Exit row seating

Unforgiving, that is what scares us about airplanes. Practically every accident involving an airplane is completely fatal. There is no margin for error. Falling out the sky is such a total death trip. Few of us know anyone who has survived a plane crash. All of us know people who have survived auto accidents.

So while the additional leg room on the flight to Zurich was welcome, it made me stop and think about the added responsibility that also comes with this seat in the exit row. The evil side of me, says "Oh yes, I am closer to escaping this airplane than the guy behind me, because I am closest to the emergency exit." I can easily live my life like that too (yes I am a missionary, and yes I know that this is ungodly, and yes I am working on this problem - that's why I am writing this blog). I can easily think that I am saved, and that that is mostly what matters. Once someone asked Spurgeon if the heathen will be saved without preaching the gospel to them, he replied, ‘the question is, ‘Are we saved if we do not preach the Gospel to them’?. . . . and I think that is a powerful answer.

That was the evil side of me. There is the humane side and the spirit of God side of me that says, "No I will stand here and help other people out of the plane." While this view is closer to a Christ-like point of view, it too is fraught with pitfalls. Like "how noble it is to save people" or "how heroic it is to sacrifice oneself for others." Missionaries get that crap all the time. Heck, who are we kidding? It is what keeps half the missionary force on the field. But this too is a wrong perspective because I certainly am no more noble nor heroic than anyone else.

Final destinations, just like airplane crashes, are completely the end. That video on the airplane that shows these cartoon characters helping others down the "slides that deploy in case of a water landing" are cartoons for a reason - because there is no such thing as a water landing. Oh it may be a possibility in the world of physics and science, but when have you ever heard of one actually happening?

I have come to the conclusion after flying around the world for the last 32 years (I took my first flight when I was 12), that all this safety business/instruction on an airplane is mainly to give the illusion of safety, the feeling that everything is under control and survivable no matter what. Even though I continue to enjoy the view of the Swiss Alps out my window in this sardine can filled with people zipping through the atmosphere, if the engines go out, there is no stopping the work of gravity - I have no illusions about this.

And I have come to the conclusion after 20 plus years of vocational ministry that I also can't save anybody in a spiritual sense. Only God can do that, only Him. At the same time, I can't let the cynicism of 32 years of flying grab me in a spiritual sense, and cause me to lose perspective that God is both challenging me and inviting me (us?) to join in His saving work around the world.

So I am planting myself in the exit row of life, and I am determined to help all I can.

kidnapped at 13 years of age

She was telling us this amazing story, of the kidnapping . . . but her story alone was amazing. Here she is in the Hairy Armpit, born in Iran, married to a local who brought her here and now she and her two daughters continue this line of strong women who have overcome amazing trials.

So as we sat at the table, mesmerized by the story of her grandmother, who at the age of 13 was kidnapped by an Iranian man in Russia (Georgia more precisely) and taken to Iran to be his bride, and she was. She told us that her grandparents remained married for their natural lives.

And while not a kidnap victim per se, Silvi is reliving her grandmother’s challenges, as she is stuck in Skopje. As she sat there with her Persian bible (the first I had ever seen in my life) she told us some of her story. Long story short, she was just so thankful for the International Church here in Skopje, and for the home group that we were attending.

It was a pungent reminder to me that while I cannot control what comes my way in life, I can control how I respond to it, and in that bring much glory (or shame) to the King. It made me a bit ashamed to read some of my previous posts, peeing and moaning about whatever, when other people nearby and within our reach, are trapped in one sense, yet set free by God in another. She calls me her pastor . . . I felt like a worm.

Our home runneth over - with females!

It has come once again to Skopje, the monthly invasion of women . . . all connected to my wife in some fashion! I swear, she has to be the most well-known woman in the entire country. I am largely known throughout the country as Brenda’s man. If I go to the store, all the people who work there want to know is, “How is Brenda?” or “Where is Brenda?” And that happens when I go to the market, the money exchange, the grocery store, the book store, the clinic, the hospital, the printing shop, heck I can’t even go to McDonalds without the girl taking my order asking, “Where is Brenda?” I don’t think any of the women actually know my name. That is probably good since I would have to then engage them in endless conversations extolling the virtues of my lovely wife, which would then in turn convince them that I am the village idiot, since all one can do when listening to Brenda’s virtues is just sit there and shake your head up and down. Not a bad thing to be said about her. She is reaching icon status here in the hairy armpit.

But as I was saying the invasion is on in about 24 hours and will last all weekend. I am actively devising strategies to hide and evade. Not that I don’t like these women, they actually represent the best and the brightest from all of our churches from across the whole of Macedonia. The are the creme of the crop . . . and Brenda is training them here once a month for a weekend of intense teaching. Then she lives on the road the rest of the month, visiting each of them in their own setting and situation. Mentoring them, coaching them, crying with them and laughing with them . . . no wonder they love her.

I leave for the States on Monday morning at 0:dark:30 . . . and I have a full day of services on Sunday . . . so I have plenty to keep me hopping and working. All in all this is a good invasion, I will just keep a low profile and cheerlead from the sideline. Just call me Brenda’s man.

Wasting time praying?

It was not the way that I prefer to use my mornings . . . a prayer meeting. On one hand, it had potential. We gathered together all the pastors of all the churches (a major miracle in and of itself) in one place to pray about the Global day of prayer, coming up soon.

So far we are an hour into this meeting of prayer, without having prayed a single time.☹ Unfortunately this typifies my experience with prayer meetings . . . lots of talking . . . no listening . . . little prayer.

With the relational and organizational pressures of this week, my normal prayer time would have been much more effective. What drives (causes us) us to waste time praying in these fashions? Its like we delay getting around to God!

Of course there is no such thing as wasted prayer. Just wasted prayer meetings. I love it when people finally stop their little social talkings and start to pray, really pray from their hearts, calling out to the Living God. I need to find a way to spend far more praying and far less time flushing time down the drain.

Tonight was a much better example . . . and all with teenagers. Simple direct prayers, said with earnestness and faith. It was refreshing and a great end to a great worship practice. We rocked tonight, both in heaven and musically.

people and emails

Where do the days go? As I am getting ready for bed here and wondering that to myself, I just happened to count how many emails that I wrote today. That number would be 28 (oops, just answered Beth and that makes 29). And then I counted how many people I met with today at various times, and that number would be 13. I don’t know if that number is high or low, but I do know that these two tasks of people and email took 14 hours to accomplish. I just sent the last couple home and its 11:00 pm. I guess there were lots of incidentals thrown in there as well. 12 SMS’s, 9 cell phone calls, 6 land line calls (that I can remember). And a meal with my wife ☺ That was the best part of the day.

Is this the work of God in the modern world? Yeah, I know I have the spiritual gift of fund-raising, but is it really God’s ministry for the day?

Well one side of me says yes and the other side of me is not so sure. The yes side says that it was all communication stuff and that is certainly the hard work of ministry. People and communication are the two axis that ministry often pivots on. The side of me that says no, is the scholarly side that would rather be diving into the Word getting ready for Sunday. Sure I guess there needs to be a balance right? huh? What balance do we evangelicals have? Most of us believe that we don’t pray enough, read the Scriptures enough, be with people enough, communicate God’s Truth often enough. So where is the balance and when is enough enough?

It was just a typical people/email day, plus . . . not to mention my favorite spiritual discipline of writing a blog throughout the work week. ☺ Can I see God in all of this talk (communication)? I am not sure. Am I busy? For certain. I know that many believe that we cannot see the eternal value of what we do until eternity . . . but only a fool would not at least try.

Blueberry Muffins

Have you ever tried to mix baking and ministry? Are you a man? Well I have done and am all of the previous. The results can be pretty funny. Sundays are looooong days that begin at 5:00 am. And so Brenda was traveling again yesterday, on the road as usual, and so I have two goals here, fix myself breakfast and make some muffins for the fellowship time at the church. But like a typical man, I did not make certain that I had all the ingredients prior to starting this process.

So I fired the oven up, got out the muffin pan, greased it up, started mixing all the batter in and then those expensive blueberries! Then the water, then the eggs, and then the vegetable oil . . . WHAT, no OIL! It’s 6:00 am on a Sunday morning, no stores are open yet, and I have to be at the church in a bit over an hour for worship practice! So the best I could do was melt some butter we had and add that to the mix.

The results were debatable, yet no one came up to me at church and said, “Who baked those terrible muffins!?” I would have gladly admitted that I was the culprit, but thankfully no one said a word. But it got me to thinking about how many things in my life are like making blueberry muffins. I think I often approach my spiritual life in the same manner . . . busily working at it, without counting the cost of this action, or making certain that I have the proper elements in place to accomplish the goal. It seems to me that this is a risky (and perhaps ungodly) way to live and one that has great potential for harm. I want to live more carefully than that . . . and I think in order to do so, I will have to slow down the pace a bit more than I am currently living, and be a bit more thoughtful about where I am heading, and where that will take us all.

The coat of another person

It was one of the loudest parties I have ever attended in my whole life . . . and that covers quite a few parties. This party was one of those, lean close to the ear and yell as loud as you possible can, to even be heard kind of parties. Insult to injury was that all the music was from the late 70’s. ☹

It was a surprise birthday party for an international businessman that happens to attend the International Church that I lead. He certainly was surprised, that, I can vouch for, especially when the belly dancer arrived! But I may tell you about that in another blog.

Yet it is in such contexts that some of the very best pre-evangelism happens. Out of the 100 guests there last night, 7 of us were core people from the International Church. So we spent the entire night spreading Salt.

It must be my age, but my capacity for ear-folicle-destroyingly-loud music has declined, and so after 40 minutes of suffering near permanent brain-damage from the quest to be nice and thoughtful and hospitable . . . I snuck out to the stairwell landing at the coat rack and served in the capacity of greeter and coat hanger/arranger. Soon I was joined by another fellow from the church and we proceeded to sow Seeds . . . for the rest of the evening. Some of them appear to fall onto fruitful ground. It was great fun!

One example, George (a local boy, not ex-pat) kept circling back to me throughout the evening. He was intrigued because everyone from the church was calling me “Pastor” and introducing me as their pastor. In Macedonian language that can only be translated as pope or Father. George said, “there is no way that you are a pope!” And of course I certainly do not remotely fit the Orthodox understanding of that role (nor the Western one either for that matter), which has lots to do with position, power and costumes (OK uniforms if you must). I am not sure what threw him the most, my jeans, my earrings, or my long hair, but he steadfastly refused to believe that I was a pastor. I took that as a great compliment.

As the evening was drawing to a close, George had circled back to me yet again and we were having a ball arguing about women and health and the final destinies of our souls, when the birthday boy join in our conversation. George and I switched back into English, and I proposed a toast, literally to birthday boy’s health. George immediately said, “but I thought you said that ultimately our health was not important, and here you are toasting his health!” And I said to him, “George, I was toasting his Spiritual health.” And in an amazing moment, I looked up and in a semi-circle around George were all 7 of us from the church. I said to George, “you are surrounded by spiritual people, as all 7 of us attend the International Church.” George said incredulously “you are a pope!” To which we all howled ☺

Then it was time to go home, because I needed to call my daughter back in the States, and I grabbed my leather jacket, as George came up to me once again, and said, “maybe I will see you Sunday morning.” And maybe we will indeed. Please bring George to yourself Lord Jesus.

I almost lost my voice from yelling, but it felt good to see God drawing people to Himself and His children. I am a pastor, among other things, yet I am a lousy coat man, because this morning I realized that I came home with someone else’s leather coat.

Evil Saints?

Here we have saints for the house (and you sacrifice an animal and place the bones in the cornerstone of the house), each person has their personal saint, and there are saints for half a dozen other things as well. The way you choose your house saint is, you go to the local priest, and he takes the book of saints and opens it randomly three times and you can choose any one of those three saints that the priest open up to, as your personal house/home saint.

Now we have met more people than we can count, who have had their saints come to them in dreams and have now begun terrorizing them and introducing them to more “saints”. We know people who have had these demons come into their rooms and terrorize them!

As Brenda is teaching women leaders from all across the hairy armpit, she also has been mentoring them in between teaching times. One of the ladies she was with today, handed Brenda her homework and said to Brenda, “I have come to realize from the Scriptures that celebrating the saint day for the house and the saint day for our name saint, and all these pagan celebrations are in direct opposition to serving the living God, but Brenda, I am afraid to stop the saint days!”

We met people every week who have St. Peter, or St Petra (his feminine equivalent) come to them in dreams, demanding service, introducing more spirits, etc, etc. When these people meet the living God, the horrible nature of these “Saints” are exposed. I don’t often ask you to do this, but please stop and pray that people will be freed from bondage here, and have their spiritual eyes opened. Unfortunately, few people find Jesus in this part of the world, but everyone has a Saint.

persevering

Its hard to hang in there sometimes. And we both know dozens of people who “tried” and “quit” and lets face it, I could easily become one of those persons. I could so easily fade back into the crowd . . . fade off the CMA radar . . . fade out of the organization, and/or the church, I could even fade out of myself . . . and be nothing anymore.

We don’t hear much about stick-to-itiveness any more. Its sorta gone out of style I think. And I am highly sympathetic to the fact that it has gone out of style, but on the other hand, it sure is difficult to lead without it! In fact it is difficult to do anything significant without it.

Financial downturns, building projects, additional staff, significant growth, people leaving, and needy seasons of life are all give up times according to leadership guru Carson Pue. This is when all but the toughest give up and quit. And let’s face it, you don’t even have to be going through one of the events listed above, you can quietly be falling apart inside, and feeling like its all a waste of time. Many days, OK correction, most days I ask myself it is all worth it. Some days you just don’t want to get up out of bed . . . those are the worst. On the other hand, you can’t build on what you propose to do . . . you actually have to do it. You have to get up one more time than you have been kicked across the room. Is that what makes a good leader?

So what gets you up in the mornings? Me? I am just trying to stick-to-it and finish something that I started . . . but does this job have an ending point? Persevering is a tough gig.

I hate Americans, Greeks and Bulgarians!

She told me this as I was buying my baking potatoes and broccoli. I am fairly certain that this means she doesn’t know I am an American, but then again one can never tell in the hairy armpit. She continued, “I hate the Greeks because they won’t recognize our name, I hate the Bulgarians because they think we are one of them, and I hate the Americans because they are such bullies around the world.” My produce lady in one fell swoop summed up the politics and attitudes of my entire neighborhood.

What is so intriguing about this dialogue is that this lady considers herself our friend. I think the lesson I learn here is that people can receive you on your own terms if they remain unaware of your political connections/histories/leanings, (regardless how powerless/helpless/uninvolved/unwilling you may be in relationship to those connections). I wonder if I can apply this to my relationships that are moving in a spiritual direction? Is this being “wise as a serpent and innocent as a dove”?

My produce lady could have (and would have had she thought of it) said just as well, “I hate every religion (other than Orthodoxy).” And once again, in a nutshell she would have captured the religious politics and attitudes of my neighborhood.

What this means that my neighbors love me, but they hate my origins and faith. The question then becomes how to bridge the like and dislike? Lets make it more practical. My neighbor, the dirty old man who lives next door . . . he and I ran into each other a couple of days ago on the street. He was hugging on me and talking about how much he has missed me and how soon can we sit and drink a coffee together! But he too, as much as he loves me, often has a hard time getting beyond the fact that I am not Orthodox (he has gotten past the fact that I am an American, because according to him I don’t really act like one. But what does an American act like? Our diversity is a little breathtaking for largely mono-cultural perspectives to get a grip on). When he and I starting talking about Christ, he changes the subject to religion. Its the automatic knee-jerk reaction to Faith in the hairy armpit. Where do you go from there?

Superbowl of decadence

OK, I admit it . . . I put on my unapologically American hat last night and I stayed up most of the night and watched the superbowl LIVE on Macedonian television. Not only did I watch the superbowl, but I also had American salsa (though admitedly unamerican chips). It felt very decadent ☺ I have to fess up . . . I don’t indulge myself like this very often. It was great I have to say ☺.

Especially after the mighty struggle that church was Sunday morning. I had gotten a good night’s sleep Saturday night, but after the morning’s service, I laid down and slept another 3 hours! The service was definitely a struggle for me yesterday. I am not exactly sure why, but I am confident that it was one of the toughest mornings I have had preaching in a long time. Preaching is often like breathing for me . . . but not this one.

Honestly, I enjoyed watching the boys play in the rain more than I enjoyed the spiritual battle in the service Sunday.

An Irishman eating Mexican in Macedonia

As I have said, truth is stranger than fiction here. Last night I was sitting in a Mexican pub (all the workers are proudly trained in Slovenia . . . which I guess is marginally closer to Mexico than Macedonia) with an Irishman, two Macedonians, and another American. This little hole in the wall was packed out and since we were a group of five, we had to take a table on the first level.

The decor and atmosphere were great, although Mexican music would have been better, because we had just come out of the philharmonic and pop/rock was a bit of a shocking change of pace musically. And inside the pub, there is a second level, almost like a terrance or inside balcony level . . . completely sharing the same air space . . . and I was informed that the upstairs part was the non-smoking section. I choked on my quesadilla when I heard this . . . have you ever heard about peeing in the pool . . . well this is the same effect. But since I don’t generally sit in the non-smoking section anyhow, what does it matter?

The Irishman and his lovely wife (a violinist in the Macedonian National Philharmonic Orchestra) also are folks who know and love Jesus and attend the International Church which I lead on the side. The other two guests with us definitely don’t know Jesus and frankly are barely interested in spiritual things . . . but in this part of the world, we operate on the principle that spiritual interest in God can only grow, when you know some people who have the Spirit of God. Unfortunately, spiritual interest in magic, spells, demons and curses is high and there is a corresponding high number of people who have those spirits around all the time.

People are so far from the living God . . . in the sense that most have never even met a Christian, much less read a bible or prayed . . . that you need to be a patient person and plan on spending lots of time with all sorts of people in Mexican (and every other type of) pubs. Jesus woulda been there, right in the mix (Luke 15:1-2).

Clarity in a polluted world

An unbelievable blue sky, of the deepest blue and the power of the sun multiplied many times over as it reflected off the snow, made for unusual and powerful clarity in a place that is mostly know for it's amazingly bad air . . . pollution is a terrible factor in our daily lives. Air pollution that is . . . but we also have the moral variety as well. Soul ripping pornography on TV and every newsstand, a culture stripped of grace, racial and ethnic hatred of immense proportions, a country rife with jealousy and suspicions of every type, and an obsession with material things that defies belief. This is the hairy armpit, its where I live, Jesus is desperately needed here.

But today I got above all of that, literally. I spent the day at 5600 feet elevation on the ski slopes. We got above all of the air pollution, and the sky was so amazingly clear that I was sure I could see the throne room of the Living God. It was glorious. I had forgotten that the world could be such a beautiful place.

















But this blog is more about the moral pollution that living in this world involves and the appropriate Christian response. I find it consistently fascinating and discouraging that almost every Christian organization in the world today (as well as the non-christian religions) make a standard of rules to which they expect everyone to follow. From where I am sitting after 27 years in the Kingdom of God, these standards are always "Jesus and something else." It's really depressing how we keep adding to the scriptures.

The moral pollution that I mentioned earlier I can understand . . . it's normal for the unredeemed world to be . . . well . . . unredeemed. It gets me though when we Christians add all these "extras" to the simple Gospel of Jesus Christ . . . which is Jesus plus nothing. Last week I was getting hammered by a local missionary because essentially I was not agreeing that the local pastors and people in the National Church abstain from alcoholic beverages. How can we insist on more than the Holy Scriptures insist on? (At some point one must come to grip with the fact that the living Son of God made high quality wine for all to enjoy). Of course I refused to say that all drinking is a sin for the simple fact that Scripture never says that either. Here we would have to ban communion as well were we to take this position since we use wine in our celebration of the Lord's supper. (Then again us using grape juice instead of wine is another one of those additions)

Then another missionary reamed me for not challenging the mild heresies of one of the ladies in our International Church. They insisted that I was a liberal and I did not believe in the absolute inerrancy of Scripture. To which I replied that I in fact do hold to an inerrant view of God's Holy Word, but I do not hold to an inerrant understanding of God's Word on our part. I still do not think that these people were happy with me in the end. I am willing to let the Word of God say what it says , and I am willing to let it not say what it does not say.

The moral pollution in this world is what Jesus came to set us free from and He is stilling willing to do so, but then with the most unimaginable arrogance, we add rules, make policies, and draw lines of man-made holiness in the sand, and it seems that God now needs to set us free from ourselves too. Its hard to have clarity in a polluted world.

the little drummer girl

She wants to be a drummer. She wants to be a drummer in our worship band. She is 13 years old, barely. She is smart and sassy, with the endless optimism of youth. Finally she wrangled an audition out of me. So today we are got together and I played out the Sunday set and she has only one problem really that I can see . . . she seems to have no rhythm.

Now a drummer with no rhythm is a problem. It is the underlying talent in playing the drums. Can you teach rhythm? Well I tried a bit today (we will see if she improves), and told her that keeping a rock steady beat through the entire song is what I need more than anything else. It is the primary service of a drummer. Flash and cymbals I can live without, but someone to keep us at a steady pace . . . that would enhance our whole performance significantly.

Driving home (in a hurry since I have guests coming and Brenda is out of town, I am cooking) I was thinking that God pretty much seeks the same thing from me, that I seek in the new drummer chick, a steady pace, an unwavering heartbeat for the King and the Kingdom. Now to wonder, . . . do I have rhythm?

"you are a control freak"

That is what Emma said to me. I don’t think she meant it as a compliment. But what she said does not jive with the way that I perceive myself, and so I asked my boss and he was more diplomatic than Emma, he said that when something was important to me, that I kept pressure on it until I got it done satisfactory manner. Still not sure of this control-freak status that Emma had assigned to me, I ask my lovely bride of 20 plus years, what she thought, “Brenda, am I a control freak?”

You would think that this should be a yes or no question. I found that answering this question was more complex than that, and that means that I am more complex than a simple yes or no. Brenda remarked that no I was not a control freak in that I had to have a finger in every pie; that I regularly give ministry away and recruit people actively to be involved and that I give away responsibilities. Yet, yes I am a control freak in the sense that I want what is done to be done well, and that that tenacious pattern could easily been seen by others to be control-freaky.

I was OK with this feedback from Mark and Brenda, because quality control is one thing; keeping everyone and everything under your thumb or not giving ministry away are entirely something else. I want to be the first, and I can’t stand the second in anyone.

It is risky to ask people such open-ended questions, because . . . of course . . . you have no control of the answer or feedback that you are going to get. Yet if you are not open to a feedback loop, then you are most certainly stuck in whatever rut you have dug for yourself. Frankly I am glad that Brenda, Mark and Emma love me enough to tell me what I am, and where I need some reflection. Now if only I can be smart enough to change what needs to be changed.

The reason I asked Brenda and Mark was because they were strong enough to have already asked me to be a part of their feedback loop.

depersonalization

Do you ever feel, that input always exceeds output or that you are in perpetual motion yet always craving rest or that your level of caring cannot be sustained in the absence of results or that you have lost the sense that what you do is important or that you don’t have enough feelings left for human beings to do anything for them out of pity or that you have hurry sickness??????

These are all symptoms of depersonalization or better known as burnout . Its where “ . . . happiness equals reality divided by expectations” and it is the “gap between expectation and reward.” Long story short, the pace of our Western lives is insane . . . in a study between American professors and Mexican university professors, the Mexican burnout rate was much lower . . . and the researchers concluded that it was because they came home to eat at noon, saw their families and took a rest. The pace was much more sustainable in the lives of the Mexican professors.

Now where I grew up, they would just be called lazy because they didn’t go go go go go go and go. No wonder people in my family die at the ripe old age of 60. The unrelenting pressure of go go go go go has its price. My friend asked me this week if I felt like the mission put that kind of stress and pressure on me, and I told him no, that it comes from within.

Thus I am practicing the word “no” and “I can’t” and “you will have to find someone else” and so on and so forth. So far I have been having little success. Maybe I should become a vegetarian . . . that seems easier. Burning out . . . is it in my genes?

the bible reading atheist

Boijan is just so. He consistently and faithfully states his opposition to the idea that God exists in any form, and in fact, declared last night in Brenda’s English class that one of his primary goals in life was to debunk all religious belief.

Yet he comes to an openly evangelisticly-oriented English class which uses the Bible as its only textbook and meets in an Evangelical church! Brenda always declares loudly and clearly at the beginning of her English class cycles, “if you have a problem reading the bible or coming to a protestant church, then this class is not for you.” Boijan is in his fifth level with Brenda’s class!

Brenda often tells Boijan that she is praying for him, and he says, “don’t waste your time.” Occasionally Boijan will ask Brenda to pray to God for him to receive certain things, like most recently, to win the Apartment Lottery. Boijan did not win the apartment so thus once again he insists that God does not exists.

Then Brenda proceeded to tell Boijan of Amy Carmichael who as a child had prayed that her brown eyes would be made blue. Of course God did not answer that prayer either, and Amy found that in her years (55 without a furlough!) in India, having blue eyes would have made life a 1000 times more difficult. By the time Brenda finished telling the story (to Boijan), the whole class had stopped what they were doing and were listening carefully. Who knows what is going on with Boijan, the devout atheist who reads the bible twice a week for years now in Brenda’s English class? God’s word is powerful and sharper than any two-edged sword . . . may it cut the blindness from Boijan’s heart and free him up to be a member of God’s family.

While this story from Amy Carmichael’s childhood is powerful and moving, it has not nearly the thunder as do some of her adult statements. The one I find most true and most difficult and maddeningly painful is what she said in response to a young lady who wrote her a letter and asked Amy “what is missionary life like?” to which Amy replied “Missionary life is simply a chance to die.” In our modern world of me, I guess that concept is no less strange than an atheist who reads the bible.

666 emails

Nine emails, that is how many emails I answer per hour somedays - an email every 6.66 minutes. They are about this set of songs, those sermons, that building team, this project, that meeting, this committee, etc, etc. I wonder how God perceives this endless never-completed task we call work? There are several interesting overlaps between Communism and Christianity that I have discovered in life. And one of the main ideas that we share a kinship for is the idea that work is, in and of itself, virtuous.

When we lived in Russia, you would see these huge (everything was done on a grand scale in Russia) banners and marquees on factories, filled with propaganda about how the workers rule and are the most valuable people in society, etc, etc. And in the church it seems that we value nothing, as much as we value hard work, effort, and lets burn-out for Jesus and all that jazz. But burnout by definition means depleting yourself . We think people in “caring professions” experience burnout to a far higher degree than do other professions, because such people are idealists, and that makes us prone to disillusionment. I could easily be the master of disillusionment. But what I just stated is not accurate, the caring professions do not burn out more than other professions - - they just have been studied much more in relationship to burnout, than have other professions. I read one statistic today that states that lawyers in New York City leave their firms at the rate of 36% per year! (The assumption being that most of them don’t go to any other firm)

The problem is that work and home have crossed over one another so much in ministry that there are no boundaries any longer. Perhaps there never were. Schaufeli uses this phrase work-home interference to describe the phenomena of work and home crossing over into one another’s spheres and blurring the lines, and boundaries of life. It’s that aspect of ministry when you get a call during your family dinner, or people drop over for counseling when you are having your bedtime story with your children, or in our case having your work place and home being one and the same place.

Granted the whole idea of a 40 hour work week, and probably the concept of family time as well, is strictly a recent Western idea that can show no scripture and verse for support. And if you get outside of Western zip-codes, finding modern day sweat shops is an easy thing to do. Hey where unemployment exceeds 40%, if you don’t like the hours - then fine go home because there are six more people just waiting to take your place; e.g. the worker doesn’t have a chance.

I just wonder if our work days, work pace, work commitment, work attitude, work mentality and workaholism bring honor and glory to God? And if it doesn’t then why do we continue? And if does, why don’t we work more? This is a tough subject and one that is becoming more of an issue for me as I get older . . . it is much more taxing to keep up those same hours now, than it was when I was 20 years younger. I guess the real question is, does He want me too? Another person defined burnout as “when we wake up one morning and realize that what we’re doing has appalling little value” and when that happens in the church it is far more than burnout, it is a crisis in faith.

I might need to disconnect for a while and take a break.

four beggars and a leg hugger

Being accosted by gypsy beggars is an experience every person in the world should have at least once in life. There is nothing quite like it anywhere. On this particular evening, I had just spend a glorious night at the symphony with friends (oh Beethoven’s 5th Piano concerto almost brought tears to my eyes) and afterwards we went out for drinks.

Two hours later, everyone was satisfied with the social discourse of the evening and were ready to head home. So as we departed the bar, we started to break up into individual groups heading different directions. Both Lejla the violinist and Jovitsa the viola player offered me rides home but I was feeling like a good walk, so I declined both offers and started up the boulevard toward the old train station.

Then the attack came. Out of nowhere I was surrounded by five gypsy kids between the ages of 3 years old to maybe 12 years old. They had been trying to stay warm under a bench and a tree on the boulevard, when they saw this fat juicy target (me) walking down the street by himself, they launched themselves at me.

I immediately grabbed my wallet, so that it would not develop wings and fly away, and I told them all roughly (which is the only language they know and understand) to go away and leave me in peace. The littlest fellow promptly wraps himself around my leg like a koala bear, so that I cannot escape. I finally peel him/her off of me and told him/her that I would feed him/her to the next available dog (people here have an great and unnatural fear of dogs) if he/she grabbed my leg again.

That took the wind out of most of their sails and they all quit following me, except one boy. “I just want to have some bread to eat, please mister I just want some bread to eat!” he said over and over. With the pleasurable notes of Beethoven still stirring in my mind, I suddenly stopped walking, and the gypsy boy jumped away from me, expecting that I would hit him. Instead of bopping him up the side of his head, I asked him, “Do you want bread? Really truly? Or do you want money?” Now there is only one right answer here, and the young fellow intuited that right quickly, and said bread. So I changed direction and headed toward a bakery.

Thus seeing that I was actually intending to purchase real bread, (it must have been the symphony), the boy quickly started to re-negotiate. “Oh mister can we have a sandwich instead?” What do I care? Sure a sandwich it is. I could not find a sandwich shop open since it was after midnight by this time, but my new little leech found one right away and all but dragged me there. Now I bought the gypsy boy four sandwiches while he stood outside the cafe with his face pressed up against the window staring with big eyes as the man behind the counter made the sandwiches. And all the while the cook talked with the waiter about what a fool I was for buying these little ragamuffins some of the shop’s fine cuisine. I on the other hand, was hearing the fine notes of Beethoven floating through my soul and enjoying the movement in my heart . . . in other words, the surly cook was not about to shatter my pleasure in the evening.

Finally sandwiches in hand, I exited the sandwich shoppe and the gypsy boy grabs the bag out of my hand.

I hope that you were not expecting him to say thank you, for I surely was not. He did say something though, he said, “hey mister, how about a drink . . . .” And with a howl of genuine laughter at his audacity and bravo, I resumed my walk in the dark.

spontaneous combustion

Here, you will throw away three years of work in a heartbeat, because the moment rules. This is spontaneous combustion ministry. You have never met a culture like this one. Brenda is so sick, yet she has 34 women leaders from all over Macedonia coming to town today for the very first ENTRUST seminar. Brenda has been dreaming about this, working on this, translating for this, developing this . . . for three years. Yet she is so sick that she can hardly get out of bed or stand up.

So as we were discussing this sick leader, e.g. my wife, the president’s wife suggested that we postpone the weekend, or rather move it to another weekend. Although people all over the country had re-arranged their lives in order to come here for two days, although mountains of materials have been purchased, although tons of food has been bought, although we have mobilized dozens of people to pull this conference off, N. was willing to change the lives of 50 plus people, simply because Brenda was sicker than a dog.

What N. was suggesting has happen countless times to us over the years here. A meeting that has been planned for months, can be cancelled in a moments notice if any minor thing comes up, because in this culture, the urgency of the immediate is so high. Spontaneous reaction to every little thing that calls on the phone or shows up at your door, burns up every type of planning that you could possibly envision . . . I know, because I am the planner dude. Spontaneous in work is an anathema to me. In my personal life its OK, but in work, never. Well, until the Balkans happened.

It is more than a bit flabbergasting to see how willing leaders are to forfeit years of work in the stress of the moment. There is little doubt about why it is nearly impossible to have continuity in work and strategy. This is the bad side of spontaneous combustion in ministry. You can’t measure anything concrete, because you can’t sustain or strategize anything . . . well at least in a Western manner.

The good side of it is this, that success or failure is measured only by the relational consequences, and nothing else. How much time, money, years, effort, strategy, nor materials matters hardly at all. The simple fact is that N. cares more about Brenda in the moment than she does about all the years of work that have gone into this seminar.

How do you measure success or failure in this context? Only by your relationships. Yet we come here with our denomination, our plans, our personnel, our mandate, our resources, our knowledge, our ideas, our strategies . . . . and frankly they are all completely useless without relationship . . . continuous careful attention to community and relationship. While my culture is not wired this way, and consequently neither am I, it seems apparent that God is and I need to be.

Now if I can only stop working and producing long enough to hang out and enjoy, I may yet be saved.