the confluence of a dream

Standing in worship, with the resounding rhythm of hand-struck drums and the swell of our conclave of voices singing, I opened my eyes to look out through the metal storefront door into the street outside. Across the uneven dirt road that runs immediately at the entrance of the church a few children looked on, watching us sing, hearing us worship. One by one some began to dance and others began to walk toward the open doorway.

Each week I look out into the lostness of this world and I see these children that come closer and closer to the Kingdom. I pray the Spirit would speak into their small frames the truth of His love and the power of His redemption. I pray for a generation of men, women and children who will go out from here to the cities, villages and nations. I pray, like I have prayed for so many years, for a generation of Pauls.

As we stood there in worship I remembered a conversation with the Lord while we were celebrating one Sunday morning at Chapel Springs Church. Elise was pregnant with our second child and we didn’t know whether we were having a boy or a girl. So I asked the Lord. As I prayed I felt the Lord ask me to give up my dream of having a son, and if I was willing He would give us a thousand sons. I spoke with Elise and we gave the Lord our dream for His. That morning He gave a life-long promise and a few months later He gave us Ava Grace (which means “the voice of Grace”).

And there I stood, on this isthmus of Africa, with our sweet daughter by my side, reciting a prayer for a generation of Pauls and recalling a promise of 1000. And for the first time in half a decade the two connected. The two flowed together instantly as if this small chapel was the confluence of where these two great dreams meet.

But who are we in the grandeur of this vision, this confluence of dreams? Who are we who stand in prayer for a generation of men, women and children who will go from the nations with apostolic zeal and fervor to the nations? Who are we who fall on our faces in worship to the glory of Jesus Christ, the Saving Sovereign, the Eternal? We are not Paul. We are Ananias. We have the privilege of being the nameless ones who, led by the Holy Spirit, lay hands on His chosen apostles and bring them into the fellowship of believers. We are humbled that we get to be the first ones to call them brothers and sisters in Christ. Thank you for standing with us, creating space to grow a movement to see 1000 sons, a generation of Pauls, for an increasingly redeemed and transformed Africa.

at the end of the day

It’s interesting the thoughts you have at the end of the day; all the ideas and recollections of the past hours from sunrise to set, all the contemplations of the soon-coming morning and future ambitions of dreams yet-to-be fulfilled. Lately, I’ve spent more time with these thoughts outside in the courtyard of our guesthouse thanks to our new puppy, Piper. This sweet little half-German shepherd has yet to develop a bladder adequate for me to get a full night of sleep, but because of this I’ve found myself out under the stars with my thoughts and our night guard.

Depending on the time of night we may exchange our Wolof greetings, which begin in Arabic with “Peace to you” and culminates in the question of whether one has peace to which the proper reply is “Peace only.” At other times, he is bent low at his prayer mat, seeking to please a distant Sovereign who is eternally other. And then, on occasion, as I steal quietly down the stairs, I find him sleeping.

In the stillness of the night the words of Qoheleth, the writer of Ecclesiastes, whispers “He has put eternity in the heart of man,” (3.11); and depending on your perspective that thought of looking with finite eyes on eternity is either immensely joyous or absolutely terrifying!

Made in the image of God we have the ability to look into the past, into the spent days of our own lives and the lives of others. I think of a dear brother from Eritrea we walked with while living in Northeastern Africa, who had spent several years in prison for the capital sin of following Jesus. No promise of temporary freedom could steal away the eternity in his heart of being a redeemed and transforming child of God.

Made in the image of God we have the capacity to reflect on the current state of this sinful and broken world and see how desperately humanity is in need of a Savior. We watch as wicked men horrified by the eternity in their hearts, scramble for a thread of redemption from a vengeful deity, seeking to place the balance of their sins on the severed necks of our brothers and sisters (of whom this world is not worthy; Heb. 11.38).

Made in the image of God, and redeemed through Jesus’ death on the cross and resurrection from the grave, we have just enough imagination to envision a foretaste of the glory divine of His eternal presence.

As the Eritrean theologian Tewoldemedhin Habtu wrote, “the only possible way to know eternity is through a personal relationship with the eternal God.” At the end of the day as a son or daughter of God, saved by the grace of God through Jesus the Messiah, we know with all assurance that we have forever to worship Him, to adore Him, to pour out our love for Him. At the end of the day, does someone near you, a night guard, a coworker, a loved one, have that same assurance?

Thank you for letting us be your personal link from the local church to the unreached Wolof-speaking peoples of Senegal.

an implication of faith

"Faith implies an action."

Those words spoken in French and echoed in Wolof by a young Serer pastor hung in the air like the smell of freshly baked bread. I’ve been ruminating on those words spoken from the pulpit in a small storefront church that sits along a bumpy urban dirt road where young children stop to play and stare and women carrying loads home would cautiously glance in our direction.

It is great to be back in Africa, and even in a new place we still have plenty of desert scrub and Saharan sand layering our floors and feet. Each morning we wake up to find ourselves living on this isthmus jutting into the Atlantic ocean where the shores are laden with beautiful fishing boats and the men that work them. Down the street from us is the main fish market, filled with noisome fish and wonderful people made in the image of God. Faith implies an action.

Sitting on a smooth wooden bench that Sunday morning among the faithful, these men, women and children we have dreamed of, have sought visions for, have longed to see face to face, I heard the words once more and think of Peter. Faith implies an action. A step, a confession, a casting of a net.

The only difference I can find between the Senegalese fishermen who set out each morning into the ocean breakers and that fiery fisherman from Galilee is Jesus. Peter met that preaching carpenter when Jesus stepped in his boat and began to speak (Lk. 5.3). Faith implies an action and we must ask ourselves, as followers of Jesus, if will we be found on the shore or on the waters of life in the boats of the unreached.

Although our first month in this great country has flown by us, as we drink from the open hydrant of culture, language and starting life over from the beginning, we now sing new songs, new songs of worship to the One who is the root of our faith, the carpenter King, the preaching Word, the Lord of our lives, the One who is calling us to action. We sing songs of His name and renown and we sing them in Wolof.

Thank you for your faithfulness toward our family in prayer and support acted out in love toward the Father. We are so blessed to be your personal link from the local church to the unreached peoples of Senegal! And together, as we step out in faith and cast the net of Good News over this land we will see Him create space to grow a movement of men, women and children who will soon call Him Lord!

thrill of hope

Driving through Washington DC, in the flow of meetings in and around the capitol, I decided to stop by and say hi to our family at National Community Church. As we were saying goodbye they went over to a stack of freshly arrived narrow cardboard boxes, and carefully cutting through the clear tape produced a CD case. Fresh in its plastic wrapping was their worship team’s new Christmas album.

I thanked them for their gift, above and beyond their incredible prayer and financial support they’ve given our family over the years, and started walking back to my car. Walking through the brisk cold I looked at the case in my black-gloved hands; white words set against distant lights coming into focus, “Thrill of Hope”. The words on the cover began to resonate with my heart.

Like unwrapping an early Christmas present I sat in my car and began to listen to the collection of christmas carols and hymns, with those words, “thrill of hope,” still reverberating in my soul. For “Long lay the world in sin and error pining, / ’Til He appear'd and the soul felt its worth / A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices, / For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.” Driving through DC traffic I longed to fall on my knees, to lift my voice with angels and sing out the truth that Jesus Christ our Lord has come! That day when the Messiah would appear has come! The Lord of all creation that would redeem the lost and transform our brokenness with His restoring hand has come!

Seeing dreams and visions materialize is exhilarating! It drives to the very heart, the very core of our hopes and expectations. And the Gospel goes beyond our hope for a particular present under the Christmas tree. It goes beyond the “I do” at the marriage altar. It goes beyond hearing the baby’s cry at birth. Eternal salvation purchased in the palms of Christ and redemption into the arms of our Father is more exhilarating, more thrilling than any other hope.

And out of my car stereo they sang, “The thrill of hope has come through an act of love / The prince of heaven now here on earth to be our saving grace / Hail Emmanuel, God with us!”

Dear friend, as you walk through this advent season, these days and weeks that lead to Christmas, can you approach the manger with expectancy? The thrill of hope for all humanity has come to us through an act of love. Jesus Christ our Lord, our Messiah, stepped out of His eternal glory so that we might find His saving grace. Jesus the Messiah is our Emmanuel. He is our God, and He is with us!

And as our hearts thrill with expectancy, as we worship our Lord moving ever closer into His presence by His Holy Spirit, can we remember those still a far way off that have yet to hear. They are still out on the hillsides of this world waiting without hope. They are still unreached, living in the shadows of false religion and without the Good News of Jesus. Let us pray for them, let us call out to them by name and share with them the gift of eternal life.

just like breathing

Have you ever had your breath taken away? It’s one thing to inhale and exhale on your own, but to have the wind knocked out of you is something completely other. In my life I think I’ve had my breath taken away in every conceivable way. An unexpected kick to the chest (as only roughhousing boys will know), the grandeur of the Rocky Mountains suddenly appearing along the distant horizon, the unparalleled beauty of your future bride walking down the aisle toward you. They take your breath away. Even if you are expecting it, it can still come as a surprise and surpass your wildest expectations.

Enjoying the closing chapters of Isaiah I was tapped in the chest with 65.1: “I was ready to be sought by those who did not ask for me; I was ready to be found by those who did not seek Me. I said, ‘Look at Me, behold Me,’ to a nation that was not called by My name.” I had to stop and worship. What glory! What grandeur! What grace! I should have seen the round house kick that was coming when I got to chapter 66 verse 18, but no matter how many times I’ve read these words they laid me flat for “the time is coming to gather all nations and tongues. And they shall come and shall see my glory.”

Gasping for breath at the greatness of our God, His revealed word to Isaiah continues as He promises to send out His people to the nations, to the lost and unreached, “to the coastlands far away, that have not heard my fame or seen my glory. And they shall declare my glory among the nations,” (v.19).

Our family vision is to be “A Personal Link from the Local Church to the Unreached” and in these verses the Lord confirms for us that He is calling to the unreached nations. He is crying out to the unreached peoples through His people, the Body of Christ, “Look at Me, Behold Me!”

The truth is, when we inhale we have to exhale. I’ve known Annabonese fishermen who could hold their breath for five minutes underwater, but even they have to give in and exhale. We will either breathe out or pass out, and this natural truth is spiritual truth as well. We were never intended to hold in the breath of God for ourselves alone. As we breath in His Spirit, His presence, His beauty, Jesus fills our lungs with praise and proclamation.

If we refuse to breath out, as a Church, we will pass out. We will pass out of our purpose, pass out of our calling, and like the audience of Isaiah, pass out of our place in the Kingdom. And knowing that we will pass out seeking to contain the uncontainable, the merciful Lord we serve takes our breath away. He knocks the wind out of us, and calls out to the nations through our exhaling. To borrow the words of John Baschieri, the Pastor of New Life AG in Lehigh Acres, “The longer a church exists the more they must fight the tendency to invest their resources in personal comfort and preservation rather than outreach and evangelism.” How is God taking your breath away today?

Thank you so much for lifting up your voices for the unreached, exhaling the praise of His glorious Name and renown over the unreached people of Senegal!