Last month my team did village ministry in Mozambique. We walked from the compound where we were staying to the small village down the road. It wasn’t far away, but it felt like it was because the temperature was probably somewhere around a billion degrees.
At first, we were walking on a main road. The asphalt would have felt like walking on a stovetop if we had been paying attention to it, but there was enough room so that we could walk in two’s and three’s on the side. And then we could tell stories and ask questions so that our brains weren’t focused on the sweat or the sunburn or trying to remember how hot it has to be to cook someone from the inside out. But instead we were thinking about ‘how many siblings do you have?’ and ‘if you could be any animal in the world, which animal would you be?’ Believe it or not, it helped. Mind over matter and all that I guess.
Once we got off the main road, we walked along a path where the grass on either side of my feet was up to my waist. My team and I scurried from one tree’s shadow to the next, soaking up the tiniest break from the heat. It was like an endless game of red light green light. We walked as fast as we could when the sun was pouring down on us, but when we reached the shade, we all hit the red light and became the closest things to statues we could without actually coming to a stop. Nobody said it out loud but the threat in stopping completely was finding the motivation to start again.
There was a woman standing under a tree in the front yard of the first house we came to. And by yard I mean patch of dirt. And by house I mean pieces of bamboo leaning against each other underneath a piece of tin. She smiled at us. She smiled so big I could see all of her teeth. She was proud to welcome us into her home.
While the interpreters spoke with her about why we were there, she fiddled with her skirt. It had a diamond shaped pattern all over it. It was splashed with blues and purples. It was beautiful. Her shirt was tucked into it up high on her ribs. I couldn’t understand what they were saying but I remembered that the color purple represents royalty in the bible. And this woman, standing tall and proud on her piece of land in front of her home was an heir to the Kingdom of Heaven. She was royalty to God.
The interpreters told us that they had asked her what she needed prayer for. She said protection for her and her family. And health. She just wanted her loved ones to be taken care of.
So we prayed for that and we left.
That was all.
We didn’t talk to her about her faith or her relationship with Jesus Christ. We didn’t feel the pulse of her heartbeat in our hands while we handed it over to the Lord for safe keeping. We didn’t mend any of the cracks in her foundation through the love of Jesus.
What we did was listen to her wishlist, send up a few worlds on her behalf, and go our separate ways. We walked away from royalty without even telling her that that’s what she was.
We went to the next pile of bamboo and tin and we did the same thing. We took the list of wants and needs, touched them on the back or the arm, shook their hands respectfully and moved down the line. We did it over and over and over again.
On the walk home I felt empty. The next day I felt empty. When Sunday came and we were told it was time for church, I was still feeling empty.
We sat in plastic chairs in a concrete room. It was raining on the tin roof above us, so even when they spoke English it was hard to understand. I opened my bible to read since listening was proving to be pretty difficult. But I couldn’t focus.
We had invited several people from the village to come to church with us and hardly any of them had shown up. The rational side of my brain tried to reason with the irrational side. (The rational side knew going into this battle that it very rarely comes out with a victory against the irrational side. It still likes to try.)
Rational side said, “It’s raining! They would have to walk here in the rain. Cut them some slack. They would be here if it was sunny.”
Irrational side replied, “If it was sunny you’d say it was too hot. They wouldn’t want to walk in the heat to get here.”
Rational side, “Well that might be true too! The weather matters! I’m sure they’d be here if they could.”
Irrational side, “Jesus didn’t check the weather forecast before his crucifixion. He did that for them regardless of the weather.”
When the irrational side of my brain crosses a line like that (which it almost always does because it knows no boundaries) the ration side concedes. That’s when the crazy part of my brain gained full control and turned my self righteous anger into a prayer that went something like this:
“God. I’m pissed. They don’t even want
to know you. They won’t walk in the rain
to meet you here. They just want you to
be the genie that grants their requests
and leaves so they can keep living their
lives without being bothered.”
And as clear as day I heard, “How are you any different?”
I heard it in my head but it hit me in the stomach. It hit me hard. I didn’t even try to argue. I knew it was the truth.
How many hours had I spent begging the Lord for an answer I felt I needed? How long had I sat and pleaded to hear His voice? And not because I just wanted to hear the sweetness of its tone, but because I wanted a message for myself. How many times had I chosen other things over just sitting and spending time with Him? How many times did I treat Him like a wish granting factory rather than a friend?
Way too freaking many.
You know that old hymn that says, “And He walks with me and He talks with me. And He tells me I am His own”? That’s literally all He wants from us. It’s honestly so simple. The song doesn’t say, “He gives me what I want when I ask but other than that He pretty much leaves me alone.”
He’s a friend. He wants to be our very best friend. He wants to walk with us and hold our hand along the way. He wants to talk with us so we can memorize the melody in his voice. He wants to call us His own.
He wants a relationship.
With us.
Even when we suck.
Even when we’ve been ignoring him for a while.
He just wants to know us.
Jesus is not a wish granting factory. He’s a friend. Let Him be your friend.
