crafting catherdrals

I stole a few minutes during a conference I was speaking at recently, with pastors from churches around Dakar and as far inland as Thies, to read a few pages of poetic lines by Henry Newbolt (I’ll be honest I’ve never heard of Newbolt before but with a name like that I had to give him a few minutes audience). Newbolt, his words are as martial and action-packed as his name. On the last page I discovered a poem called The Building of the Temple dedicated to the Canterbury Cathedral. He wrote:
   "Let us build for the years we shall not see…
    Let us build in hope and in sorrow, and rest in Thee."

Our forefathers a hundred years ago spoke vision of “the greatest evangelization that the world has ever seen,” but would they have imagined today’s 76 million men, women and children reached with the gospel in a century? They were a generation who believed if they committed their work to the Lord He would establish their plans (Prov. 16.3). On the foundation of Christ they built the walls of prayer and passion for a cathedral of praise where millions have met with Jesus.

Have you heard the story of three men working on a construction site? The first was asked what he was doing and he replied, “I’m laying bricks.” The next man responded, “I’m building a wall.” But the third man when asked the question, looked to the skies and with a smile said, “I’m building a cathedral.”

What do we believe? When we look at the labor of our hearts and hands what do we see? What would you say? We are not just laying brick, together we are laying the cornerstone, Christ Jesus, among the unreached. We are not just building a wall, we are laying a foundation of gospel witness among unreached families. With rolled-up sleeves we are, with sweat on our brow and prayer in our hearts, digging out out the cultural and religious strongholds to lay a foundation which is Christ the Lord (1 Cor. 3.11). And even with eyes lifted to heaven we are not just building a cathedral, we are creating space to grow a movement where men, women and children can meet with our Savior, Jesus.

Many of us will never see on this side of eternity the fruit of our labors in prayer, the produce of hours cultivating the world’s fields in intercession. Many of us will never stand face to face here on earth with the countless millions that have come to know Jesus as their Lord through our sacrificial giving. Nevertheless, through the hope and sorrow, through the passion and the pain, let us build the Church and rest in the glory of our God. Thank you for working with us and allowing us to be a personal link from the local church to the unreached.

creating culture

Life is full of adventure. Even the smallest things can be exciting when we see them peppered with the uncertainty of human experience. One would think the simple act of preparing dinner for her family would be uneventful until the electricity spends almost equal measures of time being off as it does being on (leaving the delicious contents of the fridge untouched), and the adventure begins. Or a preacher taking the elementary act of stepping into the pulpit would seem routine, but this time words come more cautiously because (although he’s practiced each line, each word repeatedly) everything is different. The heart and passion are the same but the language is new; an adventure in every syllable.

For Elise and I this month has been a proving appraisal of our family’s mission of “creating space to grow a movement.” No matter how long we’ve lived in Africa the challenges of wise stewardship, like stewarding food in cold storage while living in an area of town known universally for its flexible relationship with electricity, never gets easier. We sit in the dark with a faint glow of a candle more evenings now, sweating in the heat of the night, to see the first church planted in this neighborhood. And not just the first church, but a church planting movement born from a passion to create culture.

After preaching the first time in Senegal I told the pastor of the church the next time I would preach in Wolof. I thought he would wait longer but within a matter of weeks he was ready for me to step into the pulpit again, and after only 153 days in Senegal, my promise sent me into an interpretive frenzy! I could more easily preach in English and sought out help in translation, but to create space in which we more readily engage the Wolof in their own culture, it must happen in their own language. Even now, as I write these words I am writing a second Wolof message to ring in the new month.

In the middle of all that our family had the adventure of my traveling to the central African island of my parent’s missionary calling. It is inspiring to be back in the first church my parent’s planted, the first of its kind ever born on Guineano soil. And it is worship-inducing that after less than 30 years to see now over 80 churches throughout the country. It is humbling to see pastors come from distant villages along the coastline and mountain crests to hear me bring a passionate plea for their partnership in reaching the unreached peoples of this world, like the Wolof. It is unequivocally culture creating to bear the shared mantle of global responsibility to carry the Gospel to the humanity made in the image of God.

The truth is life is full of adventure, of new experiences. Opening the door each morning can just as easily yield itself to adventure as it can to the mundane unvarying rhythms we so often create around ourselves. What will you create in your intercession and interactions? What adventure will you live today?

an unclouded sky

Over the past several years the Lord has continuously spoken to my heart through the life and work of Vincent van Gogh. A strange channel of contemplation I know, but the beauty of his artistic style are all the more compounded by the reality of his early life as a pastor’s kid and his failure as a missionary. In the hall of our new home we have two replicas of his work which has traveled the globe with us, and the other The Sower. It hangs by the door that leads from our home into the streets of our unreached city as a reminder to cast the seed of His Good News on every part of the field into which the Master has sent us.

You can only imagine my surprise and excitement then when, as Elise and I were walking through a collective of artists, with carvings and curios, jewelry and material on display, I thought I saw the Starry Night. Possibly the most famous painting by van Gogh but this particular painting had been reproduced in an African setting. In place of the towering Cypress tree stands a dark Baobab tree. Instead of the quaint European hamlet sleeps a West African village.

After the artist and I wrangled on a good price I brought it home and placed it in our living room. I pulled together my books on van Gogh and began to do a side-by-side comparison of the pieces. What had the Senegalese artist changed? Why had he changed it? What pieces of the original didn’t fit into the image of an African starry night.

At the heart of the piece, a solitary structure struck my eye. Its presence in the heart of the original I had never noticed, but in its absence on the African plain was glaring. It was the cathedral. The church at the heart of the Southern French village with its spire reaching toward the unclouded sky had no counterpart in the African interpretation. Of all the huts, gathered in groups and scattered across the illuminated valley the center of the space of the canvas is blank. No cathedral. No spire. No church.

When I look at the map of this nation the artist’s depiction is in perfect keeping with most villages, and my heart breaks. When I go out into the streets of our corner of the city, where 1.5 million men, women and children call home, but there are no cathedrals of praise, no spires rising in witness, no churches gathered in worship my soul weeps.

We are so blessed to be your personal link from the local church to the unreached Wolof-speaking peoples. In the years to come, as our shared intercession rises up before the Lord for these unreached men, women and children I pray we would offer up a new painting reflecting the shift, reflecting the change, reflecting the created space that grew a movement of African people into the presence of Christ below an unclouded sky.

transfigured witness

"But Jesus came and touched them, saying, ‘Rise, and have no fear.’ And when they lifted up their eyes, they saw no one but Jesus only," (Mt. 17.7-8).

Jesus only. If you had one message, one opportunity with limited words to speak into the life of a church, what would you say? If you were invited to give voice to Truth into the heart of a man, woman or child yet-to-recognize Jesus as the Messiah, to which Scripture would you lead them? What words would you speak into and over their lives?

I stepped into the pulpit here on this Western Coast for the first time. Like so many pulpits across North, East and Central Africa, standing alongside so many African brothers (who transform my halting words effortlessly into their linguistic equivalents of Arabic, Swahili, Spanish, French and now Wolof) I opened my mouth to speak. And so as if this moment journeying between Easter and Pentecost were fleeting, I called the congregation to prayer. I bowed my body down behind the wooden frame below view, with the word of God burning in my heart, hearing the studied words of the transfiguration echoing in my soul.

What a beautiful and profound passage of God’s word where we see our Immanuel, our God with us, in His celestial glory. Atop a high mountain we see His face radiating more brilliantly than the sun. And enveloped in the cloud of the Holy Spirit we hear the voice of God the Father, which spoke the sun into being, and we see the Triune God resplendent in majesty. Like Peter, James and John laid low to the ground could we do anything but fall on our faces and tremble.

What a privilege to give witness to the transfigured Lord in a Senegalese storefront church, competing with the sound of taxi horns and barreling trucks. Transfixed there on a mountain top with His three closest disciples, and surrounded here by African men, women and children who have embraced the cross on this coastal shore, we sense Jesus’ presence. We feel His gentle hand as He says, “Jogleen, bullon ragal dara.” He says, “Levez-vous, n'ayez pas peur.” He says, “Rise and have no fear.”

Today, as we lift our prayerful eyes, from the rocks of a high Mid-Eastern mountain, from our African wooden church bench, from our American church office desk, do we see Jesus only? The Son of God who is the Son of Man. The Almighty God, Creator of Heaven and Earth, who calls us close and calls us friend.

Today, do we hear Jesus’ words, “Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father,” (Mt. 13.43)? He is calling us to transformed lives, to transfigured living. Do we hear the Spirit of God saying, “Those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the sky above; and those who turn many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever,” (Dan 12.3). He is calling us to live a transfigured witness from DC to Dakar and from Mbour to Baltimore.

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!