The front door stood wide open and as we walked up, Johnjo hurried to put out his cigarette and hide the evidence. We were back, exactly one week later, just like he asked. And this time, I knew exactly what I was going to say.
A week earlier Mickey, Ernest (our translator), and I met Johnjo, who lives down the street from the church we are doing ministry with this month. A young farmer, Johnjo was out working his small field when we stopped to chat with him. As we talked, he mostly looked at the ground, especially avoiding eye contact when he learned that we worked with Deliverance Church. As the conversation progressed we asked if he went to church anywhere around here and if he was a Christian. Very quietly, never looking up, he whispered in Swahilli,
“I know about Jesus and want to make him the Lord of my life, but I can’t. I’m addicted to cigarettes.”
I stood looking at him dumbfounded, not knowing what to say.
Cigarettes?
He knew about Jesus, believed in Jesus, wanted to follow Jesus, but didn’t think he could?
Because of cigarettes?
I knew that cigarettes aren’t accepted in the Kenyan church. It is very much a taboo to smoke here, especially if you are a Christian. It’s a sin and just isn’t allowed. Period. It’s a cultural thing. I get it. Well, kind of. But really? This man saw his addiction to tobacco as a wall keeping him from knowing Christ. I couldn’t believe it.
As I looked at Johnjo I saw something familiar radiating off of him. Something I know all too well. It was shame. A heavy yoke of guilt.
Ernest looked at me and asked me what I had to say to this man standing in front of me. I froze, overly aware of the weight my words might carry in this moment. My heart was pounding, my breath was short from nerves and I had no idea what to say except, “Jesus doesn’t require you to be perfect to come to him. Do you know that?”
He nodded, still looking at the ground, and asked us to come back in one week. He would be ready to talk then.
I promised that we would be back and told him that we would be praying for him in the meantime. As we retraced our steps down the dirt road I couldn’t help but thinking that maybe I blew it. This guy told me that he WANTED to accept Christ, and I didn’t have much to say. I just gave up and left. But somewhere under the doubt and the frustration, I felt an unexplainable hope. I wasn’t giving up on this.
Over the course of the week I prayed for Johnjo every time I thought of him. And one day, as we were driving home from ministry, a clarity came and I knew exactly what I was going to say. It wasn’t profound. It was just simple truth. Truth that I know so well. I couldn’t believe it hadn’t come to me earlier.
And so as we stood at Johnjo’s door for a second time, watching him hurry over to us after putting out his cigarette, I was ready…
