: the Old Testament expressions, “from dust to dust,”[1]and, “teach us to number our days,”[2]underscore this view. Likewise, the New Testament does not shrink from that same view. For instance, Jesus observed, “[Night] is coming when no one can work”; and the Apostle Paul penned, “I am already being poured out as a libation, and the time of my departure has come.”[3]Of course, these latter two quotes have been excised from a larger New Testament context, which proclaims hope: hope that we are not just dust; and hope that, even though our days our numbered, much lies just beyond us.[4]
 
            It might be patently obvious: the New Testament and the Christian Faith presuppose, if not herald death's reality; but if so, I forget. I tend to think that my life stretches before me in an uninterrupted sequence of days; and that, if our world is fraught with danger, then let reason prevail: I'll not fly “foreign airlines over foreign continents ...”
 
            Lent bids me face my mortality; and Lent invites me to see my life, and this season in the light of Jesus’ Cross and Empty Tomb. His Light and Life prevail.
 
            Hopefully,
                        Stan
 
Ps. In July/August I look forward to life with 50 Malawian pastors, who conceivably touch 325,000 lives. [1]Ecclesiastes 3:20.[2]Psalm 90:12.[3]2Timothy 4:6.[4]Romans 5:6.

2019: R-U-M "Hearing"

Dear one,
 
In approximately three weeks, I will stand before a congregation of approximately fifty to sixty Romanian worshippers, our sisters and brothers of the Betel Church of Giurgiu. It will be my pleasure and privilege to share with them, knowing that Nicu Bragadireanu will once again ably translate my thoughts and gestures.
 
Given that we are in the season of Lent, faithfully observed by the Orthodox church of Romania, if not by Romania’s Protestant churches, I plan to share from Mark 9:2-8, the account of Jesus’ transfiguration. You might recall that this incident occurred after Peter’s confession: he both rightly and wrongly identified Jesus as “the Christ”; and after Jesus’ stringent call to deny one’s self, take up one’s cross, and follow Him. Thereafter, Jesus ascended a high mountain with Peter, James, and John.
 
However we understand that mountain top experience—which I do not doubt; and however Moses and Elijah appeared with Jesus, the import of that moment is found in these words: “This is my Beloved Son: hear Him.” That is, within the context of that moment, the Heavenly imperative “to hear or listen to Him” is placed in juxtaposition to Jesus’ dialogical partners, Moses and Elijah. And yet, of the three, finally only Jesus remained, underscoring this message: Jesus supersedes the Law (i.e. Moses) and the Prophets (i.e. Elijah). He does not negate their word, but His is the final word—and if you will, because He is the Word of God.
 
Nonetheless, if we are to hear Him, quickly the question surfaces, as our dear Romanians will likely ask: But how—how do we hear Him, since we are continually subjected to many voices, messages, and words?  
            “Beginning with the Gospels,” I will answer them, “and amplified by the remainder of the New Testament, but always to be understood in relation to the Old Testament, Jesus as the Word of God, His character and works, are manifest. Within our several Protestant traditions, we emphasize knowing the Scriptures: not as a badge of intelligence, not as a symbol of power or manipulation, not as a sign of inclusion or exclusion; rather, we turn to the Scriptures, in order to hear the One Voice who speaks with the authority of creative, sacrificial love. Not to be simplistic, but Lent encourages: take time to be quiet; take time to listen, and once you have heard Him, act according to His word and life.”
 
Hearing: easier said than done, but essential if we want to know and follow Him.
 
Hopefully,
            Stan

Ps. Your giving means my sharing with Romanian pastors, who impact some 2000 lives. 
 
 
 

2019: R-U-M "Word & Deed"

Dear one,
 
            Yesterday I booked flights to Malawi: first to Blantyre for a week, and then to Lilongwe for a second week. In both settings, I have offered to serve the local church by teaching and preaching— and in both settings, I will lead a retreat/ in-service for 25 pastors, Monday evening through Thursday noon. Always I am both humbled and sobered by the booking of these flights, irrespective my destination: Romania, Uganda, or Malawi.
 
            As I have shared with you previously, I am convinced that providing these pastors with a 72-hour respite of encouragement, conversation, in-depth study, prayer, good food and rest, will reap great benefit. Encouraging one means encouraging many: “If you have done it to the least of these my brothers and sisters, you have done it to me” (Matthew 25:40). 
 
            This noted, and in no way minimizing the importance of serving others, this morning I was reminded of the launch of Jesus’ ministry: 
            “After the arrest of John [the Baptist], Jesus came into Galilee preaching the Gospel of God and saying, ‘The Kingdom of God has drawn near: repent and believe the Gospel’” (Mark 1:14-15). 

That is, I was reminded that He came preaching repentance: the relationship between Creator and creature has gone horribly amuck. For me, of this truth no clearer example exists than that of the twentieth century: perhaps the most “enlightened” century of recorded human history—the astounding advances on most every front—and yet the bloodiest, most horrific of centuries. The proud schemes of the human heart and mind exhibited great darkness and horror on most every front.  
 
            So often in church history, and to the present, we struggle to hold in tension the “gospel of social justice” and the “gospel of repentance and salvation”; but as I thought of this tension, I realized that our brothers and sisters in Romania, Uganda, and Malawi grasp this tension more firmly than do we. Still in living memory, Romanian pastors recall the evils of Communism and its fascist counterparts; Ugandan pastors live with the evils of the LRA and the atrocities of “child soldiers”; and Malawian pastors known the evils of self-centered, political leaders who perpetuate cycles of famine, flood, and drought. These pastors know full well the evils of the human heart and mind, and they too need to be reminded: Jesus both lived what He proclaimed; proclaimed what He lived—and called His disciples to do the same.
 
            May our words and deeds not contradict one another.
 
Hopefully,
            Stan
 
            

2019: R-U-M "Birds"

Dear one,

            Yesterday morning I awoke feeling somewhat “leaden.” The feeling was not the “January doldrums,” of which I wrote previously; rather, it was more a heavy malaise, exacerbated by my immediately rehearsing the day before me: I need to check on materials sent to Romania; I need feedback regarding monies for Uganda; I need to set dates for Malawi; I need to reconsider the October dates for Romania; I need to ...        

            Whatever the exact cause of my malaise, as I prepared breakfast, I burned the bacon, which only added to the weight I felt. (By the way, when experiencing “malaise,” don’t keep the bacon warm by placing it under the oven broiler …)  At any rate, as I trudged into our study—hoping that moments of quiet reflection might alleviate my downward spiral—there they were.

            As I looked out our study window, the world white with yet another blanket of snow, there, just outside our window was a bevy of birds feasting at two feeders. For several minutes I was captivated by their frenzied feeding—and as I grew quiet, I was reminded of Jesus’ words:
 
            “Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?” (Matthew 6:26)
 
            Heeding His imperative to look intently (for such the Greek word, ἐμβλέψατε, suggests), I realized afresh that all of us—even in the midst of a leaden malaise—seek to know and experience the loving care of the One who gives life. If the birds of the air receive His oversight and care, will we not receive His loving bounty in far greater measure? As I looked upon the feeding birds, the answer was clear, a resounding “yes,” an affirmation fully consistent with Jesus’ invitation:
 
            “Come to me all who labor and are heavily burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:26)
 
            I know that I have shared these words with you previously—nonetheless, how good to be reminded that we are of worth beyond human calculations. Do not Jesus’ Cross and Empty Tomb tell us that? Moreover, will He not provide us rest, if we but come to Him, not unlike birds coming to a feast already prepared?
 
            Now, because I purposefully watched an unfolding feast, did my heaviness immediately lighten? No, but as I lived the day, my needs were met, even as were those of His birds.

             Watching,
                        Stan 
 
 
 
            

2019: R-U-M "Blessed"

Dear one,
 
For years I have been influenced if not regularly motivated by the language of Genesis 12, “blessed to be a blessing.” When that phrase germinated in my heart and mind, I do not know; but certainly by the time we first ventured to Malawi (2013), it had rooted deeply. That is, these first and subsequent experiences reinforced this truth: I have been given much and therefore have much to give. 
 
Oh, within our American context, the gifts I bear might not be great; but where poverty and its impact are encountered at most every turn, they can greatly aid. Of course, in such settings much I cannot contribute: I have no medical, engineering, legal, administrative, financial, and/or agricultural expertise; and yet, I am convinced that pastors within these settings long for a listening, encouraging heart. This I can provide. Moreover, with the monetary contributions of a number of you, we are able to provide these pastors an opportunity of refreshment: mutual camaraderie and laughter amid singing, praying, and delving more deeply into the Scriptures. Blessed to be a blessing …
 
Yesterday, as I pondered afresh that phrase, I was reminded of Paul’s introductory words to those in Roman, whom he had yet to meet:
                  “For I am longing to see you so that I may share with you some spiritual gift to strengthen you—or rather so that we may be mutually encouraged by each other's faith, both yours and mine” (Romans 1:11-12).
 
Such was Paul’s desire: to be mutually encouraged, and this I have found to be my experience as well. When en route to Romania, Uganda, or Malawi, my desire is not that I might be blessed, but rather to encourage. Nevertheless, I find that I am greatly encouraged by those I seek to teach and lead—mutually blessed. Often the pastors in these countries look upon me quizically, wondering how it is that they have much of anything to give to me, and yet they do. As I observe their faithfulness, their perseverence, their care for their flocks, and their hope in circumstances that would overwhelm this American, I marvel, perhaps substantiating Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s observation:
            “The Christ in [my] own heart is weaker than the Christ in the word of [my brother or sister]; [my] own heart is uncertain, [their’s] is sure.”[1]
 
I am blessed, and I am certain you are likewise.
 
Stan
 
Ps. The cost of our 2019 Malawi retreats exceeds our budget by $300; and I’ve been invited to return to Romania in October, an opportunity, at $1550 for airfare, we did not anticipate for 2019. If you can give to these, please use the form provided in this website. I/we/they will be blessed. 

[1]Life Together, (New York and Evanston: Harper and Row, Publishers, 1954), p.23.

2019: R-U-M "Yes/ No"

Dear one,
 Several weeks ago I shared with you thoughts regarding “January doldrums,” and soon thereafter “rest.” Given how way leads unto way, given how thought is tied to thought, this morning I return to these previous concerns, recognizing that an underlying thread is becoming fabric for my entrée into 2019. That is, two days ago I sensed that it would be well for me to ponder afresh “timing”: God’s timing and my own priorities—what I deem important and the sequence by which these priorities are to be realized. Thus, I found my heart and mind turning to those ancient but fully relevant words of Isaiah: 

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the LORD. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts” (Isaiah 55:8-9).

When I did so, however, Isaiah 55 became a clear reminder that my priorities and the sequence of their occurrence might not align with Heavenly realities. In fact, with humility I again perceived that my priorities and their importance might possibly be alien to those of God.
 
And so, with Isaiah 55 in mind, and certain that I needed to consider “timing,” I next heard the echo of Jesus’ words within me: He once told His disciples, “Let your word be 'Yes, Yes' or 'No, No'; anything more than this comes from the evil one” (Matthew 5:37). However we understand "the evil one," at a minimum evil is counter to if not fully destructive of what is good and right—and tends to muddle a forthright "yes" or "no." 
 
Often, when I think of timing and the ordering of my priorities, it might not be that my priorities are horribly misguided; rather, it might be that I have fallen prey to that American penchant to over-commit and/or to over-schedule, failing to recognize and honor limitations and boundaries. When those limits are not heeded, great physical, financial, and/or interpersonal suffering might occur. Too much is often a recipe for great undoing—and often a failure to say "no."
 
Rather than focusing upon my priorities and the timing of these, at moments I will do well to say, “No, not now. For the present, that must be a lesser priority; or, that is not for me to bear, but for another.”
 
“Doldrums,” “rest,” “timing”—somewhere within these “no” must sound. 
 
Thoughtfully,
            Stan
 
Ps. I am presently budgeting for a return to Malawi, July 25 – August 10: next week I’ll share with you regarding those needs.
 
.
 
 
            

2019: R-U-M "Rest ..."

Dear one,

Even though I “slept-in” a little this morning—being a “good American,” I fill my days and calendar with activity, even if quiet, introverted activity—I awoke not altogether refreshed. As part of my awakening, I began to rehearse the day’s checklist, remembering my desire to share a thought or two with you—and please know that my sharing with you is not an onerous task.

Understandably, as I awoke—as I thought of my day, and if I may project mine upon yours, “rest” came to mind. As a consequence, I was reminded of Jesus’ interaction with His disciples (cf. Mark 6:7-45). That is, you might recall that He sent them out to minister in His Name and in the Name of His Kingdom. Perhaps they went forth with trepidation, but when they returned to Him, they were undoubtedly filled with excitement, hoping to share all that they had experienced. Recognizing that their present was not suitable for meaningful, listening dialogue, Jesus said: “Come, you yourselves by yourselves unto a deserted place and rest a little.” (Here the Greek word for “rest” has embedded within it the words “stop” and “again.”)

Thus, He and His disciples sought and found a deserted place, but one that had filled quickly with a crowd, who were like sheep without a shepherd: essentially aimless, helpless, and defenseless. With compassion like a shepherd for his/her sheep, Jesus then taught this flock of thousands, until the hour grew late, whereupon the disciples thought to send them away. To their consternation, however, He commanded these disciples to feed His “sheep” (after all, they had wondrous stories of ministry in His Name). At first they faltered, but soon they fed His sheep with the loaves and the fish He had blessed.

Rest.

I believe that Jesus’ disciples experienced rest, but in a manner very unlike their expectations: the rest they experienced came as they sat and listened to Him, while He cared for the multitudes; and then as they cared for those same multitudes, by sharing with them His manifold blessings, they knew further rest. They first listened, and then cared: they rested.

Rest: I wonder, do you need to rest—do you need to stop, in order to listen to Jesus? Do you need to hear and experience His compassion-generated words and actions?[1]

I wonder … the hour is never too late.

Being refreshed,

            Stan

[1]By the way, it is this rest we seek to provide pastors in Romania, Uganda, and Malawi.

2019: R-U-M "Persistence ..."

Dear one,
Presently I am feeling buoyant; however, typically at this time of year I find “the sledding” (no pun intended) rather difficult. After the anticipation and excitement of the holidays (they are that, even if one approaches them with Scrooge’s “Bah-humbug!”), January seems to promise an unending slogging. In northern climes the skies are grey and drear, often promising the cold of wet and/or snow, and most often complicating life. In southern climes—hard to image for those of us in northern latitudes—the days stretch forth with a regularity that promises nothing more than the same-old-same-old boredom. Now admittedly, our perspective and attitudes do much to literally and figuratively color our world: Is the white of snow fresh and fanciful, or is it treacherous and terrifying? Is the brilliance of sunshine warm and welcoming, or is it searing and suffocating?
 
With January in mind, I found myself looking to Jesus' encouragement of His disciples, lest they become “disheartened.” For their encouragement, He once told a parable regarding a widow unjustly wronged (Luke 18:1-8). Certain of her cause, repeatedly she stood before an unjust judge, who denied her justice, until, when wearied by her persistent pleas, granted her the justice she deserved. Given this parable, Jesus then essentially asked: If an unjust judge can render justice, how much more so will our Heavenly Father, with patience, quickly care for His own? 

Thus, Jesus first prodded His disciples to persist in prayer, only next to raise that very haunting question: “When the Son of Man comes (returns?), will He find faith upon the earth?” Will He? Will He find those who persist in prayer, irrespective the temperatures within or without? 
 
Sometimes … “In the bleak midwinter” when “water like a stone” … sometimes, having viewed the new year through my narrow little window, I then plan, but I do not always faithfully pray. Tickets have been purchased for Uganda; today I will purchase tickets for Romania; and I’m seeking to finalize dates for Malawi in July and a return to Romania in October. Ah … but have I prayed, and if so, have I prayed faithfully? Admittedly, I find power in purchasing, but that power can deceive: it is not the power of prayer. 
 
In keeping with Jesus’ parable, I think, Kierkegaard once observed: “Prayer does not change God, but it changes [the one] who prays.”[1]

Prayer is not manipulation but relationship; persistent prayer allows me to know the One who is unseasonably faithful.
 
Praying,
            Stan
 

[1]C.S. Lewis made a very similar observation.

2018: R-U-M Advent #3

Dear one,

            At this time of year, many pastors find themselves focused upon added worship preparations and services, even as year-end, budgetary concerns are thrown into the mix. Of course, this description reflects our American culture and pastoral ministry within that context; but I do not think it misses the mark greatly for pastors in Romania, Uganda, and Malawi. That is, generally we pastors are activists, always caring for the flock: Who’s in the hospital? Who’s unhappy? Who needs to be challenged? Who needs a listening ear? What must be done? Always something, always someone … and especially now.

            Aware of our American activism, which American pastors mirror, recently I’ve been asking: In the living of these Advent-to-Christmas days, wherein is the “good news”? Admittedly, my asking this question has been greatly influenced by my rereading of Charles Dickens’, A Christmas Carol.In my doing so, I have observed our cultural tendencies: whether through plays, musicals, movies, etc. we have removed the Gospel elements Dickens obviously intended. 

            For instance, Dickens provided Scrooge’s nephew with this greeting, “A merry Christmas, uncle! God save you!” soon followed by the nephew’s observation: 

            “I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come around—apart  from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be  apart from that—a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time”. 

Clearly, at Christmas time Dickens desired his contemporaries to actively care for the poor and needy, in keeping with “its sacred name and origin”; but he also knew that such care came from changed hearts: lives “reclaimed,” as the Spirit of Christmas Past indicated, lives blessed by God à la Tiny Tim—and by God, Scrooge changed.

            As reflected in our cultural expunging of A Christmas Carol, my point is this: in the month of December we have simply ratcheted-up our activism: seeking to appease, to prove, to help, to display without the corresponding and necessary heart-change; without the good news that there is One who repeatedly enters into our world (even as a babe); who will not abandon us to our tendencies to be “tight-fisted [hands] at the grindstone”; and who invites and enables us to be loving, joyous, peaceful, patient, kind, generous, faithful, gentle, and self-controlled, even as He is (cf. Galatians 5:22). May we learn from Scrooge’s “reclamation.”

            Hopefully,

                        Stan

Ps. I do not claim that Dickens was a profound Biblical theologian, but I do believe that, with artful whimsy, he “sang” Gospel notes throughout his Carol.

2018: R-U-M Advent #2

Dear one,

            Last week I reflected with you some uncertainty regarding Romania; however, not long after my writing to you, I received an invitation to return to Romania, not only in the spring of 2019 but also in the fall. The spring invitation had been proffered several months ago: to encourage pastors, mostly from the southern portions of Romania, at Sinaia, located in the Carpathians. This fall invitation also means encouragement, but for pastors mostly from the western and northern portions of Romania. The site for this gathering might well be Alpinis, a retreat center also in the Carpathians. For both opportunities I am thankful and excited, even though the details are uncertain.

            Given this lack of certainty, and given our present season, I have had pause for thought: I wonder, with what uncertainty did Joseph and Mary live? Apart from Mary’s pregnancy, what did they know? Likewise, what did they take with them: blankets, bedrolls, food? O’ yes, Rome had decreed, Caesar had spoken, but then what? Did they have family in Bethlehem—distant relatives who might help?

            I also wonder: How did they travel—no doubt by foot, and even Mary? I don’t mean to be a skeptic, but donkeys were signs of wealth, and Joseph and Mary were surely impoverished—in some regards homeless. Our annual depiction of Mary seated upon a donkey might not be accurate; but if so, might someone with means have gifted them with such an animal? Uncertainty. 

            Given what I don’t know, given what they didn’t know, Luke’s Account (chapter 2:1-7) and Matthew’s Account (chapter 1:18-25) leave no uncertainty: this young couple obeyed. Admittedly, a cynic might counter: “What choice did they have? To refuse might have meant courting Roman brutality; and besides, leaving Nazareth might have meant the escape from ugly gossip.” Perhaps this cynicism bears some truth, but the greater truth, I think, was their willingness to trust:  

            “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived            in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he            will save his people from their sins”  (Matthew. 1:20-21); 

            or: “"The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will   overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of    God” (Luke 1:35).

            They lived with uncertainties far greater than mine, and they said “yes.”

Amen,

            Stan

2018: R-U-M Advent #1

Dear one,

Yesterday, as I sought to prepare for a Skype conversation, as I thought of the pastor with whom I was to meet, I was reminded of timing: frequently he and I have raised those heartfelt questions: How long, O’ Lord? Why the delay? What is it that we fail to see or understand?

As I prepared for our conversation, I was reminded of Galatians 4:4-7, where Paul underscored the foundation of our baptism in Christ:

            “[When] the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, in order to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as children. And because you are children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, "Abba!Father!" So you are no longer a slave but a child, and if a child then also an heir”.

That is, our baptism in Christ means that our fundamental identity is neither ethnic, socio-economic, nor sexual: we are no longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, and/or male and female, but rather we are one in Christ (Galatians 3:28). However, this oneness is based upon what God the Father has done: in the fullness of time He sent His Son.[1]

For us this “fullness of time” typically means Advent and Christmas, our looking back to what God did in Bethlehem through a homeless, young couple. But from a Jewish perspective prior to that moment, that fullness meant centuries of waiting—five, six, ten centuries? In this regard the words of Isaiah quickly surface:

            “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the LORD. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts” (Isaiah  55:8-9).

The fullness of time, then, is the Father’s choosing; it is His determination as to when the moment is most fitting or propitious—perhaps at great variance to our own determinations. Thus, while we wait with some uncertainty for this or that moment, change, or completion, Advent/Christmas should encourage us, quelling our fears and uncertainties: we are His adopted children; we are heirs with Christ; we have been given His Spirit; and we can cry to Him as Abba-Father—Daddy.

Timing: my returns to Romania and Malawi are not set; it is not yet the time to book tickets—but my identity as His child is secure, because of the fullness of time.

Faithfully,

            Stan

[1]By the way, “Christmas” means: “Christ sent.”

R-U-M December 2018

Dear one,

 Some weeks ago—in fact, prior to my Malawi trip of October—I indicated that I believed that Romania, Uganda, and Malawi were to be the countries to which I was being drawn, conceivably for the next five to seven years. However, following my recent experience in Malawi, I began to wonder: As much as I have enjoyed relating to and ministering among the pastors and church leaders of Romania, does it not make more sense to focus my energies upon Uganda and Malawi?

However, not long after posing this question, I had opportunity to reconnect with one of the key Romanian leaders with whom I’ve been privileged to relate. During that brief encounter, I realized how much I’ve enjoyed relating to him (and by extension, other Romanians), and, as we spoke, I recognized that a further but slightly different opportunity for me might emerge within Romania. That is, a chalet/ retreat center is being renovated and expanded, which might then allow for me to annually encourage pastors in Romania in much the same way that I hope to continue in Uganda and Malawi. Needless to say, this possibility has greatly excited me.

And then, not many days later, I had one of my monthly Skype conversations with a pastor in Romania—part of my attempt to provide spiritual direction—and of a sudden I found that he and I were talking about the possibility of his traveling to Africa, in order to encourage pastors there. This turn in our conversation in no way had I anticipated, and yet there it was: a Romanian pastor desiring to care for Ugandan and/or Malawian pastors. I can think of nothing more delightful, and fully consistent with the New Testament: Jesus came for the lost sheep of the household of Israel, only to feed and include within His fold Gentile sheep. Likewise, Paul a Jew from the East sought to enfold into the expanding Church Greeks and Romans of the West. Why should this Romanian of a Baptist tradition not join an American of a Presbyterian tradition, in order to encourage Ugandan and Malawian pastors from Pentecostal and Presbyterian traditions? I know not why.

So, at this writing tickets have been purchased for Uganda (6/5-21/19), and dates are being firmed for Romania (3/21 – 4/5/19???) and soon the same for Malawi (7/25 – 8/10/19???).

In all of this I am grateful for your share, even as I give thanks for our Lord’s pro-vision and faithfulness.

 Hopefully,

            Stan

2018: Malawi Musings #8

Dear one,

I have returned from Malawi greatly energized and encouraged. As you might recall, I began this fifth venture with some fear (probably ill founded), but certainly my return on the 24th was not as my flight on the 10th. If nothing else, the difference between my “outbound” and my “inbound” hours was my realization that I am still clay within the Potter’s hands: although I am convinced that I bear beneficial gifts of teaching and encouragement, prompting growth and change within those I encounter, I know that I too am subject to growth and change. From hindsight, I now recognize that I did not rightly anticipate when, where, and by what agency further change might occur within me. Your trekking these days with me encouraged my growth, which I trust encouraged growth within others.

Prior to leaving for Malawi, you might also recall that I was to meet with the General Secretary, Colin Mbawa, of the General Assembly of the CCAP. During our hour-and-a-half meeting, I felt my heart knit with his: we share very common desires for the pastors of Malawi—to encourage and equip them for further ministry. As I listened to him, I recognized that I do not have the necessary gifts and expertise to facilitate the kind of “spiritual retreat” he desires for the synod leaders of the CCAP; nonetheless, I sensed that in the near future (2020?) he and I might join together in providing spiritual retreats for the pastors of Blantyre Synod (located in southern Malawi). As always, the path before me is mostly hidden.

On Tuesday morning, October 23, just before my return flight, I met with Gracious Madimbo, in order to evaluate our pastors’ retreat of October 15-18. Administratively Gracious was utterly essential to our retreat, and I was pleased to join with him—even as we shared a common perspective: the retreat provided genuine encouragement and refreshment. As a result, we made tentative plans for my return to Malawi, July 25 – August 10, 2019. During that time I hope to lead a retreat in Mulanje (in Blantyre Synod) and another in Lilongwe (Nkhoma Synod) at Mutheto Lodge. But more than these plans, I was greatly encouraged by his vision as to how these retreats and the materials I’ve been writing might truly aid leadership development within the Malawian church. For my efforts to bear much fruit, they must become Malawian.

In a few days, I will share more of this with you.

Thankfully,

            Stan