God running through us to the world.

I love the parable of the prodigal son. You remember. The youngest son takes his inheritance early, squanders it in rebellious living, and eventually finds himself in a pig pen, hungry and alone, longing even to eat the pig's food.

He decides to return home and request to become a servant.

But his father had different plans. As soon as he saw his son on the horizon, he RAN! Did you know that in Middle Eastern culture it was a shame for a man over forty to run? And to run, he would have had to lift his skirt, which was equally humiliating. But the father didn't care: he humiliated himself, hiked up his skirt, and ran to greet his son.

When Jesus came to earth as a man, he humbled himself.

Of course, when we read the parable of the prodigal son, it is not hard to see ourselves as the rebellious one in the pig trough. And God runs in his humility (the incarnation) to our rescue.

Now, take a look at yourself (I'm thinking about myself here) and those around you that form up this church, Christ's body, those God has chosen to take his message of love to the world. Sometimes (OK, most times) we appear to be a ragamuffin band. Why would God humble himself to let us be his representative channels?

In effect, he is hiking up his skirt again, running in humility through us to a rebellious world, trapped in pig troughs of their own making.

I like that imagery. He is running in humility through you and me. To the lost around us.

What a privilege it is (unworthy as we are) to be used of God in this way.

Grace to you. Thanks for your prayers.

Harry

What gets you up in the morning?

I've been meditating this week on a verse from John 4 where Jesus tells his disciples, "My food is to do the will of him who sent me, and to do his work."
This is my food? What did Jesus mean?
This is what nourished Jesus. This is what fed him. This was his sustenance, what fueled his engine, what motivated, compelled, prodded and goaded him.
To do his father's will was what turned Jesus' crank. It inspired, stimulated, stirs and strengthened him. It charged his batteries, got him up in the morning, and got his blood pumping. It satisfied him, quenched his thirst, and built him up. It fired him up, jump-started him, put a spring in his step, put a fire in his belly, fanned the flame, and encouraged him forward.
To do his father's work ignited a passion, birthed vision, and invigorated him.
It popped his buttons, put the wind in his sails, was the wind beneath his wings and stoked the fire.
It transfused him, infused him, motivated, stimulated, caffeinated, and awakened him.
It greased the wheels, was a kick in the pants, got his juices flowing, pumped him up, and put a song on his lips.
To do the will of the Father was what floated his boat, put the wind at his back, empowered, and emboldened him. This is what energized him, got him going, wet his whistle, and lit the fuse. It invigorated him, instilled desire, and stirred him.
How about you?
What motivates you? What gets you up in the morning?

Have a great week!
Harry

Security Concerns

There has been a lot in the news about this place. My country of residence's army has invaded their neighbors to the north east to try to root out the religious extremist group that has been slipping across the border to spread their reign of terror. So, of course, there have been threats of reprisal. Two attacks in the capital yesterday. Warnings to stay away from public places such as restaurants and shopping malls. For the first time, I've seen armed police patrolling our hospital grounds (armed but wearing flip-flops!) so I know the government is concerned.
And of course, my friends are writing, expressing their own questions about our safety, their concerns that we are well.
We are safe. Relatively.
We pray. We trust. We try to obey what God has called us to do. (That calling is also for you, by the way, because the Great Commission isn't just for those of us who have decided to cross cultures and oceans for the sake of the gospel. It is for all Christians.)
We follow common sense precautions.
But friends, we have made a choice. No one forces us to take risks.
Other risks exist for me. This week alone, I've done four major abdominal operations on patients with AIDS. Sure, I take precautions, wear two pair of gloves, eye protection etc., but there is always the risk of an inadvertent needle-stick.
What could possibly motivate me to leave the relative safety of America, expose myself to the threat of terror and the risk of deadly virus contraction?
The joy of sharing the good news of Christ and having one of those AIDS patients confess new-found faith in the cross.
I want to see God treasured in the hearts of all people.
I am reading more of David Platt this week. This morning, from his book, "Radical Together," I read:
"God has called us to lock arms with one another in single-minded, death-defying obedience to one objective: the declaration of his gospel for the demonstration of his glory to all nations. This is God’s design for his people, and it is worth giving our lives to see it accomplished."
Sometimes I think that those who warn me to avoid risk don't believe in the reality of hell. Don't they believe that there are some things for which it is worth exposing ourselves to risk? How about the risk of spending an eternity without Christ (not for me, I'm certainly not doing this because I'm trying to win a spot in heaven, but for those I've come to serve)?
We follow the lead of Christ. He risked everything for me. I love him. I want others to love and cherish him, too.
And that's worth risking my life for.

My Trip to Dadaab

During the months leading up to our move back to Kenya, Dadaab was frequently in the news. Lately, it has fallen from the front pages, slipping from the attention of western media who are more concerned with Hollywood, which star was seen with whom, who was arrested, and what he or she was wearing.
Dadaab. Yawn. Why should we care?
Dadaab plays desert host to five camps, home for nearly 500,000 Somali refugees.
They arrive, one thousand in number EACH DAY. Malnourished and driven from their homeland by violence and famine. And Dadaab becomes their refuge.
But as I sat and experienced Dadaab last week, I wondered at how such a desolate, hot place could be considered a refuge.
It's all a matter of perspective, huh? At least in Dadaab, the refugees aren't dodging bullets from Al Shabaab. At least they are given a small ration of oil, sugar and grain.
I arrived with a small team eager and willing to do surgery in a primitive camp hospital. There, I found a hardworking staff accustomed to doing without. There was a gunfight on the Somali border. They brought some of the wounded to us. One boy (was he Al Shabaab?) was carried in suffering from a gunshot wound to the neck. He had obvious spinal cord injury. I wanted an x-ray, but none was available in the camp hospital. We could move him (risky) to a local district hospital, but they don't do x-rays on the weekend. OK, so I felt I was being asked to fight Mike Tyson with one arm.
The UN council for refugees have been trying to resettle the Somalis, but I was told they only moved 800 refugees out last year. When you compare that to the thousand that arrive everyday, you understand the math of overcrowding.
I spoke to a Kenyan working for the Kenyan CDC. He spoke in solemn terms: "We've logged over a thousand cases of measles in the camps since July." Wow. I guess vaccinating our children against these horrible diseases is a good idea.
In the midst of the camps, the UN staff stay in a compound surrounded by a triple razor wire fence. In the evenings, they gather at outdoor tables and drink cold Tusker beer and in general seem to try to forget the suffering around them. I cannot pretend to understand what motivates them. Guilt? Perhaps they get a charge out of life in a dangerous setting? Perhaps they are working at understanding their own plight? Maybe they enjoy patting themselves on the back for a good deed done to the poor.
What about me?
My motives are impure. Sure, I desire to see Christ treasured by all people. I desire to be light in a very dark place. I want to love the refugees or at least be a channel of Christ's love to a people without much hope. For me, this isn't have-to work. It's get-to, a matter of grace. But, somewhere within my motivation to serve Christ by serving the poor, I too, enjoy the admiration of others, the excitement of working in a place where armed escorts are the norm and the odds are stacked against you. But, in my honesty, I come back to Christ and offer my work as a gift of gratitude. My gift is far from perfect and my motives will never be pure, but I'm encouraged that God never requires me to perfect my motives before offering what I've got in my hand.
It was a long trip, nearly 12 hours of bus-travel, culminating in getting stuck in the sand just outside our UN compound in Dadaab.
Yes, Dadaab is a hard, dry, hot place, where time crawls with sweaty determination. For a half-million refugees, it's home with no other destination in sight (some have lived there for twenty-plus years!). At the end of a few days, I got back on a bus and headed for greener pastures, a luxury not afforded those whose life is defined by a number assigned by the UNHCR.
The contrast of seeing Dadaab is good for me. I think I'll whine less. Praise more.
And soon, I'll return to serve Jesus there again. Because I'm pretty sure He lives there too.

Harry

That which is truly life.

I love this phrase from 1Timothy 6:17-19: "that which is truly life." That's the life I want to live, the life that's mine because of my new position as a son of God. But what does it mean? Let's look at the context:

"As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy. They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, thus storying up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of THAT WHICH IS TRULY LIFE."

All of the daily "disasters" that we face, such as anxiety, anger, guilt, greed, bitterness etc. can be thought of as the fallout of a life lived in the service of self, a life lived in celebration of the gospel of a domesticated Christ (where Jesus has come to serve me, forgive me, and clean up my life rather than me serving Him). It is the "good life" where we are on the throne, material possessions promise to bring fulfillment and our future is what we make it (i.e. the "American Dream"). What God is offering us in the gospel is nothing short of freedom from a dead life and a life of self-service, a life where love is the currency, peace is the result, and our boast is the cross.

This is what Paul tells Timothy is "truly life."

The gospel of the real Jesus is perfect. It's all about him. In the real gospel, I get to confess my greed and call it the sin that it is. The central focus of the gospel of the real Jesus is the cross. Sacrifice isn't something I do to gain acceptance. The cross already did that. Sacrifice and suffering can be the avenues God uses to help us find our treasure in him.

Yes, Christ promises us abundant life, but I'm not allowed to define the ins and outs of abundance. It doesn't mean I'll drive the fastest car, live in the nicest house, and have the best job. But it does mean that God is the one who is sovereign over all these details in my life. Because of the cross, I can't claim a pain-free life, but I can know the grace that promises to sustain me no matter what the cost.

The abundance Jesus promises has to do with peace in the midst of turmoil, grace in the midst of pain. Confidene replaces fear, and hope dawns after the darkest of nights.

Because I hold the hand of the real Jesus, I don't need to be afraid of sacrifice and risk. If he's in control and I'm in hardship, then I believe he has allowed it for my good.

Because the real Jesus demands our all, the gospel will always stand juxtaposed against the American Dream. That means that the true gospel will never find itself in the "in" position in American culture.

Do my attitudes always conform to the gospel fo the real Jesus?

Sadly, no.

But that's why I'm challenging myself (along with you) to dissect below the skin of our belief structure.

Let's make sure that Christ is at the center.

Then, the fallout of the real gospel will start.

And that's where "that which is truly life" begins.

Love,

Harry

Saying "Goodbye."

We've just arrived back in Kenya and survived our first week of unpacking, sorting, arranging, and painting.

But that's not what's on my mind. I'm thinking about saying, "Goodbye," something we who have chosen to serve far away from family and friends seem to have to do too often.

This time around, I've left two sons, my father and two sisters in addition to our friends, those we lean on for support.

Saying goodbye is tough.

Remember Hannah's story in the book of First Samuel? She struggled with infertility, wept for a son, and finally when the Lord granted her request, she raised him only to give him away (to the priest, dedicating her son to God) again.

I think about how hard it must have been for Hannah to say goodbye. Yet just after giving her son up, she prays the most beautiful and interesting prayer. Here is just a part (from "The Message"):

"I'm bursting with God-news! I'm walking on air. I'm laughing at my rivals. I'm dancing my salvation."

Really, Hannah? How can you be rejoicing when you've just given up the very one for whom you wept and prayed?

Hannah must have had a God perspective. Hannah knew that saying goodbye was really, in light of eternity, only a "see you tomorrow."

Yes, we have had to say goodbye too many times. But the one who asked us to follow Him in this endeavor is the same who gave up His only son for me.

God knows our goodbyes will be temporary. Our sacrifices are small in comparison to what has been done for us.

Lord, will you help me pray like Hannah? Fill my heart with the confidence that rests in knowing that reunions are just around the corner.

Harry

In Love's service, only the wounded soldier can serve.

I want to be in Faith's Hall of Fame but I do not want to inherit the suffering that is my ticket in. Without pain there is no victory.

I want to bring God glory, but I don't want to submit to the dizzying effect of the Potter's wheel, the heat of the furnace, or the Carpenter's chisel.

I want to be God's voice. I want to laugh and sing. I want to be God's hands. I want to clap. I want to be God's feet. I want to run and dance.

But to be God's voice, you must be willing to cry. To be God's hands you need to be pierced. To be God's feet will find you dusty and smelly and nailed to a cross.

In Thornton Wilder's play, The Angel that Troubled the Waters, the story is told of a physician at the Pool of Bethesda hoping to be healed of his melancholy. The angel appeared and stirred the water but blocks the physician at the moment he is ready to step in and be healed.
The physician drew back as the Angel said that the moment is not for him.
The physician protested and the Angel explained, "Without your wound, where would your power be? It is your very remorse that makes your low voice tremble into the hearts of men. The very angels themselves cannot persuade the wretched and blundering children on earth as can one human being broken on the wheels of living. In love's service, only the wounded soldier can serve. Draw back!"

I want to serve.

Am I willing to submit to the wheel, the furnace, or the chisel?

Respectfully,

Harry