Plagued!

The way that I really feel inside…intimate information and emotions…anger, joy, love, resentment, bitterness, excitement…those human stirrings that distinguish us from the rest of the animal kingdom… I keep those harbored within mainly because of the many voices that “worry” or are “concerned” about my spiritual well being.  Actually, more than that, I simply don’t believe people know exactly what to do with my baggage other than hand it back to me.  My issues are too deep and awkward for many of my Christian acquaintances to dwell on.  Sure, a friendly hug, the offer of a shoulder to cry on, a “God knows your situation,” can come in handy, but let’s face it…none of that is truly transformational when I get the feeling that all a Christian wants to do is fix my sin.  And usually I can’t even get a word in edgewise when sharing because they’ve already got a solution for me or have figured out the so-called root of my problems.  So of course the best way for me to truly open up is to write.  No interruptions right?  But then people tell me that I share too much information about myself on too public a forum.  To that I say, at least it feels like someone is truly listening…empathizing.

I shouldn’t feel that way.  Not when I belong to a people of faith whose Creator became one of us to experience the very struggles and sufferings I (and every human being on the face of this planet throughout the history of the world) encounter daily.

I once made the mistake of opening up to a group of veteran missionaries at an international conference, the youngest of whom was 10 years my elder.  We were encouraged to share our true struggles with one another and I quickly opened up to these would-be mentors.  But after a few days of judgmental “spiritual motivation” I made the stubborn decision to never ever again be so hasty about opening up my wardrobe of secrets to other believers.  I hate that it’s easier to talk to my non-Christian friends (of course I know they can be less judgmental because their standards for living differ from those of us who are of the Book).

To be an honest person within Christian circles is a scary thing.  I’ve viewed enough church movies, read enough feel good stories, seen enough sermon illustrations, and experienced too much real life to realize that handling true vulnerability and filthy sin can sometimes be just a good ideal that the church wishes they could tackle.   But the reality is, deep dark struggles can make relationships and situations uncomfortable.  I wish I could say that my brethren were strong enough to handle my burdens.  Not that I’m asking anyone to carry them, I just wish I could unload sometimes.  I’m not averse to hearing some good ole constructive criticism.  I want to hear what God wants to say to me, even if it hurts.  But that’s just it.  I want to hear the Holy Spirit, not someone’s opinion or advice that though inspirational sounding, sometimes contradicts the Bible.

A community of faith where I can be honest, confess my sins, be prayed over, cry a little, be chided for acting so selfishly, be rebuked when I’m going against Biblical principles…that’s what I seek.

Rant, rant, rant…I don’t do it enough.  Here are a few things I need to share:

–       God has unleashed a plague on our household.  We have a tick infestation!  Have you ever heard that Brad Paisley song about checking a girl for ticks?  Sounds flirtatious in the song but when you’ve got to do it in real life it is the grossest thing ever.  And our house is like something out of a horror flick.  Ticks climbing up the walls, crawling out of our clothes.  Once one of them came out of Josiah’s mouth while we were watching TV.  What’s God trying to teach us in this?  And do ticks actually serve a purpose?  They live in darkness…they are evil.  Maybe if the FALL hadn’t occurred, ticks and cockroaches wouldn’t exist either.

–       People keep asking us for money.  Not the occasional beggar, nor the street person, but neighbors and students just coming over.  I get texts, messages on paper or through neighbors, and people stand outside our door and yell my name incessantly until I emerge out of the doorway.  It’s like the entire city is asking us for money.  I don’t know how to explain to you how awful those voices are.  I know they’re not visiting me just to say hi.  They call me in a way that communicates, “Edwin, come out!  We know you’re in there and you have to give us money because you have some and we don’t.”  Sometimes they scream in anger when I don’t get to the front door in a timely manner.  And they make us feel guilty when I can’t give the desired amount. I absolutely hate it.  It’s not helping my attitude.  I assume everyone is just plain lazy and selfish…and remember, I’ve been helping the poor in a professional capacity for almost a decade now.

–       Thieves.  Man oh man.  They steal my supplies, they rip me off at the store, they take stuff around my house.  They don’t even look like thieves.  They come dressed as friends and professionals, blue/white collar workers.  But before you know it you’re missing valuable things.  We had workers build a hut in our front yard.  By the time they were done scamming us, we paid triple the cost of a normal hut and the thing isn’t even finished.  Now we have to hire new workers to get it done.  And to top it off, they took the materials I bought.  The community’s response was to laugh that I paid so much and fault me for trusting those people (who came highly recommended by community members in the first place!).  I have a very hard time trusting anyone right now.

–       We can’t get pregnant.  Why is it that the people I’m helping are completely and utterly irresponsible parents with a gazillion kids.  We have to figure out ways to feed their malnourished children or to get them educated but they keep having more kids.  I can use the collective and disrespectful “they” pronoun because I know soooo many.  And Amy and I are super responsible and have the means to have several kids of our own.  We’ve been trying for over a year.  No luck.  Why?  And before you suggest it, yes we’re planning on adopting one day.

–       I’m sick.  Amy’s sick.  Josiah is sick.  Makes me wanna cuss.

That’s what’s happening.  Thought I’d share that with whoever is reading this.  You could read it and think, “Well Edwin, you’re experiencing all that because you don’t have enough faith in God.  You don’t trust him.  So He needs to discipline you.”   That might be true.  But I’ll tell you.  I have enough faith to sell all our belongings and take my entire family to a foreign place for the sake of the Gospel where no Christians exist and we know absolutely no one.  I believe in Him enough to pray for hours at a time every day and to tell people of His goodness even when they think I’m just a crazy dude and even when my life is in a chaotic tailspin.  There are a lot of things I’m not doing right…but I’m not exactly rebelling or disobeying my Father in Heaven.  I guess sometimes Christians just need to suffer.  And sometimes I just need to vent…like in this blog.

I believe that there is hope.  You should read Romans 8.  Amy and I just did.  It was encouraging.  Here’s a preview from the Message version:

“They kill us in cold blood because they hate you.  We’re sitting ducks; they pick us off one by one.  None of this fazes us because Jesus loves us.  I’m absolutely convinced that nothing – nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable – absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love because of the way that Jesus or Master has embraced us” Romans 8:38-39

 

to the edge of the sea…

There’s this song where the singer asks his love interest, “Would you go with me?” And then he clarifies what he means. Would his lover go with him through thick and thin on an adventure of a lifetime. Would she roll down streets of fire with him, would she get lost in fields with him…would she accompany him to the edge of the sea? But would she first take his hand in marriage, knowing very well what she’s in for?

If your standing on the cool Oceanside, California sands and look straight out into the horizon, you eventually see nothing. But search on Google maps and draw a straight line out toward the Philippines and you’ll find that the Pacific Ocean ends on the island of Catanduanes. There’s another island off the coast of Catanduanes that juts out a little further called Panay. Its virgin coast is quite literally the end of the Pacific Ocean, again, from the perspective of Oceanside beach’s sands. This is the province we call home.

That serendipitous day Amy’s nature hike with some co-workers was unexpectedly canceled and I just “happened” to be doing nothing but exploring some historical sites on my own, was a day we both refer to as “the beginning.” It was the start of an adventure that would take us around the world.

Josiah was playing with some other missionary kids and local Filipino children the other day. They were running in and out of the ocean, looking for hermit crabs, throwing sand in each others’ faces. I looked over at Amy with gratefulness that she decided to accompany me on this awesome journey. Without hesitation, she gave her hand to me in marriage and we dove off that proverbial cliff. She rolled down streets of fire with me. (A few times in fact. Once in California when our church was surrounded by wildfires and we served the displaced and another time in the Philippines when a squatter community went up in flames). We’ve been lost in fields…beautiful fields all across the U.S. and overseas. And here we are, living at the edge of the sea.

 

Walmart and Brotherhood?

You’ve seen that email that’s been circulating on the internet about the people of Walmart.  You know, the one where the large 300-pound woman is wearing a g-string peeking out of her you-know-what.  Or the guy walking around only in underwear and a cold weather cap and boots.  Walmart definitely has a culture of its own and I don’t know anybody who is actually proud to shop there.

In fact, I’ve been a part of some Walmart boycotts when I used to live in California.  Many of my friends are social justice advocates.  Because some of their products are made and bought in rather sketchy ways and the treatment of their employees has come into question, the corporation has raised a lot of eyebrows concerning their ethical and moral practices.  The “W” word is forbidden among my family in Mississippi.  Walmart is infamous for invading towns and completely ridding the landscape of small businesses, like local grocery stores, an industry that Amy’s family has been involved in for decades.

My brother and I used to work for them when we were teenagers.  I gathered carts and he worked the layaway counter.  I was employed there during a time in my life where I thought it was cool to shoplift.  I never could fit in to any group so I remember trying to impress people by stealing markers and “tagging” on walls.  Truth is, I couldn’t find the courage to steal so I’d buy the markers, put them in my pockets and pass them out to my wannabe criminal friends as if I stole them.  And whenever I went “tagging” I vandalized sidewalks with colored chalk.  What was wrong with me?

A few weeks ago, I was hanging out with my brother, Eric.  It was our last day in California.  At about midnight, we were sitting on my parents couch wondering what to do.  With a cigerette dangling from his mouth he asked, “You wanna go to Walmart?”  And of course my response was, “Heck Yes!”

It had been years since Eric went to the 24 hour “Wally World” in Union City.  And let me tell you, the people shopping in their at 1am truly brought credence to the stereotype.  I started making fun of people in my head.  Shopping in pajamas?  Why were kids playing with toys at this time of night?  But after a few minutes, I had to stop.  Eric was wearing a hoodie, basketball shorts and shoes not completely tied without socks.  You couldn’t see his face because of his hood.  I was wearing jeans and dress shoes with white socks and a tight t-shirt.  We both had our hands in our pockets, walking side by side, and we were shopping for nothing.  Who window shops at Walmart?  I realized that we were a part of that culture!  Man oh man.

But it was a time for bonding.  We didn’t really talk about anything serious, but we talked.  Eric bought me a thermal and an exercise shirt.  He also bought Amy a few iTunes gift cards.  We perused every department.  It was Eric who got me that job when I was a teenager.  Yeah, talk about humbling since I’m his OLDER brother.  He also introduced me to a bunch of his friends.  All of our lives Eric has always been the popular one.  I was known throughout high school as Eric’s brother…even at Walmart.  He taught me about brand name electronics, consumer reports and trends.  Eric always made fun of the way I dressed.  I just could never get it right.  My entire visit to the Bay Area was filled with heckling because of my perfect fit jeans with a tucked in shirt.

So Eric makes sure that I have clothes.  I always wear Eric’s hand me downs.  Again I say, I am his OLDER brother.  But my most favorite articles of clothing are the ones he’s given me, even if they don’t fit.  I guess they just have sentimental value.  I wore the Northface pullover he gave me the entire time we were vacationing.  And I’ll wear it out here in the scorching Philippine sun because it is my favorite piece of clothing.

I confess, I love Walmart.  Sure, it has a lot to do with the fact that I think of home.  I wish Walmart was out here in the Philippines.  But mainly I love Walmart because it reminds me of my brother.  It’s the place to be, just as long as you can stomach the linebacker of a man wearing daisy dukes bending over to tie his shoe in front of you as you wait at the check out counter.

 

Deer Hunting and Brotherhood?

Snickering, “You should really look at yourself right now!”  is not encouraging.  Before I could throw a scowl at Amy, she snapped a picture of me.  True, it’s not exactly fitting for a little brown Filipino like me to be wearing hunting gear, and I mean, completely decked out with the hunter’s cap, camouflage thermal, camo pants, boots, orange safety vest and rifle.  But come on, I used to be in the military.  Is it really that surprising that I wanted to go hunting with my brother and father-in-law?  I can fire a rifle downrange…got a ribbon and qualified as an expert to prove it, once upon a time.

(left: Me and Jeremy’s son Will.  He knows more about hunting than I do.)

I love doing outdoorsy things…MANLY stuff…even though I’m horrible at sports, camping or anything that deals with wielding a hammer.  Alright, I admit, that as much as I’d like to, I will never fit the Bear Grillis profile.  And in all actuality, there are things I’d like to be (master scuba diver, rock climber, MMA fighter, etc.) that would probably never come to fruition because, well, I’m just not that type of person.  But that doesn’t mean I won’t try, especially when trying means that I get to hang out with some pretty awesome people.  In this particular instance, I wanted to do something I know nothing about…something that intimidates me…something that I will never be good at, in order to understand my brother-in-law.

Mention the word “hunting” to most of my friends in California and they’d probably give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’re talking about scavenging for Easter Eggs.  As for me, I couldn’t even kill a chipmunk (I once tried to solve an infestation at Amy’s parents house with an air soft gun).  Some of my friends believe that killing an animal for sport or for the taste of a certain type of meat is simply primeval and disgusting…selfish and sadistic.  But I knew that none of those words could possibly describe the people that I’ve grown to love in Mississippi, especially my own brother-in-law.

(Right:  I actually took this picture.  It’s not photoshopped)

To tell you the truth, the first time the two of us ever hung out was when we went to an amateur cage match in downtown Natchez.  It was the first time that he met the man who was dating his younger sister.  A test?  Trying to feel me out?  Scare me even?  All of the above I think.  Jeremy is a high school football coach and teacher and darn good at it.  He can butcher his own deer, drives a big truck, teaches his kids how to play sports and survive in the woods, and can probably build a house without the use of pesky tools.  He’s a man’s man…a typical good ole southern boy.  I look up to him, and not just because he’s a foot taller than I am.

So, if the opportunity arises I go hunting with him.  And yes, it is pretty obvious that I’m a burden.  No one says it, I don’t bring it up, but let’s face it, I stroll around the woods like a 5-year old at Disneyland, pointing at stuff, taking pictures and making a lot of noise.  Jeremy has to worry about me getting shot, scaring off the deer or simply getting lost.  Taking me along pretty much kills chances of doing any real hunting.  Like I said, no one brings it up.

Hunting is a time of bonding…somehow.  I can’t explain it.  Serious hunters stay in camps overnight so they actually have a practical opportunity to get to know each other.  But for people like me, who only go out for a few hours…how can bonding possibly occur?  And it’s not like I’m physically next to anyone.  Jeremy places me in a deer stand all by my lonesome while he low crawls into some ravine.  We’re nowhere near each other. Most times I’ve been with him, we’ve been separated.  And to top it all off, hunting requires silence and concentration. Except for the occasional text message to see if you’ve seen any deer or to crack a joke, there is no communication.  So, if you’re separated from your friends and you’re not allowed to talk, then how can you bond?

Each time I leave the woods with Jeremy, I feel a little bit closer to him.  I know more about the thing he is most passionate about besides his family and his high school football players.  I understand what he experiences at 4:30 in the morning sitting in the cold, sleepily watching the sun rise above the trees and listening to the birds wake.  There is a thrill and excitement waiting for that perfect 12-point buck to come upon you.  (And there is a universal understanding between the predator and the prey.  Sounds crazy, but the two respect each other.  The hunter has great admiration for the beauty of its prey and is honored that it will provide food for his family for weeks.  A hunter doesn’t kill for the heck of it.  And if you don’t believe me, get to know a hunter during open season and find out for yourself.)  I know how it feels when Jeremy watches the sun go down and the last rays poke through the branches.  And the quiet stillness of God…it is a silence I’ve never been immersed in before.  A silence so sweet I imagine heaven echoing with it.  That is what Jeremy knows and it’s now what I understand in my heart.  Oh, and let’s not forget what it feels like to come home and tell the family some cool stories from our hunting adventure, even if I spent the entire time in a stand 15-20 feet above the ground.  There’s bonding in that, I’m sure.

I confess, I now love hunting.  But maybe for slightly different reasons…

You know, Jeremy is the one who taught me how to skin a buck.  He called his dad for some help to drag the animal out of the woods and I decided to help.  But Del left with Will and I stayed behind with Jeremy.  And by “taught” I mean that I just watched him do it while I held on to the carcass.  Pretty disgusting and exhausting.  And there is no way I could ever do it on my own even if my life depended on it.  But still, a pretty important life lesson in there, I’m sure.

 

When Humiliation Transforms

I was given the opportunity to speak at New Song Community Church this weekend. Here is the video of the service. Praise the Lord!

 

Response to Dr. Mouw Article

Responding to “This evangeliscal says Mormanism in not a cult”

Though the entirety of the article describes Mormonism, I don’t think that Dr. Mouw is trying to defend a religion…he’s standing up for a man…another human being.  Remember, the main point of the article has a political thrust.  Does supporting Mitt Romney fly in the face of evangelical conservatism?  Others would venture to say that Romney’s religion makes him unfit to run a country.  To that I will add that his ideologies are probably closer linked to Christian thought than those of our country’s founding forefathers.  Also, don’t mistake Dr. Mouw’s article as touting universalism.  He does not believe “that their theology falls within the scope of historic Christian teaching.”  This professor and his seminary have made great contributions to missions, global evangelism and church multiplication and to my knowledge, he is a faithful man of God.

The 16^th century etymology of the word “cult” is rooted in worship…of any type, any religion, and any group.  It later morphed into describing smaller offshoots of mainline religions running counter to orthodox doctrine.  And today a cult is a demeaning and hateful word used to describe people of opposing beliefs.  If someone told you that you were part of a cult, how would you respond?

When we (Christians) use such oppressive words to categorize and judge others, the light of the Gospel might appear a little muddled to those watching.  I mean, the world sees Christianity as just another religion anyways (not the relationship with Jesus most evangelicals describe).  Unfortunately we are better known for our boldly crass and aggressive ways…our dividing nature, our passion to convert at all costs and our need to disassociate our lives from so called sinners (a misinterpretation of 1 Cor 5:1-12).

As a missionary and evangelist I’ve befriended many people of other religions and cultures.  Many of the people I call friend are not Christian.  Many of the people I serve are unbelievers.  Some have admitted that when they first realized I was a Christian, they put up a wall labeling me as “one of those people.”  Instead of possessing a great reputation for serving the disenfranchised, sacrificing our own lives for the sake of others, loving the marginal, taking care of the outcasts and treating the world with the type of love God poured down upon humanity, “Christian” puts a bad taste in people’s mouths. These friends of mine did not want to be converted or judged.  If that’s what people think about us, there is a problem.

And sure, we could blame the deception that comes from the “evil one” and remember that Christ promised persecution as reasons to why the world is unhappy with followers of Christ.  But modern day anti-Christian sentiment in religiously open/plural countries like North America and Europe are not founded in the same soil as the great martyrs who died proclaiming Christ…martyrs who were challenged to declare their allegiance to one God, one Gospel and one faith.  Modern day anti-Christian sentiment is a response to the actions of God’s people, not in proclaiming the Gospel of love but in judging the people who have yet to know the God who saved them…people whom God created…whom Christ died for.  When the truth of God’s Gospel is exhibited in his people, the world could be flipped upside down, not in hate but in love.  Unfortunately, to the observer, Christians rub people the wrong way in the name of truth and in a manner I believe is not Christ-like.

In the end we have to ask ourselves some questions.  Are we willing to dine with tax collectors (today, they’d probably be the Mormons, JW’s and so on)?  Are we willing to talk to them like they’re human and eat at the same table with them the way Jesus did with Matthew and his guests (Matthew 9:9-13)?  Do we have any close friends who believe in something completely different from us?  Or have we separated our lives from the people who need to hear the Gospel most?  Are we willing to openly dialogue with those who differ from our own beliefs and work tirelessly to answer in gentleness and respect the hard questions of our faith, the hope that we have (1 Timothy 3:15)?  Or will we simply remain hardened to the unique and varied ideologies of people of other religions, push them away and write them off as those who simply believe in lies?

Dr. Mouw has decided to associate himself with people not readily accepted by the Christian world.  Is he really falling into some sort of deception or are his actions reflective of Jesus’ actions to love all, even our enemies (Matthew 5:44)?  Are his actions reflective of the Apostle Paul’s strategy of being all things to all men so that some may be saved (1 Corinthians 9:19-23)?

This article should challenge us to find ways to love the people we seem to hate.  I pray that in the face of personal insult I am still willing to journey with whomever, no matter what station of life they’re in just so that they may experience the light of the Gospel, the truth that Jesus Christ has already completed the work required to redeem the very people who rejected Him (Galatians 3:13).

 

The End of the Twitter-shaped Spear

“And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.” – Hebrews 10:24-25

Living outside of the United States during the 4^th of July is a bummer.  I am a very patriotic guy.  Maybe that comes from the fact that I served with the military or maybe it’s because I am the fruit of immigrant parents who found hope and opportunity in America.  The bottom line is that I am grateful for the U.S. of A!

So it was a delight to spend time hanging out with Americans eating grilled bratwursts and hamburgers for the holiday.  There was a moment during our hang out that struck me in an awesome way.  All the women were talking “girly” things (j/k) while all the guys circled ‘round.  A few of us were drinking wine but all of us had a plate of barbequed goodness in our hands.  As our kids ran around we talked about our future ministry endeavors.  Some of us would be traveling to remote places or getting involved in somewhat dangerous adventures.  As we listened to each other’s stories and plans my mind flipped over to a scene in a movie.

Five missionaries and their families were enjoying fellowship in a jungle in South America in the movie “The End of the Spear.”  As they joked around enjoying food and friendship, the men brainstormed plans to reach a lost tribe while their kids played in the background and their wives talked girly things (j/k).  I remember watching that film and dreaming that I would one day be in their shoes.

Sure, we weren’t in some remote jungle, but all of our hearts are in the same place.  We have a desire to reach the lost.  And yes, we have internet access, we’re all bloggers and utilize Facebook and Twitter…but the root of what we do also existed in those five missionaries in that jungle who ended up sacrificing their lives – the root of God’s love and His message of hope.

Sometimes I forget that as a missionary, I have decided to shed desires that don’t pertain to reaching the lost.  It is when we gather with other missionaries that we remember our ultimate purpose in this country.  I was grateful for our July 4^th gathering because it renewed in me my excitement to sacrifice everything for the sake of obeying our Lord and Savior.  And sure, that excitement shouldn’t occur only when we’re with our missionary friends…but I’ll tell you one thing:  Being with likeminded believers can bring encouragement and needed inspiration to change the world!

 

This is Discipling

Though short, this video can get you to really think about your current views of discipleship.  Watch it, but be warned…it may challenge your current views on ministry.

 

Traveling Graces

“For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.” 2 Corinthians 4:11-12

“Take delight in the LORD, and he will give you the desires of your heart.” Psalm 37:4

Amy and I love to travel.  By default, so does Josiah.  In fact, he has at least 15 stamps in his passport now.  I didn’t even acquire that many stamps until I was 22!  And as I write this, we’re flying back from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia after having spent some time there as well as Bali, Indonesia.  To tell you the truth, I didn’t realize my passion for traveling and enjoying other cultures until I joined the Navy.  Ever since then, I am constantly thinking of the next destination to save up for.

But, as many of you can imagine, choosing the life of a missionary means dying to certain dreams.  World travelers that I know are super rich…even the quintessentially ragged but young college students studying abroad.  If you don’t have a great job or generous parents, affording a 1,000 dollar plane ticket is inconceivable…multiply that by 3 or 4 if you’ve got a family not including room and board and your hopes of “nation-hopping” are easily dashed.

When disciples are called into missions, they’re also called into a life of temporary assets.  Nothing you own is actually yours…it was bought by your supporters or literally belongs to your mission organization.  Because a missionary doesn’t really have a permanent home, storing up material possessions is impossible.  You may have a couch or television but it will always stay in the country you’re ministering in…it would be ridiculous to ship it back to your “passport nation.”  You’re constantly renting houses since your citizenship and income disqualifies you from purchasing one.  And when you go home, it’s only for a visit, even if your stay is several years.  The fully furnished house or apartment you end up residing in comes by way of generous hospitality from family and church friends.  And it lasts only a season until you are ready to leave for the field again.

With that said, Amy and I cherish life through experiences and live in the present.  Sure, we’re smart enough to plan for the future, but we both know that today may be our last day and yesterday is already long gone.  Everyone is different, but Amy and I are similar in that we value collecting stories from all the places we’ve been to.  I think those are the ingredients of lifelong world travelers…and missionaries.

Living life understanding that nothing we own is actually ours and is literally temporary compels us to look forward to traveling and engaging people cross-culturally.  Nothing can hold us down or keep us back and our only anchor is our Lord Jesus Christ.

And believe it or not, when we died to our dreams of traveling, our Great Provider blessed us abundantly, fulfilling the desires of our hearts.  So now, as a family, we not only bring the Gospel to places other Christians are reluctant to go, we also trek across the world on the adventure of a lifetime.

 

prayer without faith…can teach you a thing or two

“This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us. And if we know that he hears us—whatever we ask—we know that we have what we asked of him.” ~1 John 5:14-15

Prayer is my life.  Seriously…I make a living praying for people, praying for myself…spending tons of time with God.  It’s pretty amazing.  The other day however I was reflecting on my prayer life…more specifically, on my attitude toward God while I pray.  What I mean is this:  When I pray, do I seriously believe that my prayers are  actually going to change somebody’s life?

I get phone calls, emails and text messages asking for prayer.  From the most trivial, “please pray for my board exam,” to the more serious, “my husband has a few hours to live…pray that he doesn’t die.”  And I’m not one to tell somebody “I’m praying for you” without actually praying for them.  The other day a friend of mine asked for prayer to land a job.  I said a quick prayer, texted him back and the next day, he got the job.  But at the time it didn’t even cross my mind that my prayers had anything to do with it.  Why?  Because when I threw up that prayer request to God Almighty, I didn’t sit there and analyze whether or not God would come through.  Not that I was so confident that He would give the answer we wanted but more so because maybe…just maybe, I pray without faith.

A few years ago I was in Cancun, Mexico with a team of people doing surveillance on an underground human trafficking ring.  We entered brothels and confronted pimps.  One day a child approached us, pulled his pants down and asked us if we wanted to buy him.  Immediately we started praying for him and he ran, horrified.  The next night he saw us again and screamed but was nonetheless drawn to our group as we prayed.  He screamed and screamed and told us he couldn’t breathe…that something was inside of him, controlling him.  As he let out these terrible groans, we laid hands on him and prayed to cast out whatever demon he had in him.  And miraculously, after tons of prayer, he let out a final agonizing breath…collapsed and jumped back up…a new kid.  He received Jesus that very minute and joined us in our outreach efforts.

While I was still in Oceanside, a lady entered the church telling me that she needed help.  Her actions displayed those of a schizophrenic.  But after talking to her different personalities for a while she ended up telling me that something was inside of her controlling all of her actions…a demon.  My buddy Roy was with me so we prayed for her.  She ran out of the church and into her car but before she could speed away, we prayed halfway bent into her driver side window.  It was excrutiating prayer based on the looks of that woman and even Roy.  But by the end of it, she became a new woman and received Jesus into her heart.

The other day, I took one of the pastors in our church with me to pray for a sick member.  We entered her dilapidated home and observed her in the fetal position on a bamboo slat moaning in pain.   She’d been yacking her brains out for days now, suffering from a high fever and was praying for God to take her home.  We prayed for healing.  After a lot of sweating and our heartfelt cries to God, she jumped up out of bed and began serving us food and drink and told us that she was completely fine.

A woman in our church had been bleeding for years (sound familiar).  She went to medical doctors and witch doctors but no one could cure her.  Our church prayed for her and after one of the pastors went to visit her, she said she was completely healed and was no longer bleeding.  In fact, that Sunday she showed up to church wearing white pants showing off her confidence in God’s healing.

When Amy and I were fundraising, we were challenged by a talk at Biola University.  At that conference, we prayed for a donor to support us for 1,000 dollars a month.  Three days later, a man came up to me and asked me what I needed for the mission field.  I jokingly told him 1,000/month.  He was not joking and has been supporting us since 2009.  In fact, I know of only one person that I’ve actually asked to support us.  Through our prayers, all of our support came to us…we didn’t have to convince anybody.

The above examples were requests prayed without my faithful confidence that God would deliver.

In spite of that, there are moments when I pray with all the faith my soul can muster.  You would think that it would be those moments where God would show up even more miraculously than when I didn’t pray with passion.  Not the case.  I realized this as I was praying for a pastor friend of mine.  He was dying and the family asked me and some other pastors to enter the ICU to pray.  He coded and the healthcare staff started performing CPR, sending his lifeless form into unnatural motions.  We prayed and prayed and prayed next to his violently reeling body…tears and sweat.  But he died…my hand was still gripping his calf when it went from the burning heat of infection to the frigid cold of death.

And as I write, I do so with one of many sicknesses that has ravaged my body for well over a year.  I pray for healing…so does my wife…as well as missionaries, national pastors and friends from all over the world.  I have yet to experience more than 3 weeks of good health.  All those miraculous events that happened after praying…well, I remember vividly how I didn’t pray like I pictured the Biblical figures to have prayed.  I don’t know how to explain it…the fire and confidence of knowing God will answer those prayers was absent.  But when I prayed for my dying friend or my current illness, I’ll tell you one thing.  I pray with passion.  Yet it seems like nothing is happening.

I guess God can do miraculous things without me, right?  I mean, he’s answered my prayers in the affirmative without me even believing that He could.  God is sovereign, for goodness sake!

However doubtful of my own faithful prayers, I  remain sanguine, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that He’s listening to me.  I know that we are conversing.  I know that He is real and is GOOD.  Honestly speaking though, often I pray as if it’s some type of recipe.  Like, if I follow all the instructions and put in all the right ingredients, the carrot cake will come out of the oven tasting delicious.  When I pray, I make sure to cover all my bases.  I pray for the need, I glorify God…I thank him…and I go back to the need and pray with passion for it.  But…I don’t know…sometimes, at the end of my prayers, I don’t expect to see a miracle.

Many times in fact I’ve already figured out what to say to my friend when he can’t earn enough money to buy food because he didn’t land that job.  I’ve already been thinking about what doctor to refer our church member to in order for her to get appropriate care.  It seems like I pray without faith.

So that’s my confession to you…whoever you are.  I find myself praying without the faith that the prayer will be answered to the benefit of the person being prayed for.  But, you know what?  That doesn’t stop me from praying.  I believe in prayer and I will continue to pray for my healing…and I actually think now, more than ever, my prayer life is maturing.  God is obviously not a genie in a bottle or a recipe to be followed.  He is someone to be trusted.  And even if the result of my prayer seems to do nothing for the health of a sick and dying person, I trust God that He has answered prayers that pertain to the “whole gigantic scheme of things.”

And the last thing.  My faithless prayer has compelled me to imagine how God views the world.  How He sees everything…past, present and future…all at the same time.  And in the “whole gigantic scheme of things,” his response to prayers corresponds to His will for the world…His good and loving will.