Faith of a Child

Have you ever wondered what persecution actually looks like? American Christians often associate persecution with getting a snicker from someone when they decide to wear a Christian T-shirt, or made fun of for listening to Christian music. You might actually deserve to get laughed at if you are/were listening to some of the overdone, over produced junk that was making babies cry back in the nineties. Some of you may actually have been shut down in a conversation when you began to talk about Him, or maybe you had the gumption to say something in your college biology class. This is what the American church often associates with persecution and often times these people are exalted as heroes of the faith, but should they?

I just returned from another trip to the mountains. A volunteer team came from the States and along with some local believers we headed into the hills. I love the training that we often do among the villages, but sharing with those that have never heard makes my blood flow. This trip focused on that. We trekked from village to village sharing with anyone that would listen. The Good News was preached and by the grace of The Mighty One Who Saves, a few were added to the number!!! As incredible as this was, something else seared my memory more.

Most of the people we shared with had never heard of the King, but in all the villages that we visited there seemed to be one family of believers standing fearlessly in the midst of the darkness. Some of these endured some persecution in their villages, but one family stood out among these faithful. Arriving in the village about eleven in the morning we headed to a house where one of the guys with us knew of a believer. This woman was excited to see us and welcomed us. She was going to cook lunch for us, so we headed out into the village to start sharing. This village probably would have gotten a dusting of the feet from those The Savior sent out in Luke as they were not welcoming, and they immediately told a few of the guys to hit the road at the first mention of the Name above all names. One man followed a couple of the guys to the next house and told the house that they did not want to hear what we were telling. This lead us very quickly to the school that for some reason let us come and talk with the children.

I have a very limited vocabulary in the language here, but I love to talk with the kids too much to let this stop me from embarrassing my self. The translators were helping the others so I headed into one of the classes on my own. I began to talk with the children and after about ten minutes I had ran out of things to say. I also may have been laughed out of the room as my southern draw can really butcher a word or two. This country has two greetings one is used by all and another is used when believers address each other. As I was leaving the classroom I said, “Namaste,” the word used to greet and say good-bye to all, but something happened I was not expecting. I heard about fifteen kids say Namaste but I also heard a very boldly spoken, “Jamic.” This is the term for believers. I quickly turned looked around asked who it was, and said Jamic back to a young boy that had identified himself as a believer.  I would later learn his name was Rupak. This would have probably been enough to keep me going a few more days, but his story is only just beginning.

Leaving the school we returned to the believers house. We filtered some water and prepared to eat Dal-Bhatt one more time. This really is not a bad meal, but after eating it twice a day for five days just a tiny bit of luster is lost. We ate and then after that we just rested for about an hour. The children getting out of school quickly brought us out of our slumber as they all wanted to come see the new attraction to their village. This is when I learned the little boy who proudly shouted his faith in class was the son of this equally incredible woman. One of the guys in the group is the worship leader at his home church, and one of the locals had actually been carrying a guitar from village to village. The guitar was brought out and a great time of sitting on dirt floors and worshiping the Risen King commenced. Worship was incredible and as a few villagers showed to hear the praise; the News was preached. After this we asked the woman if there was anyway we could pray for her. She spoke about being the only believers in her village and the hurt that comes with it. She mentioned not being welcomed into homes, how the villagers spoke to her family, how they were gossiped about and then about her son. She told us how her ten year old son was picked on for his beliefs. That he was beaten up on regular occasion because he was willing to die to himself and carry the cross to school. She also told how teachers turned a blind eye to the mocking. My eyes began to water and the little boy that had made his way to sit by my side during worship was pulled to my chest.

That moment produced one though in my mind, “I can’t believe I ever thought I knew what persecution was.” My arrogance in my faith was humbled. What a prideful man I was, that I am. A ten year old boy and his mother taught me more about faith than I in my pride ever thought I could learn. This young boy knows something I will probably never know. He knows truly what it is like to be made a mockery of, he has experienced what Paul speaks about and truly has felt the joy that many of us in American talk about be willing to do, knowing that we never will. I was also completely struck by the mother. She did not discourage her child from standing on His unending grace, but spoke proudly of a son that had been kicked, hit and scorned for The King. I remember telling my parents that I should get money for the A’s on my report card like the other kids in class. I also remember that every time this was met with one response, “we are not giving you money for doing what you are capable of and what is expected of you.’’ While sitting with this family though, I could see the mother with the same look my parents gave. The school may not stand up for her child but neither was he expected to hide his faith. Would I let my child endure beatings for His sake. Would my family stand and praise when our God caused my son such pain. I knew in that moment that I had no business among such people of great faith.

I realize that persecution happens to every Christin in some form, and if it is not you really might want to think of a new term to describe yourself. The truth is that persecution can manifest in many ways, and I do not want to down play it too much. The idea though that a small snicker from a Christian t-shirt is described sometimes using the same word as used in describing a beating or in some parts of the world death is both arrogant and ignorant. I have forever been challenged by the faith of a ten year old man of faith and his mother. I hope that you will let this story challenge you as well. Persecution will come but He as I learn more and more, is beyond faithful. 

Why we do it?

This week I returned from ten days in a mountain village where my team and myself spent time training local followers of the King. These believers, while they are true followers leave little to debate when discussing if they drink milk or eat meat. They are drinking skim milk, but most of them are hungry for a good steak. That is the where we are trying to get them to, but it will not happen over night. We taught them stories from the Word and how to share them. We went over basic theological principles, and probably one of the most important things we taught to them was about sharing their personal testimony. They seemed to understand most of what we taught.  E ach day before we dismissed we would make a couple of them stand up and share how they came to know The Savior. They enjoyed this time of sharing and learning about each other. Then after that we would say a prayer and send them out. They left with specific task given to them. They were to come back to class each day having shared their testimony with a non-believer. I prayed every day that they would return with an incredible story, but every day I was left disappointed. I am not talking about an incredible story of conversion, but only they would stand and share about a loving God that sacrificed his stainless blood for our unworthy hearts.

I have often been asked why I decided to leave the country, family and friends that I love dearly. I usually respond with that is what He has called me to do. That is true, but I would be remiss to not tell the rest of the story. I have been told throughout my life to do many things. I must admit though that I am the kind of person that typically does what I want. It is not that I don't care what other people think, but typically I care what I think more. That may sound a bit harsh and self-centered but it is a true statement. I think most of us would agree with it if we were honest with ourselves. This I believe is where a true fear of God comes in.

I remember as a small child wondering what it meant to fear God. This thought was lunacy to me. Fear someone that loves us so much He would give the Son. That would be crazy. Then I began to understand that is not what the Word meant. I do not fear God because He can strike me with lighting.* I realized that I must fear him because He first loved me.  I want to say I fear Him because I love him. The message of the cross though is that we love Him because He first loved us. I fear the King because He first loved me. This is an awesome truth that we must be aware of as His. The message of every other religion is that he/her/them loves us because we loved he/her/them first. This is where we start to touch on the full reason for why I do it.

I believe if you looked back at my life and how I responded to different people's commands to me you would have a very good barometer of my fear of them. I have not nor do I always do what my parents ask of me, but there is no one I have said no to with less frequency and yes to more.  I had also better have some very strong convictions before I decided different than what they said or recommended. I know that this is because they love me greatly. They have loved me a very long time and I have never doubted that what they tell me is what they honestly feel is best for me. I also would never doubt that they would give their life for me. That is why they are so loved and respected by me. I guess the point I am making is that I almost always do what they want because they loved me first. I can think back to coaches that I have had in my life.

I was "blessed" when playing college baseball to have many different skippers. I had some that had forgotten more about baseball that I knew. Some that really honestly knew less than my mother did about the great game, I will grant though that when it comes to mothers and baseball my mom is probably pretty high on the baseball IQ scale. I had some that cared more about winning then they did about the players on the team, but thankfully I had a few that loved their team and would do what ever they could to make not only good baseball players but great men. I learned from this that it was not baseball knowledge that prevailed me to follow their instructions, but how they felt my teammates and me. Simply put it was my coaches love for me that caused me to to be truthful about running the full distance. I would run through a fence for a coached that loved me, but not for one that might not have cared what happened after I hit the fence.

I have often heard people say that if we do not share the Message with those that are dying that we do not love them enough. This is absolutely true, but it is not even close to the root of the problem. The truth is that we do not share because we do not love Him enough. We do not fear him. We grow complacent in our affections to him. We forsake our first love for that which is easier. I will never forget the first time I was going to return a kick-off in a football game. I came home and told my dad what I was going to be doing in the game that Friday night and I will never forget how proud he was. I also remember him saying that no matter what else happened that when I caught the ball I must run like a bat out of hell and not stop till I was lying on the ground and the whistle was blowing. That seemed crazy to me. Run as fast as I could at eleven guys that wanted to separate my head from my shoulders, but he was my father and he loved me. I knew that he was not betraying my trust in him and I was not going to let him down. I did what He said because he loved me and I would to all that I could to not disappoint him.

If I told you the people of Nepal where enough motivation for me to be here it would be a horrific lie. The beauty of this country while incredible is not the rolling hills of Tennessee that I often dream of seeing. I would not be here if not for the King. His love motivates me to do crazy things. This becomes an object of joking when we talk about two people being in love, but it is truth. People change for the love of those that love them. I do what my parents ask because they love me. I do what my God says because He loves me, and this has led to a great love for Him. I do not want to disappoint Him. I want to stand before Him with clean hands saying, "God I only wanted to make your name great, because You deserve all that I had. You deserved more than I could give. You deserved more than I could give in a thousand lives. You deserved this because You yes You loved me."

I love the people of Nepal simply because He loves them. My core is selfish and longs to make itself great. I would choose myself over them each day. God though allows me to love them in a way that they do not deserve. He has allowed me to be loved in a completely undeserving way. These believers that we taught will grow from milk to solid food. They will understand and be pushed forward with a boldness and courage not found in their love for their families and friends, but in love that comes down from an Eternal Savior. So I challenge you not to share because you love your neighbor because I have learned that at the end of the day I rarely love them enough to tell them about Him. When though I allow His unfailing love to capture my heart, I can love anyone anywhere with a self sacrificing and to quote the great theologian Garth Brooks a shameless love. This is what has caused me to leave family and friends behind. This is what causes those filling the pulpits of the world each week to stand and proclaim the only true life changing message. It is Him that caused Stephen to choose death when confronted about his King. It is what causes widows to continue in ministry when lonely. His love for you is what also will allow you to share with those close to you when your love for them continually fails you. Love them not because you are told you should but because He loves them. Love Him because He first loved you and then you will understand "Why we do it."



I do not want to discredit this attribute of God. While he should be feared because of his love, he must also be feared because He controls the storms as well. A healthy fear of the power of God I believe is essential to a healthy view of God and who He truly is.

Neighbors

Since moving here I have made friends with my next door neighbors. I live in an apartment building and they live across the stairwell from my flat. Now this may not seem like that odd, other than the fact that really the only people I have befriended from this family is the children. They are two girls one 10 and the other 8. They are cousins and part of the nuclear family that lives in the house. They have been great neighbors as they are jumping to saying hello and always watching out for me as I make my way around town. They are also pretty incredible little girls. They both speak English well and the older speaks at an advanced level. She also speaks at least four other languages. That is right, a ten year old girl speaks five languages fluently. Recently though something happened that allowed me the opportunity to meet the rest of the family.

The grandmother passed away from liver failure. This was the first time since I have been here that someone I have had some sort of relationship with has passed away. I was not prepared for the emotions that would follow. The first were feelings that I have felt before, when someone you care about loses a loved one, you always hurt with them. You do not hurt in the same way, but you still hurt for them. You want to take their pain, and that was what I felt. I then began to think about the consequences of this death as well. I have known people to die without Christ as their Savior and it is a gut wrenching experience, but this was different. This grandmother had died and if she had heard of Jesus, she has probably never heard a presentation of the Gospel. That means that this woman is dead without Christ and never heard Him preached. The cold reality is that she is suffering eternal punishment in hell. This is hard to say and hard to think about, but this is the truth. The Bible is clear that the only way to heaven is Jesus Christ and those that have not heard are without excuse. This family though feels other wise, and the puja began, a type of worship centered on paying for your sins. They burned incense, offered food to the gods and prayed that she would find favor in the after life. All the while Christianity teaches that her fate is already decided. My beliefs were tested, do I truly believe that she is in Hell? I would be willing to preach it from the pulpit, but I had never been on this side of it though. I have never seen someone die without hearing the Gospel. There is no doubt though. I believe it to be true. I know what the Bible says. That does not make it easy.

The next step was to find out what to do about helping them. My culture teaches that when death happens with those you love bringing food is always a good start, and here the same rings true. I went down to the fruit stand and bought a good supply. I placed it in a basket and the fruit basket was born. This lead to another emotional roller coaster. After knocking on the door the mother of my friend answered, she being daughter of the woman that had just died. She like most at the death of a parent was hurting, and it was written all over her face. What can I do? What can I say? How can I make a difference? The only thing I knew to do was stand and wait. She takes my offering and invites me in for tea with the rest of her family. I sit down quickly drinking my tea and then begin to head for the door. I say good bye and my experience this day is over. This is where more reality begins to hit me. I hopefully over the next year here will have opportunities to share with her about my King. This family accepting though comes with some dire consequences.

Their accepting of the Christian faith is to accept this matriarch is dead and in hell. Wow. What now? Where do I even begin? Where do they begin? Would you be willing to admit your father or you mother was bound to a Christless eternity? I know that some of the truths of the Bible are not always easy. I wish everybody just went to heaven, but this cannot be the case. What kind of God can be gracious without being righteous, show mercy without judgement? Could hot exist without the cold? Noise without silence? This truth is hard to deal with, but one I must understand. Would it be easier to admit your parents are in Hell after you balked at telling them about Christ or to tell them about a Savior that loves them now?

Giving Up

I often look back and think about what God did in my life to bring me from the small town of Lawrenceburg to Kathmandu. I can look back at events that happened or conversations that were had, and now know the purpose of them. Originally though these would seem as random as the weather on a spring day. I remember slowly giving things over to God until I was ready to, in borrowing a phrase from Nike "Just Do It."

Family and friends were hard good byes, but one thing that was incredibly hard to give up was the game of kings, baseball. This did not happen overnight or even over the course of a month or year. You may ask why this was hard, well in my family baseball was and is and will be for generations what we do. I felt like giving up on this was giving up on one of the things that held my family close.* You see a love for the game that had been given to my father was given to my brothers and I, and it continually links the generations of our family. We did not have to play, but if we were going to we were going to have a passion for it and play it the right way. So many childhood memories both wonderful and sad involve baseball. All those great weekends staying in Murfreesboro playing baseball and swimming in the hotel pool. I will never forget along with my older brother hitting back to back home runs with the same ball. They did not go and get the ball the second time. Chris, as a sophomore, hitting a ball at Franklin County that he swears would have been a home run at any other park. He is probably right (just don't tell him that after all these years I am admitting to it). I also remember watching Matt pitching in a thirteen year old state tournament game and making the other team look like tee ballers seeing live pitching for the first time. I also remember wishing my dad was sitting within earshot instead of a car as he fearlessly fought and beat cancer. I also still stand by the fact that I should have made the nine year old all-star team and recollect very clearly that the tears I cried were from the dust stirred up on the field getting into my eyes. I must also mention my incredible mom at this point, who I stand in awe to this day, for her ability to consistently get four sons to practices all over town and never missing a game until she stood by my father as they together beat cancer.

I love the game, my family loves the game and it has loved us back. I will miss it over the next few years and maybe a lifetime if my God calls me to it, but I know it is worth it. Baseball in my opinion is the greatest game ever played, but for the sake of the cross I joyously give it over to the King, and I have no regrets. God often times calls us to give up things that we hold dear for His glory. Is there something He is asking from you? What if what you are holding on to is what is keeping His Word from being heard by those He is preparing? I promise it is worth it. It is hard, but He deserves that which we would give up for no one else.


*Mom please don't worry I know that if baseball wasn't part of our life that we would still be close and that the rest of the family will not shun me from table if I never talk about baseball again.

Welcome

So I have decided to start a blog. I have no doubt few people will read this but hey I have stuff to say so I will say it. I hope this blog can be a source of stories that would never make a newsletter but will be found amusing to the readers. The mood of the blog hopefully will cover both funny and sad and will be as random as actions of my good friend and once Seminary roommate. I hope you can read this for what it is and hopefully the Lord will inspire you by the joys He brings me on a daily basis. Thanks for checking it out, enjoy!