Of Two Minds ...

Dear one,

From the Genesis narrative we read: “And the man and his wife were both naked, and were not ashamed. Now the serpent was more subtle than any other wild creature that the LORD God had made” (Genesis 2:25-3:1). From our Western (Greek) perspective, the juncture between these two verses is odd, if not altogether disconcerting. However, from an Eastern (Hebrew) perspective, this juncture, if not seamless, is nonetheless realistic: the created world Yahweh is good and at its creation shame did not exist; and yet, there exists a serpent, who is subtle, crafty, and deceiving.

For the Eastern mind (which prevails throughout the Scriptures), the disjuncture between these two verses: a good world wherein evil dwells, might be difficult to reconcile; but if difficult, the  Eastern mind—rather than the Western tendency of focusing upon the questions why? and from-whence?—tending toward concrete practicalities, asks: Given a world where good and evil comingle, what will you do/ how will you live? Answering why? does not alter the reality.

At the outbreak of coronavirus, we in the West quickly asked: Why? followed by the question: Who’s to blame? With this latter question we then entered the world of the serpent (Genesis 3:11-13): Adam blamed Eve, Eve blamed the serpent, and the serpent … well, the serpent blamed the badger, the badger the bear, the bear the bat, that bat the boar, and the boar blamed … and so we play the “blame-game,” evident in both family life and international politics.

Thankfully, given our Western tendencies, many among us clearly understood the question: What shall we do? and acted appropriately, whereby many have sacrificed and risked for the sake of many, many more.

I do not mean to deprecate our Western tendencies, not at all; but I would have us recognize that, even if we can answer the why? and the from-whence? questions, we still face: What will you do? To this latter question, irrespective the times and the conditions within which we live, the Eastern mind (and the Scriptures) consistently direct us: you shall love your Creator with all you have and are; you shall love your neighbor as yourself; you shall pray for those who persecute you; and love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control are to characterize your life. 

With regard to the virus, some day soon we might be able to answer why? and from-whence?; but however we answer these questions, what we are to do remains constant: to live as Jesus did/does.

Mindfully,

Stan

Love is ...

Dear one,

With this morning’s light, two words echoed along the corridors of my mind: “patient” and “kind,” the very words Paul used to define the word “love.” That is, “love is patient and love is kind” (1Corinthians 13:4). 

Alluding to an early church hymn, Paul first wrote of what love is (13:4); next of what love is not (13:4-6); and finally of what love does (13:7). However, it occurs to me that what love is not (e.g. envious, boastful, arrogant, rude, irritable, etc.) and what love does (e.g. bears, believes, hopes, and endures) are embedded in the two words: “patient” and “kind.” 

The Greek word “patient” (μακροθυμία/ makrothumia) can rightly be translated as “long-suffering.” If so, if love is patient, then “love” is not a short-term phenomenon; rather, it is experienced in time and over a great expanse of time. Moreover, such a long-suffering love might require growth or maturation. Likewise, if love is patient, then as the English noun “patient” implies, a true patient is patient amid suffering. Patience arises under duress. 

The Greek word “kind” (χρηστός/ chrestos) conveys the sense of “benevolence,” that is, of an action that is practical, useful, and generous. Thus, “kindness” is a deed done; it is demonstrable, its effects can be readily seen and are of benefit to others. Furthermore, as you might have caught, with the alteration of one letter, the Greek word for “kind” becomes “χριστός,” or Christ. Thus the New Testament writers, in making a word-play, would write: “be kind (chrestos) to one another” (Ephesians 4:32), hinting, “be Christ to one another”; or, “taste that the Lord is kind (chrestos)” (1Peter 2:3), hinting, “taste that the Lord is Christ.”

In these days of coronavirus, we have observed many examples of patience and kindness; we have seen the powerful effects of those whose actions have been generous and practical, even as they themselves have endured various forms of pain and suffering. These examples we have seen; but we also known our own struggles to be patient and kind, as we scramble to regain a meaningful rhythm and routine, while the whole of life seems out-of-sync. We feel confined and restrained.

My encouragement to you (and to myself) is to remember: within the Scriptures, first and foremost, love is not a feeling but is a generous, practical deed enacted in time often amid personal suffering; and second, that Christ Jesus is the Source and Example of God’s long-suffering kindness. Daily may we draw upon His patience and kindness.

Seeking to love,

Stan 

Palm Sunday & COVID-19

Dear one, 

This morning I found myself thinking: “Really? In three days? How did that happen?” My near-disbelief centered upon this Sunday’s celebration: Palm Sunday. Equally, my thinking about the approach of  Palm Sunday, matches my incredulity vis-à-vis the coronavirus: both are upon us; both are real—what they will ultimately mean, remains to be seen. 

Very clearly and rightly, our present focus is upon COVID-19: five letters and two numerals, which signal a potentially radical shift in our hearts and minds. And yet, with a view to Palm Sunday, I wonder: approximately two millennia ago a moment occurred in “Salvation History” (Heilsgeschicte), which, in my view, continues to reshape the whole of human history: the King of kings, the Prince of Peace, the Light came unto His own riding upon a borrowed donkey. Those who witnessed His entry into Jerusalem shouted:           

 "Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!" (Mark 11:9-10). 

And yet, within the greatness of the Roman Empire, did anyone seriously note a religious procession, which occurred in that backwater eddy: Jerusalem of Judea? On that particular Sunday, to what or whom did all eyes turn? Tiberius’ luxurious life of leisure on Capri? The praetorian guards’ movement toward the Rhine? A fire killing thousands in Rome?  The Empire’s de facto ruler, Sejanus, and his latest court intrigue? Within the Roman hierarchy and world, did only Pontius Pilate gave due attention to the popular, itinerate prophet, descending to the steps of the Temple? 

But even those who hailed Jesus’ entry, whom did they see? One who would free them from the shackles of Roman oppression? One who could call down fire from Heaven, in order to destroy their enemies? Whatever they hoped, whomever they saw, Mark’s narrative is surely anticlimactic:         

“Then [Jesus] entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve” (Mark 11:11). 

Please do not misunderstand me: during these coronavirus days, surely our focus must be upon those combating and those suffering and dying from the disease. Nonetheless, I wonder: During these days, what might be occurring in Zomba, Malawi, or Jaffna, Sri Lanka, or Biloxi, Mississippi—what might be occurring of great, Heavenly significance? Or even more pointedly, what might God be doing in your backyard, kitchen, or family room? In these days, may you not miss those moments. 

Hopefully,           

 Stan 

Perspective ...

Dear one,

The word “perspective,” derived from medieval Latin, suggests “looking through,” as if through a lens; and in these days of the coronavirus, I do believe that recent conversations have provided me a lens. 

 Perspective:

            “Many Romanians are not so educated,” a dear pastor and bank manager shared with me. “Regarding ‘social distancing,’ for instance: I’ve been required to wear surgical gloves and mask, but the other day, when the police chief came into the bank, he asked: ‘Why the gloves?’”

            “Did he understood your explanation?” I asked.

            “No, but perhaps soon he will. This morning we were crowded, but tomorrow should be different: the government is now clamping down further. Already those 65 and older must stay home, except 11am-1pm, when they can buy food.”

            “Is that working?”

            “For now. However, my greater concern is Italy and Spain. 4-5million Romanians live outside the country; but now, without work, they’re returning home. Who knows how many of them are infected? The government will seek to quarantine them—with surveillance cameras. Anyone’s guess if that’ll work. Furthermore, Europe will be subject to a domino-effect: every country will fall. Even Prince Charles has been infected. From the greatest to the least.”

Perspective:   

            “All of us are quarantined until April 14,” a Filipino pastor of Luzon stated. “After that we’ll see.”

            “Has that been hard?” I asked.

            “Well, we don’t have much to do—very few books and movies. And you know, the government has issued passes.”

            “Passes?”

            “Every family has been given one pass—meaning, only one person can leave the house at a time. We’re all quarantined. And that’s a problem: the church treasurer lives on the other side of the city and he can’t get to the bank. But some church members are sending us pesos.”

“That’s a blessing.”“And the government gave every family a basket of groceries.”  

Perspective:   

“This week,” a missions director wrote, “we are treating over 60 [orphaned] children for malaria … In just the past couple days, the cost of antimalarial drugs has increased by 400% … Food costs are rising rapidly due to the double threat of COVID-19 and the locust plague … It is crucial that we purchase food supplies [for three months], before prices rise higher.”

Perspective:

“When [Jesus] went ashore he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. And he began to teach them many things” (Mark 6:34).

Through a lens dimly,

            Stan

Gift ...

Dear one,

In the past several days, “true gifts meet true needs” is a line much in my mind. Now, if memory serves me, I believe that these words were penned by Emerson, but I’ve not been able to identify that attribution. 

At any rate, if you will allow my thoughts to meander, some time ago I learned that the German word, “gift,” can mean “poison,” “venom,” or “virus.” Since I am not a philologist, I cannot assert with any certainty, but I have wondered: Is it possible that the German word, “gift,” when it came into the English world found its meaning significantly altered? 

Of course, mine is clearly a speculative question, but it has brought to mind the expression: “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” Presumably, here the rationale concerns gratitude: when given a gift, simply and gratefully receive it for what it is: most likely beneficial and undeserved. However, regarding gifts and horses, I’m also reminded of the Trojan Horse: Did not the denizens of Troy believe they had been given a gift—a monumental gift signaling victory? Surely they did, and yet that gift was their undoing.  

One further, analogous thought: within the medical world, it seems that chemotherapy is essentially subjecting the body, or a portion thereof, to poison or a fast-acting toxin. If this is true, and I do not doubt it, I also do not doubt that many have received and experienced chemotherapy as a gift—truly a poisonous gift.

Given these meanderings, one further thought: For many of us, might these coronavirus days be a gift? In raising this question, I do not want to be callous or insensitive; nor do I want to don the garb of Pollyanna or Orphan Annie. I know that approximately 40% of the American workforce wonders about the next paycheck, and whether or not they might still have employment as spring becomes summer. I also know that the virus has meant death. 

Nonetheless, I wonder: Might these days afford some of us the opportunity to think and/or to reevaluate? For what are we continually striving? Why are we so dogged by fatigue? That next event, meeting, or outing: how important is it—really? Likewise, is life and liberty merely “the pursuit of happiness”?

However we answer these questions, of this I remain confident:

             “Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change” (James 1:17).

Gifted,

            Stan

Beauty ...

Dear one,

It’s beautiful, I thought, as great, white, fluffy flakes fell. Leafless trees soon glistened white; evergreens softened, freshly powdered; and a great quiet shrouded the undulating landscape. Oh, but it complicates life—even so, it is beautiful.

As I beheld this wondrous transformation, and noted my own responses, I was reminded of the following experience:

            “Has it been a good day, Amy?” her father asked his five-year-old daughter, as he tucked her into her sleeping bag. Together they had shared her first, overnight camp out, replete with mac-and-cheese, skewered hotdogs, and cindered marshmallows.

            “Oh yes, Daddy—but would you read me a story?”

            “Sure. What would you like?”

            “Read when God made the world.”

            “Really?” her pastor father asked, immediately marshaling within his mind the various arguments surrounding Genesis 1, its creation account vis-à-vis evolutionary thought. However, seeking to satisfy her sincere desire, he began to read:

            “In the beginning God … and He said … and there was … and God blessed … and it was very good.”

              As he finished reading, he looked upon his cherished little one, her eyes were closed, her breathing quiet:         

            “Are you awake?” he asked her, turning to dim their lantern.

            “Oh yes, Daddy, how could I not be awake?” she sighed deeply, her eyes now wide. “Isn’t it beautiful what God did? Out of the deep dark, light and then the stars, and bright blue sunshine, and the so-green grass, and the talking streams, the mountains and lakes, and all the fish and fawns … Wasn’t it beautiful to see?”

            Looking upon his daughter, he too sighed, but his was the sigh of disbelief:

            How have I never seen what she saw? Why have I only seen and heard complications: What about dinosaurs and the ice age? What about “ex nihilo” or the “law of indeterminacy? How plausible is …?

 I first heard this recounting over forty years ago, but its import has remained with me, as has the lingering question: What have I routinely failed to see? Most especially, when I look upon that created world and, according to Genesis, the pinnacle of that creation, humankind, I need to ask, Whom do I see? A morose matron? A germ-bearing toddler? A gangly misfit? A sharp-tongued clerk? Or even, a “wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner”?

 When I travel to Uganda or to the grocery, I pray that I have the people-eyes of the One who, when He stepped out of a boat, ”saw a great crowd, and had compassion upon them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd” (Mark 6:34). 

 What and whom do you see?

            Stan

Faith & Money

Dear One,

            Neither silver nor gold have I, but what I have I give to you … Since returning from Uganda, these words of the Apostle Peter have been near in my thought.

You might recall the context of Peter’s words: those exhilarating and yet uncertain days of the early church in Jerusalem. They had experienced Pentecost; great numbers were coming to faith; and theirs was a community exhibiting an inviting, heart-warming, genuinely practical love—or as Luke narrated: “All who believed were together and had everything in common.” Within this larger setting, a lame man begged alms of Peter and John, and thus Peter’s response: "I have no silver or gold, but what I have I give you; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, stand up and walk" (Acts 3:6).

Consistently, when we American believers travel to impoverished settings, we are aware of the faith of those we encounter. They have few possessions at best; food is scarce and clothing threadbare; and often they are subject to weather and disease traumas well beyond their control and our imaginations. In our view theirs is a hard and unpredictable life—and it is—and yet, from within this life expressions of generosity and thanksgiving break forth like sunlight after a thunderous, rain-drenched day. We marvel that with genuine praise they enthuse: “God is good and God is good all the time.” We marvel that, when all seems so desperate, they truly believe that God is gracious and loving, and that He will provide—and then they cite recent examples of His timely provisions.

This faith of theirs is not dependent upon money—not that they are ignorant regarding the power of money and what it can provide—but upon the certainty of their Creator’s riches. They have experienced a relational wealth money cannot touch. Oh, I’m not advocating that errant 18th/ 19th century romantic view regarding the “noble native,” who blissfully smiles upon every misfortune and disaster; rather, I wonder: Does our monetary wealth blind us to our relational poverty and their relational treasures? Moreover, in spite of the inscription upon our money, in which “God” do we trust? The God of military/ monetary might?   

Please do not misconstrue my thoughts: I am not casting dispersions upon “filthy lucre.” Instead, counter our American wont and immediate impulse, I’d have us pause: not all problems have a merciful, monetary solution; and sometimes our money can rob others of a rich, relational faith only gained through a humble dependency—often the result of dire need.

I wonder,

            Stan

A Moment ...

Dear one,

“And the angels were ministering to Him”: over the years I have both pondered and shared these words with many others. You might recognize them as Mark’s summation to his very cryptic account of Jesus’ temptation experience. In full they are:

            “[Jesus] was in the wilderness forty days, being tempted by Satan; and He was with the wild beasts; and the angels were ministering to Him” (Mark. 1:13).

For me this summary bespeaks Mark’s first audience: they might have been those of Nero’s Roman world, who were tempted to deny their Lord, lest, for the sake of Coliseum entertainment, they might be thrown to ravenous dogs or lions, or lit as “Roman candles.” Of course, such a prospect was and is grim; nonetheless, for those first believers to recall Jesus’ temptation might have been hopeful: as He received angelic ministrations, so might they. If so, and I recognize the nature of my supposition, this simple verse might have been of great encouragement.

Without question, my life hardly approaches those believers of 1st century Rome, or even those of East Africa (Kenya, Uganda, Rwanda, and South Sudan) of recent decades.[1] However, yesterday as I shared breakfast with a good friend, he encouraged me to take a moment to read or watch something for the sake of refreshment. I had noted that in the past week my efforts at writing had become dry and mechanical: I had no enthusiasm for them.

Admittedly, during the past week I had been in transit 46 hours from Uganda, and while there had taught for 10 days, 8 hours each day—even so, I was thinking, I should redeem the time. (Is there any doubt that I’m American?) And so my friend offered: enjoy a moment of refreshment. His was a simple suggestion, and perhaps obvious to anyone but me—thus prodding me to review:

My present season is one that allows for international travel three times annually; but within that season and because of that season, a healthy rhythm and routine should flourish, including a moment to refresh. Surely Ecclesiastes 3:1 remains true: “There is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.”

The angels served Jesus—I might not need their touch, but a moment might serve me equally well.

I wonder: Do you need a moment?

Join me,

Stan

[1] En route home, I read Immaculee Ilibagiza’s Left to Tell, her faith-filled retelling of the 1994 Rwanda genocide: one million were killed in three months.

Returning ...

Dear one,
 
An apwoya matek … Obanga mi gum … kop tek … kop yot … ibutura ber … momot
 
These are phrases I am beginning to learn in Lango, a language emerging as “common” in northern Uganda. The first phrase means: “thank you very much”; the second: “God bless you”; the third and fourth: “very difficult” and “very easy”; the fifth: “did you sleep well?”; and the last: “very slowly.”
 
I share these with you—certainly not to impress you—but rather to indicate: I am learning Lango very slowly (momot), as my life is being wed together with those whose lives differ greatly from mine. Thus it is not difficult (kop yot) to project my return trips to Uganda. I have been blessed (gum) to encourage a select group of fifty pastors.
 
It remains true: I bring certain knowledge and experience that my Ugandan sisters and brothers do not possess. And yet, because our moments together have centered upon those verities central to our common faith—those near-imponderables concerning Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection, and His grace and forgiveness—a true reciprocity exists. As I share with them, I hear both my words and theirs, and in that hearing I am challenged to seek genuine change.
 
Regarding my return, last night I learned that my scheduled flight from South Africa to Atlanta had been canceled. After several thoughtful moments (momot?), and several emails—particularly with our truly skilled travel agent—we have been able to rebook my flights, so that I will return on Saturday as planned (although adding twelve more hours of transit). However, what remains uncertain is my Missionary Aviation Flight from Lira to Entebbe: I’m still in Africa, where plans are made and life …
 
Well, life happened. At 10:45 this morning, as we pastors focused upon Peter’s denials and failure, mid-sentence I received a call:

“There is no flight tomorrow. Can you be ready at 11:45 for the MAF flight to Kajjansi? We can arrange for your overnight stay.” 
I turned to Rev. Dickens: “This is not how I intended to leave you all.”
“We prayed this morning about your travel,” he said, and then smiled. “This is our answer, my brother.”
All  twenty-five pastors rose, great broad smiles, clapping—a lump in my throat, tears welling.
 
I am now watching the sun set across Lake Victoria.
 
Blessed to share with fifty pastors,
            Stan
 
Ps. It takes many to launch Stan on his return; it takes a loving wife throughout.

Rich and Poor ...

Dear one,

4:45. Moonlight filters through the curtain and open window. The oscillating fan cools, requiring the warmth of a light bedspread. The mosquito netting billows. Beyond, the beat of competing, neighborhood radios reverberates. Saturday evening has become an African Sunday morning and I remember:

Almost exactly fifty years ago this week—I was twenty—thousands of kilometers to the west of here, I was introduced to Africa. We had landed in Freetown, Sierra Leon, and at some moment amid the lively confusion of our deplaning and the offloading of our bags, my suitcase had walked. It had contained what I deemed essential: the clothes that complemented one another, and the treasured books and notes, which would aid me in ministry—or so I had thought. 

For the next two or three hours, as I waited for the return of my wayward bag, a local engaged me in conversation: as an obviously rich American, why was it that I could not spare him two or three of my easily-earned dollars? I wrestled with that question then and I continue to wrestle with it, for it is a perennial question. Upon my every return to Africa, someone will ask my charity: a daughter’s sickness; a son’s education; a frozen computer; a blown transmission.

Over the years I have responded variously, at moments I have given, and at other moments I have not; with some I have recognized that my dollars truly aid, but with others that my money hurts. Over the years I’ve also learned to better discern the need of the other, as well as my own, and our shared humanity: What do I have to give my African sister or brother, and equally, what do they have to give to me? 

This evening, and for the next five days, I will again share in the lives of twenty-five pastors, whom I first met last June. In my experience this is a unique opportunity: to grow relationally with the same twenty-five, so that  we become less and less African or American and more and more one in Christ. In this regard, however, I am reminded of Jesus’ observation regarding the impoverished widow: “[From] her poverty—all  that she had—she  gave the whole of her life” (Mark 12:44).

In the next few days, I wonder: Will I give from my riches, or will I give from my poverty—and which will be the greater gift? Perhaps I will give from both.

Blessed,
    Stan

Ps. The theft of my bag meant my further learning: healthy dependence.

Joyful ...

Dear one,

“Joyful.”
“I’m sorry …?”
“Joyful. My name is ‘Joyful.’”
Ah, I thought, I’ve returned to Africa. I’m pleased to meet you, Joyful. After 31 hours in transit, your brother Stan is pleased to meet you. I look forward to 4 hours of sleep, and another 3-hour Cessna flight in the morning, but for now, thank you for your greeting. All good.

And it is good: somewhere over the Atlantic, and then again over the Mediterranean, I marveled at the ease with which I was experiencing this return visit. Oh, the hours of sitting numb both mind and body; nonetheless, that I am able to trek in hours what David Livingstone navigated only after many months is remarkable. 

This noted, during the hours of flight, I also pondered the significance of Africa and its peoples: recently I read that Africa is now populated by 1.2 billion people and that 500,000 million identify themselves as “Christian.” Whether or not these statistics are accurate, they are telling. Within its great land mass, the continent of Africa can easily contain the whole of North America and Europe with land to spare. And however “Christian” is defined, the number of Christians in Africa is obviously much greater than the entire US population. Pause for thought.

Equally, I also pondered my meeting with Denis Nzirorera, whom I know only through a brief email exchange. Recently, as we learned of Denis’ ministry among the very poor of Kampala, I shared with him my return to Uganda. Almost immediately he emailed: 
“Could you (Stan) meet with me and those I am seeking to train?” 
“Well, I’ll be in Lira and you’re in Kampala.”
“Yes. I will come to you.”
Really? I thought. You’re willing to travel 8 hours one way, in order to meet with me—believing that I might have something of benefit to share with you?

Here too I marveled, keenly aware of African hunger, a hunger which cannot be filled by the produce of their fields, orchards, and vines, and the labors of their hands. In this regard I was reminded of Jesus’ words:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of God … Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied” (Matthew 5:3,6).

I wonder: when we Americans sing, “God bless America,” do we seek the blessing that poverty, hunger, and thirst encourages—or have we become sated by our pursuit of happiness? 

Blessed to be in Uganda,
    Stan

Ps. Today’s high will be 93F.

Pride ...

“… [lest] I myself should be disqualified”: in a recent conversation, I found myself responding with these words from 1Corinthians 9:27. In the context of 1Corinthians 8-10, the Apostle Paul had been addressing “Christian liberty”: What does it mean to be free in Christ? The issue for the Corinthians centered upon eating meat offered to idols—a burning question for them, but certainly not for us; and yet, the implications underlying this question are perennial: To what extent can a follower of Christ participate in cultural activities, and the cultural mores buttressing them?
 
Little reflecting my own upbringing, nonetheless I became familiar with the adage: “Don’t drink, dance, and chew, or hang with those who do.” Clearly this saying seeks to address what is good, right, and acceptable behavior; and equally, it tacitly understands “guilt by association,” a lens through which the Pharisees espied Jesus’ freedom. Admittedly, we might find this adage quaint, or even offensive, and yet daily we make determinations as to what is right and what is wrong—what our neighbor should or should not do, especially if our neighbor lives in the White House.
 
In addressing the issue of meat offered to idols, Paul did not provide an unequivocal “yes” or “no”; rather, he set forth a marker: “I will do nothing to cause my sister or brother to stumble” (cf. 1Corinthians 8:13). With that thought, he then argued: as an apostle, he could rightly receive financial support, but freely chose not to receive such aid. He knew he was right in his refusal, but then—and this I find most curious—using the analogy of an athlete, he offered: “But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.”  
 
“Really, Paul?” I ask. “But what would disqualify you? You know not to cause your weaker brother or sister to stumble. You know that you’re right in not receiving financial help. So what might disqualify you?”

“I preach freedom and grace,” I hear his response, “but lurking in the shadows, quietly wooing, is Pride: ‘You preach truth; you are the stronger one; you are right and good.'" He pauses before continuing: "Spiritual pride is always an enemy of the Gospel of freedom and grace. Always.”

“Thank you, Paul,” I offer. “Soon I’ll be in Uganda, where I'll have much knowledge to share; but in comparison to my Ugandan family, my knowledge of faith, hope, and love might be woefully weak. I have no basis for pride.”
 
Sincerely,
            Stan

Ps. I leave for Uganda on January 14.