Thanks Mom and Dad for Saying Yes

25 12 2011

Uncovering a portion of my family history over the last few days makes this Christmas all the more meaningful to me. I was re-reading my parent’s account of how they grew up, met and married, and moved to Chicago, Nigeria, and Turlock. Now that I live in the Seattle area, my interest has been piqued because of the number of significant events took place for my mom and dad here in this area.

Of particular interest was their description of a summer family camp they attended at a place called Covenant Beach. I had heard the story before. My parents had met at a church Valentine party at the top of Smith Tower in Seattle. Both were veterans of the great war, and the times were impulsive. Love struck and within six weeks they were engaged. A short time later, they were asked to escort a man named Glen Wagner to Vashon Island where he was speaking on the great post-war need for missionaries in Japan. By June, they were at the family camp at Covenant Beach and heard a message on Luke 9:23 where Jesus said, “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me.”

My mother wrote about that evening, saying that all had left the meeting room except my dad. She didn’t know what was going on with him as he lingered behind. In his own words, “The speaker dismissed the meeting without an invitation and the need [of Japan] flashed into my mind, and I just crumpled to the floor.” God has been speaking into his heart, “Go to Japan! Go to Japan!” My mother came back to him and asked what was wrong, to which he replied, “We’ve got to go to Japan.” Mom said, “Okay,” surrendering her college plans to God’s will.

I began to wonder if Covenant Beach, the place that God had used to redirect my parents’ lives so dramatically, still existed. I had not heard of it since moving to Seattle six years ago. So I searched the internet and found that it not only exists but is located just a few miles north of my home. The city of Des Moines is renovating the site as a city park.

The dining hall at what was then Covenant Beach. My parents would have spent many meals and times of interaction in this building. The city has raised it four feet because the river that runs under it flooded last year.

This aspect of my parent’s story comes to me especially on this Christmas morning. They redirected the course of their lives because of the challenge from Jesus to follow Him in self-denial. That is the essence of the birth of the Savior–the Son of God laying aside His rights and glory to serve us. My parents went on to minister in Japan with the Pocket Testament League, during which time my older brother Jack and I were born. Later, with younger siblings Rich and Diane, we all went to Nigeria. These experiences shaped all of us for good.

When I visited the former Covenant Beach, I paused to thank God for what He had done there. Though I was not yet born, He had my future in mind. God help me to take up my cross today, and follow You.





God and Skid Row

17 11 2011

I had wanted to visit the Sunday afternoon service on skid row in LA offered to the sidewalk residents by my friend Bowen’s church. Inviting my nephew Daniel and his dad Rich to come along was a way to share what I expected to be an experience that would deepen our gratitude. So we drove to Second and San Pedro, circled several blocks around the Rescue Mission and got, in the process, an idea of the scope of poverty in lines of “cardboard condos” and tents. We left the car in the Mission underground lot, found our way up a stairwell, only to discover there was no way out. The door behind us self-locked, the passageway above was locked down, and the door to the outside world was marked, “Do not Open this Door.” The angry homeless guy on the other side of the door hollered for us to open it for him–enough proof as to why we should not! But Bowen called and said he was tied up with service preparations; could we just make our way through that door and find the parking lot where the meeting was about to begin? That led to the first of two God-sightings. We were afraid. But we paused for a brief prayer for God’s protection and walked out the door. We strode confidently through the courtyard, hiding our insecurity, took a right turn onto the sidewalk jammed with people, and arrived at the outdoor meeting place with huge relief.

 

We found seats and waited while a member of the praise team tested the microphones. Soon an African-American lady, quite obviously not a worship team member but a skid row regular, approached the front to volunteer her services as a microphone tester. “Can you hear this!?” she shouted into the mic.  I cringed inside when she asked, “May I sing a little song?” Before the staff could object, she began to sing and in so doing gave me yet another God-sighting. “We are standing on holy ground,” she sang with a beautiful voice, perfectly pitched. “And I know that there are angels all around.” I thought of the war that waged in the hearts and tormented minds on skid row. I smiled at the thought of angels everywhere in that place. “Let us praise Jesus now, for we are standing in his presence, on holy ground.”

 

By this time, another lady had come to the front aisle with arms raised in praise. And I thanked God for the gift of that moment, a reminder that God has no preference for suburban churches where predictability reigns. I thought again why we must get out of our comfort zones, why we see Christ in new ways through the eyes of others, and how God can shine His light in any place, no matter how dark.

 

The rest of the meeting was fine, but I had already heard from God before the opening prayer. That treacherous ground had become holy.





A Blessing to Bridge Cultures

2 11 2011

Recently in Brazil I concluded my report with this blessing:

 

May your shoes find their way to our doorstep

That we may greet one another soon.

May we share a cup of tea or strong coffee

That we might move from colleagues to friends.

May our hands join together as partners

And our fears slowly turn into trust.

Will you honor us by speaking your mind

That our thoughts be enriched by yours.

May the Spirit of God work within us

That our hearts grow together as one.





Psalm of the Waterfalls

30 10 2011

Words fail. Stop short.But I must try.I came upon a hidden world of aquatic beauty so splendid as to defy description.Only imagination could encompass unnumbered waterfalls, vigorously cascading, each one calling, “Look here! Have you ever seen pristine beauty like mine?”One dives halfway down, pausing for awhile in a green pool before plunging again to the frothy floor to begin its meandering journey through forest and hill toward the ocean to the east.Another, roaring like a proud lion before a duel, blasts forth in triumphant power, angrily churning its way from highest pinnacle to fuming cauldron below, exploding bomb-like on the floor and launching a plume toward the sky.By the hundreds, small and great, these sentinels from heaven tirelessly proclaim the Great One who set them in place between black basalt cliffs accented in tropical greens.The waters warn of His danger for, though He is kind, His restrained anger will bring justice in its time.As great waters plunge with aggression, so is the One whose might relentlessly supplies power to all living things.The cascading amphitheater announces the beauty of the Creator whose poetry weaves through all nature, from colorful Toucan to fragrant bougainvillea.Danger. Power. Beauty.Iguassu shows what words cannot tell.Here, where the waters gather in anonymity, surrendering national pride to unity of praise, I bow my dripping head to worship You, My Creator.





A picture of God’s love for all

3 10 2011

I keep a small rendition of this painting over my desk to remind me of God’s heart for all nations and tribes. The artist, Hyatt Moore, mentions on a video that explains the concept and process, that an African-American woman viewed the painting and remarked, “This is the first time I have felt invited.”

Hyatt mentions that the painting should actually be entitled “The Next Supper” because it depicts the renewal of fellowship around the Lord’s Table when He comes again. Each of the twelve individuals depicts a particular ethnic group. Interestingly, Hyatt says that the most difficult person to paint was Jesus. He would never consider painting Him as a caucasian–that wasn’t the issue. It is just….how do you paint Jesus?

As you reflect on the painting, what insights come to your mind?

For me, I see a bunch of people who can’t understand each other linguistically. Given the confinements of their own culture, they are unable to get along. Except for the man in the middle. They all look to Him. Only in Him can they get along, much less live together in unity. At that table, there is neither Afghani nor Maasai, neither Native American nor Mongolian, neither black nor white, for they know that “Christ is all, and in all” (Colossians 3:11).

That is why we must pursue mission, so that the good news of the only Unifier can reach those hidden in their cultural enclaves. Each of us must take a role as Prayer, Giver, Sender, or Goer.

And that is why we must press on toward intercultural mutuality, where we sit around the table of Jesus together, all on the same level. There we learn from Him together. There we see Him more fully through the hearts of our brothers and sisters who see Him in their own unique ways. This is why our churches should not be places we retreat to those just like us, but where we search for ways for all to feel genuinely invited to the table…as in truth they are.