Dichotomy

In a few moments, this place will be silent but for the sound of rain on the clay tile roof. It is the last night the team will be together as all but a few will board planes for home. I took my usual perch on the street tonight and watched little rivers of rain water roll down the slants of the cobble stone street. It is unusually quiet tonight, even with the rain. Antigua makes a beautiful sound at night, silence that is only interrupted by the occasional Tuc Tuc splashing through the rapids that have formed within the low spots of the street. There are no dogs either, and the drunken man who frequents the corner opposite my spot has been absent since nightfall. Inside the hotel, along the open corridors, beside the fountain, in the corner chairs, and in groups of two and three, the team journals, recalls, and committs this weak to their memory. It is always the same on the last evening.


I sit and wonder about the terminal ends of this work and works like it. Where we are certainly wed to Christ through our inner statement of belief, that resting upon our Salvation that His death upon the cross alone brought for us. That death and sin fell short of its reign in man as Jesus' Resurrection silenced both. In the end there is only God, as it was in the beginning, there is only Christ Jesus.

So upon and against this truth I ponder the work of missionaries in the world and still find joy in that, as Paul teaches, faith without works is dead. But therein lays the point of the question I ponder in the rain. Who is being pulled from death?

Is it the little girl in the wheelchair who continues to fill my eyes and crush my heart? Is it the dozens of old men and women who finally see clearly as the read and work? Perhaps the hundreds who, for the first time saw a doctor, and at that, Americano. Is their leap forward into better health what we can say is rescued from the death of faith cast interior without connection to the world? Only God can know such things.

I believe, and perhaps it is only a hollow reflection of my emotive experiences in these parts of the world, that it is we, the missionaries, who are rescued from the spiritual death that all too often awaits us in the bedroom communities of our nation. I love my country and its people and let anyone who claims different be called a liar. But I see something so bleak around us, in our churches, in our halls of fellowship, in our absence from the things that truly matter. Perhaps we come to places like this to dip our toes into the harsher half of the dichotomy of existences, that undeniable valley between have and have not, that is America and the rest of the world.

So what is it we should now do? I wish we had that and a thousand other conversations in our churches today. Perhaps we could push to the left or right our arguments over sound systems, carpeting, and doctrinal styles and embrace the realities of needless, pointless, endless sufferings in the lives of the little ones for whom we loved this week. Jesus said that they are blessed and that, by our position in the valley of dichotomy, it will be easier for the camel to pass through the eye of the needle. So, again, what is it we should do now?

My wife and I spoke at a gathering of Christians some time ago about our experiences together in life, in missions, in our ministry, in our personal struggles. A man asked my quite sincerely after our talk was over, "How would you direct us to pray?" Of course I first said that only the Holy Spirit can direct such things but I offered some suggestions. I told him, "When you go to the faucet in your kitchen and the water is safe to drink, thank God. When your kids come home from school because there is a school to go to, thank Him again. When you eat, and you are full, and you sleep well knowing that you will eat well again in the morning, thank God. But more than anything, never let a day pass without taking your children in hand, holding them tightly and whispering in their ears, I love you."

If nothing changes for us but an increase in our love for those around us then we have satisfied what Christ reported to be the two greatest commandments to first love God with all we are and have and to do the same with each other. I saw great love in small acts this week and some powerful moments in unlikely places. For all the dirt, and pain, and tears, and chaos that enjoin these gatherings of missionaries to the world, there is always Christ within and all around us.

Be well, know love first and last, pray for peace and work for justice, and always know that we are so loved by the Author of our lives, by the God who created you and I. Amen.