At the Intersection

It was about this time one year ago that I made my first very personal connection with the people of Haiti. We had arrived in Port-Au-Prince the afternoon before, and it felt like walking onto the pages of every missions brochure I had ever seen. Suddenly all the World Vision videos and television commercials became very real. But viewed from the inside the windows of a bus, it still wasn't the same.

I strolled outside early in the morning just prior to breakfast, where I saw someone from Mission of Hope talking to a pair of youngsters on the other side of the fence seperating the mission from a large field. They were deathly thin... a boy and a girl with a small donkey. I heard the young lady from the mission say, "You're hungry? I know... I'm hungry too."


We had already been told not to give anything to anybody. I didn't understand it right away, but the moment desperate people see that you have something to give, it creates a mob scene. To give anything at all to those two hungry children on the other side of the fence could have created a dangerous scene both for the children and the mission. Another missionary from our team and I approached the fence to see the kids. They introduced themselves (communicating as best we could in our languages) as Aylo and Tonya. Tonya was very stoic, but Aylo had a smile that could light a stadium. They wanted me to feed them. I couldn't.


I can tell you this, though. Breakfast never tasted so horrible as it did that morning. I had no appetite whatsoever.


For a brief moment, our lives intersected. And ever since, I've felt a certain responsibility for the two Haitian children I couldn't help. I pray for them often. I pray that God will see to it that they have a meal today. I pray that they can somehow get an education, and that they'll have a safe place to sleep at night. I pray that they are surrounded by family that loves them, and most of all that they will come to know how much Jesus Christ loves them.

Aylo and Tonya taught me just how small our world really is. They demonstrated to me that everyone is my brother and sister, no matter who or where they are. Hunger hurts as badly in Haiti or Africa as it does in the United States. Jesus loves them equally, and He has given me a corner of the world that I am now responsible to help make better. I want to see Tonya and Aylo again in heaven.

I'm just betting she has a pretty smile, too.

Where Was God When I Needed Him?

This is good stuff.

We had a guest speaker at church on Wednesday, a man I highly respect. He told a true story of taking a missionary team to Kenya, and how everyone they touched in a prayer service was healed of their sickness. When they came back to America, the same team of believers didn't have the same results. Very few if any were being healed. He said to me, "Pastor Tim, I don't have a theology for that."

I do. Right or wrong, this is what I believe: Those people in Kenya just don't know any better. They don't know that you can only believe what you see. They don't know that you have to pray "just right." They don't know that you have to end your prayers with, "In Jesus Name" or they just disappear on their way to heaven. They don't know that you have to wear the right clothes, belong to the right denomination, graduate from catechism classes or tithe regularly to be blessed of God. How silly of them.

Now. I'll remove the tongue from my cheek and say this... we've been spoiled in America by our own freedoms and selfishness. As Christians we don't mean to treat God as a cosmic slot machine or his Son as a Genie in a Bottle, but in many ways that's what your prayers and mine have boiled down to. In Kenya, they understand honor. They understand faith. Stay with me, here. Read these incredible verses from Luke chapter 8 and you'll see what I mean.

Now when Jesus returned, a crowd welcomed him, for they were all expecting him. Then a man named Jairus, a ruler of the synagogue, came and fell at Jesus’ feet, pleading with him to come to his house because his only daughter, a girl of about twelve, was dying.

As Jesus was on his way, the crowds almost crushed him. And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years, but no one could heal her. She came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak, and immediately her bleeding stopped.

“Who touched me?” Jesus asked.

When they all denied it, Peter said, “Master, the people are crowding and pressing against you.”

But Jesus said, “Someone touched me; I know that power has gone out from me.”

Then the woman, seeing that she could not go unnoticed, came trembling and fell at his feet. In the presence of all the people, she told why she had touched him and how she had been instantly healed. Then he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.”

While Jesus was still speaking, someone came from the house of Jairus, the synagogue ruler. “Your daughter is dead,” he said. “Don’t bother the teacher any more.”

Hearing this, Jesus said to Jairus, “Don’t be afraid; just believe, and she will be healed."

Two very different people, two very different circumstances, with one thing in common: their faith. Neither one of them had to come to the altar crying, be slain in the spirit, pray at the top of their lungs, dance, scream, or shout. All of those things can happen, and all have their place. But I'll go as far as to say this: Jesus didn't heal them.

Their faith in Jesus healed them. They believed Him. They honored Him.

And so many people in our United States, wearing the label of Christian, dishonor God by shacking up together outside the confines of marriage, approving of the homosexual lifestyle that God calls "abominable," abusing their bodies with tobacco, drugs, alcohol and yes - even food. With mouths like sewers, they curse their neighbor and then ask God for his blessings. They post "F" this on Facebook, then write a request for prayers when things aren't going so well. Where's the honor? Where's the respect for our Creator? Our Savior?

The Bible says the prayers of the righteous avail much. The people in Kenya and other third world countries where revival is happening get it. They understand it. God is moving among those people in an exciting, miraculous way.

We look at the situation in Africa and shake our heads sadly. But I ask you America, which of the people are the truly blessed?

Please Litter Here!

I once read a statistic which claimed it takes just $1 for a missionary to reach a person with the Gospel of Jesus Christ. In other words, for every dollar spent on missions, one person is won for the Kingdom of God. If that's true, I'm just five returnables away from winning another soul.

Since I tend to teach with simple pictures and stories rather than long drawn out exegesis, I thought it would be fun to prove a point to my congregation. I set out to show them how easy it is to give to missionaries. For two or three months, I collected every returnable pop or beer can I found on the side of the road. I didn't turn in any of my own pop cans... just those that I found somewhere else. By the time our missions convention came, I dragged a large garbage bag of cans out onto the stage, representing about $10, or ten real people who would hear about Jesus. What did it cost me? Nothing but my time and the chance to burn a calorie or two by simply bending over and picking up a can.

Trouble is, it was so much fun that I haven't stopped. Wintertime isn't really the best time to find cans and bottles, so I've only turned in $4.50 this year. But now that the snow is melting, it's a virtual gold mine out there! On my evening walk tonight, I picked up 5 cans. I feel like a kid in a candy shop every time I run across a can that someone has carelessly left behind.

You have to understand... missionaries are my heroes. Not some Hollywood star, singer or overpaid sports figure. Missionaries. I look up to them. I respect them for what they do, and I'll do whatever it takes to partner with them. But honestly, after we support our church missions program, our sponsored child through World Vision, a missionary couple dear to our hearts that we support on our own, and our friends at Mission of Hope in Haiti, we're tapped out. There's nothing left for my favorite pet project, Speed the Light - which provides vehicles for missionaries to get around. So... STL gets the cans. And let me tell you, it's SO much fun.

So to all the litterbugs out there, I don't much like the fact that you show disrespect for God's creation by throwing your trash around. But I do feel like I owe you some sort of thanks for all the returnables. Just do me this one little favor... when you see a balding middle aged guy parked along the side of the off-ramp, excitedly picking up a discarded can of Squirt from a muddy ditch, just slow down a bit and give him a break.

And if you have an extra can or two... toss them to him gently, okay?