7.20.09

School was busy and the weather was hot. As the morning turned into afternoon, the sun became more and more intense but thankfully, without a trace of Iowa humidity. This week is the second to last week I will have each class. What a disheartening thought. We just got started. There is so much left to discuss.

Today we discussed what “church” is. I asked the students to make a list of what comes to their minds when they think of it. “Tithing. Long hours. Getting hungry. A pastor preaching. Praying. Singing.” I asked them to raise their hand if they had gone to church the day before. all but a few had. I asked someone to tell me where they went. A few went to the Lutheran church, a few to Gospel Mission. I asked someone to tell what the pastor preached on. No on could (I don’t blame them in the least, they’re 14 years-old and would rather be sleeping. I’m 20 and often agree).

So the conversation rolled on to talk about how we are the church. The people. The individuals that make up the community that knows and worships God. All but one of them had never heard this idea before. so we talked it through and through, that if Jesus is the founder, who were His followers? The disciples. And did they go to church after Jesus had gone back to heaven? No, nor did they still go to the temple. Instead, they met together, shared a meal, and talked about Jesus.

I like to picture the first few “church” meetings. The disciples sitting around a table or open fire by the sea, eating some of the fist Andrew caught, and talking about the Jesus they missed. I highly doubt they had Peter preach a word, James designated to pray at the beginning and John at the end, Matthew to choose the songs, and Mark to pass the plate. I bet they talked about Jesus, the One they missed now that He was gone. I can picture them sharing stories of the time when Jesus walked on the water and Peter tried and started to stink; reliving the conversations they had when walking along the road to the next town; shaking their heads with a smile over their doubt and confusion and misunderstanding of what Jesus was saying; laughing about the time Jesus turned the water in religious ceremonial pots into wine for a party.

Most of all, I bet they sat around the meal and reminded each other of what Jesus had said about them. They affirmed each for who he was and who Christ was making them to be. They reminded each other that Jesus actually believed in them, trusted them to carry the good new of His life, death and life again to other people, to continue resisting “religion” and point people to the relational God who desires to be reunited with them.

That is what I was thinking about when the girls came over for Bible study this afternoon. Only four of the ten or so girls came, and I was thrilled. So, instead of going through some passages and studying the Holy Spirit, we talked about who the Holy Spirit is to us, what He has done in our lives this week, and how we have been made aware of His presence with us. Their stories were amazing, from little things like Daleena being prompted to give away money (actually, her dad’s money…oh, well) to some street kids, to big things like Joyce not having enough money to pay her hostel fees because her purse was stolen, and Theonette said she would pay it for her. The Holy Spirit is at work in these girls’ lives. And it’s a beautiful thing to behold. They are so young, so innocent and yet have been so abused and mistreated in their short lifetime. But redemption in happening…it’s here, He’s at work. Like I said, it’s absolutely beautiful.

I had an interesting conversation with a young girl (whose name I can’t remember right now) earlier in the day. She came and asked if she could talk to me in a private room with the door closed. When we found an empty classroom, she told me this story with fear visible on her face and obvious in her whole body. She said a few days ago, her aunt disappeared, and they couldn’t find her. This wasn’t too unusual, she said, because her aunt was an alcoholic and often fought with her sister, this girl’s mother. Two days ago, her mother was laying in bed, getting ready to fill her hot pack (a hot water bottle they put boiling water in and sleep with at the foot of their bed) when a cat attacked her, jumping on her face and clawing and biting at her eyes. Her mother threw the boiling water on it and it yelped and ran away. Yesterday after school her mother called her saying to come to the hospital after classes. Her aunt was there. With third degree burns.

She wanted to know if I believed that her aunt could have turned into a cat. Well, yes, especially if she was involved in Voodoo or Satanism. This poor girl was so scared, she was shaking. We talked and agreed that God was more powerful than any plot or plan of the Enemy, and prayed that God would prove that to her by being involved in this situation.

It reminds me of something Mick told us in Windhoek. There is another missionary who lives (I think…?) on the other side of town. Some of the locals came to him because there had been a problem with coyotes digging up graves and making a huge mess. They were asking him because he had a gun. So when they came to him and said the coyote was in the graveyard, he went out there and shot it. He went to find the body to burry it, and when he did, he noticed it had Voodoo jewelry on. He buried it and that was the last time they ever had problems in the graveyard. It was also the last time anyone saw the witchdoctor.

These stories are like a movie, right? We can read them and get a good thrill. They have enough shock value to them because they’re not something we hear often in the states. But I’m realizing they’re real. They’re true. I can’t doubt spiritual warfare any more; it’s too tangible, too obvious here. But I’m thankful that I’m now waking up to it, because I can’t help but also recount all the wonders of the ever more powerful God we serve. For every trick the Enemy can pull, He is doing something miraculous. For every person he transforms into an animal, He is parting a Red Sea or healing thousands. There’s no comparison. And when He comes riding back on a white horse with a sword in his mouth and a tattoo on His thigh, I can’t wait to say, “I’m with Him.”