{i ride in the back of trucks and it's generally pleasant. this isn't the case for most people who travel far and wide, crammed in like sardines, just to be sweaty and dusty for church}
{Continued from the previous post…}
My team and I had the opportunity to visit a nearby village to deliver food and hugs and to let the people know about the available services being held at the church we are partnering with this month. People were waiting for us on the side of the road like a flock of sheep when our truck pulled up, and we hopped out into the dry, dusty streets, timid about what to say. They were taken aback by my paleness, some offering up their umbrellas to shield my fragile flesh from the sun. They were fanning themselves, wiping sweat, shielding their eyes so they could look at us. In our timidity, though, we prayed, and it was translated so they could understand. We invited them to church, and told them of the multiple times and dates they could attend. And all I could do was hope they would show up.
What happened later that same evening completely floored me.
They showed up.
They came to the church service, after traveling far and wide in the heat, after bathing with buckets of water from their make-shift “bathrooms”, putting on their sunday best, and walking for an our at least, or riding in the back of a truck, packed in like sardines.
I nudged our ministry host, Juan Carlos, and said, “They came! They’re here! Can you believe it?” and he paused for a moment, looking at me as if I were somewhat ignorant, adding in his best attempt at English, “They come every week. Some of them four times a week. They’ve been coming, and they wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
And that’s when it hit me: God doesn’t need me at all. And I’m foolish to think He does.
These beautiful people journey far and wide to a place that is not easily accessible in the slightest, because it is there that they find the Hope they have longed for. And they’ve been coming long before I invited them, maybe even for years. It really opened my eyes to see that this was the highlight of their week—hearing the Good News time and time again never gets old or stale here—and it’s obvious, as they are pressing in to hear more and more. They don’t take it for granted like I do—or like most Americans tend to. They don’t try to hide in fear or shame, but instead raise their hands in worship, and raise their hearts as they cry out tears of prayer or mourning before the Lord, unashamed of what others will think. Fanning the sweat and flies off, standing up as the Word of God is read aloud, and bowing to bended knee on the hard cement floors, they come willingly, anxiously anticipating what Goodness abounds there.
As I looked around, it hit me hard: I take this for granted. Oh my gosh, I take God for granted—so much so that all I could do at that point was repent.
David Platt puts it like this: “This is the question that often haunts me when I stand before a crowd of thousands of people in the church I pastor. What if we take away the cool music and the cushioned chairs? What if the screens are gone and the stage is no longer decorated? What if the air conditioning is shut off and the comforts are removed? Would His Word still be enough for his people to come together?”
This, friends, is my greatest fear: that His word might not be enough to make me come.
What would it look like to have to work so hard for our faith, to have to travel in the greatest heat of the day regardless of how we felt, or regardless of what we looked like, to show up with an earnest eagerness to hear the Word of God, and let it dwell in our hearts?
What would it look like to have to meet underground, in a secret, protected place because the very mention of Jesus’ name could cost us our lives? What if the glamour was gone, and all that was left was a true risk?
Would we still go?
Would we still gather in His name?
This is not rhetorical. I’m asking you to answer here and now.
I asked myself too, and my greatest fear surfaced as I repented on that day, and all I could confess was,
“No, probably not.”
Gosh, that sucks to admit. It sucks to see my true heart before the Father and know that it’s no good. Nothing about it is any good.
And yet He makes me right and whole. His love calls me out from my doubt and puts me back together again. His love tears me up and reconciles all the junk in my heart, all of the lies and untruths, all of the norms I’ve settled for with pure contentment. He changes my views of what is actually important. He makes me good.
You see, He’s calling me up to greater things. To global purpose things. Things that have nothing to do with the “American Dream”. Things that take “cajones”, for lack of a better term. I’ll say it—time to grow a pair! And transparently, I’m still learning what it looks like to not “settle”. It’s a definite process, but one that I’m open to.
Richard Rohr puts it like this:
“we do not think ourselves into new ways of living; we live ourselves into new ways of thinking.”
I guess it’s time to start living, huh? Maybe that’s where the change will be ignited in you and me.
Even as I write these words to you, I’m listening to these lyrics being sung in my ears:
“Lord, I wanna yearn for You, I wanna burn with passion over You, and only You.”
{Shane & Shane}
What does that even look like? And if that is a true yearning of mine, then it’ll change everything.
Radically.
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I suppose I'll close with this, because it's good. and good things are worth sharing.
“If Jesus is who he says he is, and if his promises are as rewarding as the Bible claims they are, then we may discover that satisfaction in our lives and success in the church are not found it what our culture deems most important, but in radical abandonment to Jesus." {David Platt}
p.s.-as a side-note, in order to stay on the field, i'm still in need of $1,300 by April 1st. please consider donating a gift of any amount on the support link to the left TODAY. i'm so grateful for you, and that you are making this a radical reality for me. thank you!
