Christmas News

Have you ever wondered what it would be like if God walked among us? Where would he be born? Would he meet the world as a king or pauper? Would he celebrate our joys? Would he share our grief? Who would announce his birth? Would it be ordinary or would it be proclaimed by all the media outlets?

Christmas is the season in which we go back to those basic questions. It can be easy to see it just as a season of feasts, gifts, and a break from work; but it is something more. Church attendance usually booms during this season. Some is tradition, but I suspect our humanity for a few weeks can't dodge the questions and comes looking for answers.

This week we will look at one of the men who heard a message hundreds of years before the birth of Jesus. His name was Isaiah. He spoke of the birth of a child who would bring healing justice and counsel (Isaiah 9:1-7). Thousands of years later we still can not get enough. In fact, as we sit still and process the hurts of this world we can not stop searching for a counselor to heal with justice. All the men that try to fill this role fail. We need God himself in human flesh to meet this need.

I hope to see you this Sunday as we begin our Christmas journey.

Imana ikurinde,

Dave

P.S. This Saturday at 2:00 pm some of us will meet at the church building to begin decorating for Christmas and passing out Christmas invitations in our neighborhood. Your presence will be greatly appreciated.

P.S.S. Sue Gooch arrived safely in the U.S. this week. Her doctor found 9 fractures in her arm and hand and she successfully underwent surgery. Her hands are in splints. Thank you for your prayers and concern.

Cancelled Gooch Departure Fellowship

I have some disappointing news to pass on to all of you. Last week I announced that this coming Sunday we would have a Departure Fellowship for Tom and Sue Gooch who have spent 5 months with us over the last year. Unfortunately, this past Sunday 18 November Sue fell after church and experienced a compound fracture on her right arm.

It appears that Sue will need surgery on her arm, and she and Tom flew back to the United States on Friday. Thus this Sunday's Departure Fellowship for the Gooches has been cancelled.

Let me share with all of you the message I intended to share with all of you and the Gooches this coming Sunday. Most of you will notice Tom and Sue for the activities they do with their hands. Our improved acoustics, stage curtain, and projector screen are examples. You may not be aware of other things which they do.

A spiritual concept we must understand in order to grow spiritually is authority. The trendy words today are leadership and mentoring. Jesus and Paul used the words disciple making. Jesus said, "Come follow me and I'll make you fishers of men." His agenda was a relationship that came with training. Paul said, "Follow me as I follow Christ." His intention was to lead people to the knowledge he had of the Lord.

We can only become as good as the one we follow, and need to carefully choose who we will follow. Some choose to follow themselves and that is always a disaster. Some choose poor leaders and that is also a disaster.

We at CCR are now in the stage of calling those willing to join our CCR vision to follow. We hope those of us calling can live in the image of Jesus in this endeavor.

You may not know, but Bryan Hixson's and my contracts place Tom Gooch as our authority. He is the one who we follow. He's an engineer by profession and training and a lay pastor for over 20 years. The endeavor that we embarked upon recently required a seasoned pastor and engineer and Tom has been here to pastor Bryan and I. He has been the man we've followed.

Tom chose not to lead from a distance, but close at hand with his hand always at work. He provided needed counsel and examples. He's become not just my boss, but my spiritual hero. He and Sue will be greatly missed, but we trust their care to the Lord as they also trusted our care to Him.

I hope you can take a moment this week to drop them an encouraging note as I know this coming week will be a difficult one for them.

Imana ikurinde,

Dave

Sound Improvements

Eight months ago we began meeting in the Christ's Church in Rwanda Hall. It was an exciting day, but the echo made it difficult to understand much of what was said. For months we have set aside money and slowly worked on making acoustical improvements. This week we finished our stage curtain (with the help of Tom and Sue Gooch and Jeff and Lisa Jackson.)

Last night I attended a play at our hall. The acoustics are now vastly improved.

Some of you have mentioned the hall acoustics being an issue in your ability to understand the worship and teaching at CCR. Now that they are improved I would like to invite you to give us another chance. Also, I think you will just find our facility more aesthetically pleasing.

This week we will continue our series through Mark's stories of Jesus. In it we will hear the closing illustrations as Jesus stops the actions and speaks extensively for a rare moment. The closing illustrations are about the potential of a planted seed. They seem particularly appropriate for this season in our church's life as we move from a planted seed to a seedling.

I look forward to seeing you soon.

Imana ikurinde,

Dave

WHO IS THE HERO OF THE STORY?

One of the dangers of being a story teller for a living is that sometimes we can make ourselves the hero of our own stories. It is a very dangerous path to be so self-absorbed. The stories of me must be told with accuracy. This includes both our successes and failings. Without truthful disclosure our history becomes mythology (or political and religious propaganda). Before I tell the story of this week’s column allow me to state clearly I am not the hero of the story.

I have the good fortune of telling stories about a man named Jesus of Nazareth for a living. In order to tell his story well I tell the stories of his interaction with myself, family, and friends. None of us are the hero of our ultimate story. Instead our hero is an out of sync carpenter turned itinerant preacher who rumor has it rose from the dead approximately 2,000 years ago.

This week I want to tell the stories of some teenage young men with whom I run, my son Caleb and his friend, Nat Ntumba. Caleb has journeyed with me for 13 years. Nat has been a family friend for the last 2 years our family has lived in Kigali. A lot has changed in those two years. Watching the events of these two young men the last few months has told me even more change is coming. Caleb and Nat are entering the prime physical years of a man’s life. Each week brings a new found physical strength. Their bodies are becoming the bodies of men. With these changes also come the discoveries of adulthood. It is a delightful journey to share with them.

For the last month I have been running every Monday afternoon with them. At the end we usually do an 800 meter lap around several blocks at the school they attend called Kigali International Community School. For the last 13 years of Caleb’s and my journey, I’ve always tried to run at a speed that was as fast as I thought Caleb could run. My hope was every time to push him to the outer reaches of his ability and encourage him to go just a little more each time. Usually we’ll finish running as fast as we can. I may even graciously let Caleb finish in front of me.

The last month things have changed with Caleb and Nat. Two weeks ago as we began our weekly run Caleb kept right behind me. In fact, I found the roles to be switching. It seemed he was the one pushing me to the far reaches of my ability. Our run has two minor hill climbs and I with more confidence than I should assumed that as we started running up the hills he would give out. Surely my legs were stronger and lungs fuller. I could beat Caleb on a hill. As we reached the end of our weekly run I found myself no longer doing the paced run of Caleb’s childhood, but instead running the last few meters with every once of my physical strength. I just barely finished our weekly race in front of him. Nat came just behind Caleb. As he did, I heard Caleb say, “I almost beat my dad.”

Maybe, these are the scariest words for a father to hear. Forty meets thirteen, and the eventual end of this earthly life is now in sight. My journey in the confines of this body has begun gradual descent. All I can do is fight for the descent to slow. Caleb is on just the opposite perspective. Each day brings a new physical opportunity. He is on the ascent. However, instead of disappointment in me or jealousy for his potential the season of life now says it is my time to cheer for his success. He must become greater while I become less. He will see and do greater than things than I if he chooses the path I place before him.

This week’s run brought another surprise. Nat decided my day had come. He ran in front of me and kept the pace. I thought, “O.k. Today is the time for Nat to learn about pace. Let me follow, but at the first hill I will catch him.” Instead, at the first hill he kept going. We turned around the block and started going down hill. Nat caught his wind before me and began running faster. I pushed to get closer, but saw little by little I was losing ground. However, there was one longer hill coming, and running hills is my specialty. I was confident the final hill would be my opportunity to show Nat I could still stay with him. Now it was a full sprint to the end knowing we would need to save nothing for reserve. Slowly I was gaining on Nat, but he had too much ground on me. We reached our finish line with Nat in front, me next, and Caleb just behind. Forty met thirteen, and thirteen won.

I could not help but congratulate Nat for an exceptional run. From now to the foreseeable future Nat would become faster. My last run of my life that was faster than Nat had been the previous week. It was thrilling to see his future.

As I looked at Caleb I realized my end with him was also in sight. Whether it was one more week or one more month, Caleb would soon overtake me. It was time to prepare for the inevitable. I must become less. He must become more. My role is to coach and cheer for his success whether our endeavor is a weekly run or something more.

So what is the point of this story of two teenage boys running with a middle aged man? Leadership is about relinquishing status and responsibility so that others can succeed. Whether it is our physical bodies or intellectual capacity at a certain point the inevitable decline begins. The younger must take the responsibility of the older. Hopefully, our age makes us wiser for the journey, and we become the coaches of life for our juniors to succeed.

However, some view leadership as a possession to guard. It is their hidden treasure and they refuse to disclose its secrets or plan for their succession. Term limits are their greatest fear. For some strange reason they are never able to conceptualize that eventually the younger will catch them. Their most enduring moment will not be their own victory, but the success of their protégé.

The hero of my story, Jesus of Nazareth, proposed many years ago that true leadership was in relinquishment. In fact, he only gave three years of his life to leadership. On the first year, he asked his potential protégés to follow. Near the second, he offered the serious ones an apprenticeship. By the third the inevitable was nearing, and he nurtured them with confusing words. They never quite seemed to get it, but in the end he gave them his full measure of authority and commissioned them to do more than he.

My challenge today is not to be the hero of your story. Instead it is to lead like my hero, Jesus of Nazareth.

Come run with me.

FRIENDS IN THE JOURNEY

You may grow weary of the story, but I cannot stop telling it. The memories are burned too deeply into my mind and body. From the years of 1994 to 2001 I fought a battle with back pain. When I was 29 my youthful strength was taken from me. I walked with a cane. I experienced three surgeries on my spine. But like those strange fellows 2,000 years ago my life changed and I cannot stop repeating the rumor. The Lord has been kind to me. At the age of 40 I have both gray in my beard and my youthful strength. With my five kids maybe the Lord saw fit to give my youth back to me for a season. I know both humanity’s and my own story well enough to know that eventually age will catch me so for this season of life I must celebrate the Lord’s goodness.

Thus most mornings when I arise I go for a quick run or bike ride. The scars still leave me a little stiff and the exercise gets me through the day’s pain. However, this is more than just coping. This is celebrating joy. As former Olympian Eric Liddell said, “When I run I feel the pleasure of God.” Besides the Lord’s grace in my recovery he gave me friends in the journey.

A few weeks before I moved to Kigali in 2005, a friend in the journey gave me a treasure. His father had passed away and with his inheritance he had bought a racing bike. It was beautiful, light, and fast. He had used it for bike races and enjoyed the journey, but for some reason he believed he needed to give it to me. I was shocked, but could not say no. So as a grown man I received another man’s favorite toy. My friend on the journey gave me his treasure and off I rode.

As the Lord gave my youthful strength back to me, I could not help but seek out opportunities to publicly celebrate the Lord’s goodness. A couple times per year I do some race. I usually hang to the back and enjoy the journey. I am in no way a competitor. I am just man on a journey.

My wife, Jana thinks I am crazy. Occasionally, my boyish brain finds a challenge to ponder. A couple years ago, I pondered what a bike ride from Kigali to Butare would be like. I don’t know where the question came from. Was it my ambition, celebration, or the Lord’s leading? Maybe my grandchildren will understand my strange explorations. For this season of life I will just take the challenges as they come.

This year as I checked the www.projectrwanda.org web site and saw a pastor’s dream – a Saturday road bike race to Butare. This would fit my schedule. It was marketed as for “professionals,” and I double checked that a 40 year old muzungu would be welcome. Thankfully, I was welcome. So on Saturday, 8 September I gathered with some others at Bourbon Coffee to begin the journey.

It started with thrilling ride through Kigali. However, within 10 kilometers I could no longer see any more competitors. I was near the back of the race. This would be my own quiet journey and challenge. Could I make it to Butare on a bike in a day? If possible it would only be made with the help of friends both known and unknown on the journey.

Next I began the climb to Gitarama. For the wananci along the way I must have provided quite a bit of comic relief. Two young women saw me climbing a hill. They had a bucket of water in their hands and a smile on their face. To my surprise they threw the water on me as I passed by. I did not know if I had been the victim of a practical joke or a sincere attempt to help; but the cool water was delightful and I secretly hoped I’d be met by another bucket carrying munanci.

To my surprise Gitarama came relatively easy. It was almost all uphill, but it seemed my training had done all I needed for it to do. My struggle to Gitarama was just to get enough water. Thankfully, I had some more unknown friends on the journey. I had two water bottles to start on my bike, but it did not take long for them to be empty. I don’t know how it was done, but just when I was at my last drop of drinking water someone in a support vehicle found me and gave me another bottle of water.

A little past Gitarama I came to the only food station on the journey. I ate my fill of bananas, grabbed some water, enjoyed a brief visit; and began again. A few kilometers later my day almost finished. My front tire tube blew. I had no extra tube or repair kit with me. I began walking towards help and assumed this journey was over. Instead, a support truck with a known friend pulled up. Within his truck was a new tube. So I drank some water, ate some food, and allowed my friend to repair my bike. A friend on the journey brought me closer to completion.

As I neared Ruhango, a truck with two friends from Kigali found me. I had asked for them to find me near the end and bring me water and food. It was great to see them and my two Kigali friends strengthened me for the journey. My body still felt strong, but my end was nearing.

As Nyanza approached my knees were in great pain. I had 30 more kilometers left to go, and the joy of the journey had left. If it was up to me Nyanza would have been the end. However, there is strength to sharing a journey with a friend. So for 30 kilometers more I went. The joy was gone. In fact, I found myself no longer thanking God for the beautiful hills of Rwanda, but asking him to remove every hill between Nyanza and Butare. The Lord ignored my prayer, but gave me two friends. My friends told me I weaved continually. I remember being dizzy and a little confused. I had passed the point of my body hurting, and now it was my brain.

Finally, I reached Butare. I was almost thankful until I realized the Lord had created one long final hill. I saw a couple more friends on the outskirts of Butare. They assured me I was almost there, and I continued.

By the time I reached the Finish Line it had been taken down. From all appearances the race was over. No one was waiting for me. In fact, I rode about 200 meters past the finish line until an unknown friend told me I had finished. There was nothing glorious in the end. Only the satisfaction of knowing I had met the challenge.

So what’s the point? No glory. Could an enjoyable journey be full of pain? Why? Somehow, I found joy in the journey. The lesson learned was that I could not make this one alone. Maybe, that’s the point of this story. We only finish painful journeys if we have some on to travel with us.

Come run with me.

IS THE BEAUTY OF A WOMAN GOOD OR EVIL?

Could someone please explain something to me? What does it take to get a letter to the editor? Last week Shyaka Kanuma ran an editorial, “Congratulations, Miss Kigali.” His editorial raised issues of beauty, history, religion, and culture.

In another opinion piece Erwin Winkler raised the issues of celebrities’ scandalous behavior with “Spare us the traumatic experience of Paris Hilton.” I loved it and could not stop laughing with the picture of a pig impersonating Paris Hilton in a swimming pool. As with most well written pieces it gave a fresh face to an old discussion. I could not help but remember that approximately 3,000 years ago a wise king wrote a similar proverb with the words, “Like a gold ring in a pearl’s snout is a beautiful woman who shows no discretion.” The issue of misused beauty is not new to the discussions of humanity.

So the issue of beauty was thoroughly raised, but no one dared offer a comment. Before moving to Rwanda, I did a radio show for Monitor FM (now KFM) in Uganda, and the subject of beauty always generated letters to the editor or calls to radio stations.

Why the silence? Are men in Kigali unaware that women are quite pleasing to the eye? Do they think that women are just a functional biological fact necessary for the continued reproduction of our race? Is there pleasure to be found in the graces of a captivating woman?

Or are women in Kigali unaware of their ability to control their future by a simple smile or glance? Do they not know the capacities of the right dress, blouse, shoes, or jewelry? Could they possible not know the gentle arts of flirtation and tease?

What about our city’s pastors? The best ones I know will secretly tell you their most thrilling pastoral moments are the celebrations of the life and mating cycles of humanity. They guard their parishioner’s mating rituals the way ORPTN guards the gorillas. They secretly pray that the married couples in their assembly find all the erotic love they need within their own marriage. Their most troubled pastoral moments usually arise as the repercussions of erotic love outside of the covenant of marriage. They know that we were designed to mate for life and find pleasure in the joys of earth. Good pastors create environments for young men and women to first meet one another, but then delay the mating cycle until it is a covenant approved by their community. Yet when that covenant is finalized they eagerly await new births and treasure each child and the hope for the future that child brings. Thus good pastors can not help but both appreciate and fear the beauty of a woman.

Unfortunately, it has been my experience that many pastors have neither the depth of thought nor common sense to ponder the beauty of a woman. Is her beauty both a gift and skill to be nurtured, or is it a trap of seduction and destruction? Give a shallow pastor a micro-phone to discuss beauty and he will usually wade into the fray and consider a woman of graceful charm a prostitute. Give a crooked pastor an opportunity and he will fill his parish with young women with which he will use pseudo-spiritual language to seduce.

Let me fearfully wade into the fray. My position is that the beauty of a woman is by nature good. The shallow mulokole will hear my position and assume I am writing of inner beauty, but I take the outlandish position that the beauty of a woman is about all of our humanity – body, mind, emotions, and spirit.

Our Christian theology made a fatal mistake thousands of years ago when it made a compromise with the Greek thought systems. (Philosophic compromises almost always get us into trouble, but I will save that discussion for another time.) Prior to this compromise Christian thought sprang from Jewish thought. In Jewish thought creation was seen by nature as good. In its earliest words as God pondered creation, He stated seven times “It was good (Genesis 1:3, 9, 12, 18, 21, 25, 31). Then as cultural systems arose life was celebrated with feast after feast. Marriage was seen a gift from on high. In fact, the wonder of a woman’s created beauty brought the wise king I earlier quoted to write a poetic book about the pleasures of our sexuality (Song of Songs). Truly, from the earliest days of both Jewish and Christian thought the beauty of a woman was by nature good. Some might even conclude it was a treasure to be guarded.

Then as Christianity sprung from its simple Jewish roots and met the known world it faced the pseudo-sophistication of Greek thought. The Greeks had mastered many things, but they missed the simple beauty of a woman. They were unable to ponder the beauties of the earth and started a philosophic dichotomy. In simplest terms, the spiritual was good, and the physical was bad. All of life was divided into these categories of either spiritual or physical. Thus to find pleasure in the earth was bad or minimally self-indulgent by young Christian theology.

This dichotomy has led to almost all the failures of Christianity for thousands of years. We can sing praises in church at the top of our lungs on Sunday, but be an office cheat on Monday. In other situations we can ignore our human responsibility to steward the earth. Sacred and secular are continually separated. Without a holistic view of our world we are always stunted in our abilities to both celebrate and grief, debate and discover; and create and nurture.

With our strange pseudo-Christian thought system the beauty of a woman became either a shame to deny, or a tool to exploit. It is time to reclaim our position on the intrinsic beauty of a woman. Truly, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it can take many forms. The color of her skin, hair, and eyes makes no difference. A woman is by nature beautiful. The shape of her body, lips, or face makes no difference. A woman is by nature beautiful. From the earliest days of life her beauty should be nurtured and guarded. Hopefully, her early days are filled with men who by cannot help but smile each time they see her. Her father, uncles, and grandfathers are fascinated by her treasure. Her brothers may tease her, but they also cannot deny the beauty of their sister. In fact, they are the greatest guardians of her beauty. All of life’s mysteries spring from within her beauty. When we must use poetic words to describe what we can only ponder we must use the descriptive words of female beauty.

So what’s the point of this column? For those of you possessing female beauty guard your treasure. In fact celebrate and nurture it. Allow it to grow and thrive. Acknowledge that beauty goes to the depths of our humanity and through out your life strive to increase the beauty not only of your form, but of your thoughts, words, and actions. Age with grace, and never cease to bring a smile to the faces of men when you enter a room.

For those of us left to ponder the mysteries of female beauty guard the treasure entrusted to you. Whether the treasure is a sister, wife, daughter, or friend she is a treasure. Smile when she enters the room. Laugh with her wit. Celebrate the discoveries of her life. Allow her to age with grace. Even as time may dim the glimmers of youthful beauty never forget as a woman she is by nature beautiful. In fact, in simplest terms she is by nature good.

Come run with me.

TELL THE STORY OF ME

My youngest son, Timothy has a new favorite phrase – “Tell the story of me.” I admit it seems self-absorbed, but what is childhood for if you can not have a few years of minimal responsibility and maximum discovery. He seems to use it during those moments at home when our home is filled with visitors, discussion is flowing, a few laughs are shared, and he wants to be included.

Our home is one of those with no DSTV and all we get is Rwanda Television plus the latest DVD we pick up. Our family’s Kinyarwanda skills are minimal and we are unable to keep up with radio conversations. I usually pick up a newspaper every couple of days and try to read it in the chaos of our household, but it’s a communication device difficult to share with a community.

Our family relies on the oldest of all family entertainments – visitors and conversation to rescue us from Kigali’s boredom. Our home is modern, but the entertainment form has not changed in thousands of years of human history. At the end of the day we gather for a meal, process, laugh, and retell the stories of our history. Today our stories focus upon the events of school, work, and hopefully the rumors of life that wish well of neighbors, friends, and family. Occasionally, we may even discuss and debate the biggest issues of life – politics and religion. We usually only share those discussions with those who have earned our trust – those who will keep a confidence even if we disagree.

There must be something in our humanity that loves “the story of me.” Humanity has kept the tradition throughout our existence. Our earliest written records are “the stories of me.” - A simple painting in a cave retelling the story of a hunt or a scrap of parched paper documenting a harvest. Before we had cookers and refrigerators we gathered around a cooking fire in the evening or a water hole in the heat of the midday. There with our dearest ones we laughed at our failings, celebrated our success, learned the lessons of the day, and hoped for the future of our community. Occasionally, we would ask those tough questions. What about resources, leadership, and organizational structure? Politics was born. Next we would ask - What about our environment? Where did it ultimately come from? What about our human nature? What is our purpose? Why do we exist? Where are we going? Religion was born at the watering hole. (We theologians need to remember our theology is much more relevant at the watering holes of life than in the seminaries of our study.)

From those simple conversations the great disciplines of human study began – political science, leadership, religion, history, psychology, sociology, and anthropology. No matter how many studies we did, theories we proposed, books we wrote, or debates we held we never would be able to fully comprehend “the story of me.”

One of my worries about our Kigali pace and practice is that the “story of me” has been forgotten. However, it is not just Kigali’s struggle. It is the struggle of urban growth worldwide. Middle class estates are one of the great killers of the “story of me.” We drive to and from work with no time for either a discussion as we walk or as we share a commute. Our children live their separate lives in school. When they are free they either study so rigorously or play with so much abandon that there is no time for a family discussion. We return to our home behind a gate and use our household staff to screen visitors. Instead of impromptu face to face discussions we hide behind e-mail, mobile phones, and our calendar schedule. Though we become more sophisticated and theoretically productive, I believe we become lonely, shallow, uninvolved, and devoid of community.

My guess is that if we continue the journey in which we don’t share a cup of tea and conversation with our family and friends our academic pursuits will die as will our community’s creativity. Without both thoughtful dialogue and problem solving being part of our very nature we become self-absorbed copy cats. I believe business thrives in an environment of trusted community and creativity. We dare not lose our human infatuation with “the story of me.”

So my proposal is simply this; take some time this week to listen to another’s story of life. Ask some questions. Learn all you can. Then remember the marks of grace upon your own life. Share your story with friends. Admit your failings. Celebrate your victories. Grief over injustice and the loss you suffered. In the process scratch some marks on your cave (or at least write down key lessons and events.) Keep pictures, letters, and reminders. Make sure you children know these details. It is from these “stories of me” that they will find themselves and when life faces them with what appears to be an insurmountable problem chart a new path. Never forget ‘the story of me.”

Now just in case you are dieing of curiosity – here is my son Timothy’s “story of me.” Five years ago, our family had some friends considering adoption. My wife, Jana took them to an orphanage overseen by a family friend. While there our family friend told us she had someone to introduce us to and his name was Timothy. One look into his eyes and Jana was forever in love. A short time later he came home and since then he has been our son. Some families have surprise pregnancies. We had a surprise adoption.

For Timothy, “the story of me” is not finished. Instead, it causes us all to ponder. Why did the Lord choose to bless our home with him? What special purpose does God have in Timothy’s life? What will this boy become? I can not answer the questions for Timothy. I can only retell his story, shape his character for a few years, and put the questions before him that he will need to answer as a grown man.

“The story of me” is the story of us all.

Come run with me.

IT’S TIME FOR NEW SHOES

One of my genetic misfortunes is odd shaped feet. Mine are long and narrow. Also, my left foot is a size bigger than my right. To add insult to injury, my left leg is about a centimeter shorter than my right. As you can imagine getting shoes to fit is quite a challenge. I’m usually playing an odd game of looking for the best shoes I can find, then trying several sizes, and adding an extra sock to my right foot before I find a comfortable combination.

It’s the desire for comfort that kills me. As soon as I finish my shoe shopping with just the right combination I never want to go back. I wear a comfortable pair of shoes to the absolute end. I simply don’t believe I’ll ever get it right again.

The last few months something sneaky happened to me; my feet started hurting. Some of it seemed to be just bad luck. I stepped in a hole and twisted my ankle. However, after weeks of nurturing the sprain, it just would not heal. I avoided running for a few weeks. I rested it. I kept it on ice. It would improve, but never completely heal. Each time I thought I should give running another chance, my ankle would swell. Lately, even my knees would start to hurt.

About a month ago, some friends came to visit me with a prized gift – a new pair of shoes exactly like the old ones. I was thrilled, but I was unwilling to believe I needed a new pair of shoes. So I hid my new shoes where none of the kids would disturb them and kept wearing my old shoes. I was being a shoe miser. I would wear my old shoes to the very end and keep the new ones on reserve.

Yet, the pain in my feet continued. I kept trying to find a means of healing that did not involve new shoes.

Last week, I broke down. I took my new shoes and tried them on. I couldn’t believe it. I had forgotten what a new pair of shoes felt like. They were full of padding at just the right places. The support on my ankles kept me from an easy twist. Within a few days all of my foot, ankle, and knee pain were gone. It was time for the new shoes.

I found myself wondering if the new shoes had a lesson to teach. Are there times in life when we need new shoes for my thoughts, spirits, and behavior? Are there times when the pursuit of ease and comfort actually takes me to a place of pain?

For many of us it is time for new shoes. Without them all the places we run will be full of pain. Sometimes we settle into a place in life that protects us from the pain of the past. We even find ways to think of our desire to keep the old as frugal. Yet life demands something new. Life is by nature full of different seasons and transitions. Also, the quest for personal renewal is a never ending task. Sometimes if it has been a particularly difficult journey the most comfortable place is to settle. The time may come for us to take off the old shoes and acknowledge they have done all they can do.

Thus we began the search for something new. It may involve many tries and failures. We find that to get the right fit is quite a challenge. It is tempting to think we will just find an available hawker with the right shoes, but we are much more likely to get the right fit if we go to a place with many options. Then we do the exploration of many tries. In the process we find our limitations. None of us have perfect feet. Yet eventually the right fit will come and when it comes new possibilities begin. The pain of the past dissipates and a new journey begins.

If today you are tired and weary or if comfort has become too comfortable; I suggest you try a new pair of shoes.

Come run with me.

DIGNITY REQUIRES ACCOUNTABILIY

Several months ago, I visited a wise Rwandan leader. We shared a soda and he offered me some advice. He discussed the role of faith based organizations in Rwanda’s development. Of course he encouraged the obvious developmental mantras such as schools, education, income generating projects, and micro-finance. However, for a moment he shifted the conversation to the deeper philosophic issues. He reflected on the past of Rwanda and the tragedies of pseudo-Christian leadership. His deepest thought was that faith driven enterprises needed to restore the sense of human dignity to ordinary people. Then as most wise men do in offering advice, he left the details to others to discover and own.

Collins English Dictionary defines dignity as the quality of being worthy of honor. Human dignity is a thoroughly shocking concept when we have the courage to open our minds to all that it entails. The world that we live in is concerned with protocol and hierarchy. The airports have a V.I.P. section. Many of us have titles on our office door and business cards that quickly let the first people we meet know exactly where we stand. We learn to climb the hierarchical chain from the earliest age. From the earliest days of play little boys want to know who can run the fastest, score the most goals, and outmuscle one another for prestige. Little girls many times play a more sophisticated and brutal game of relationship manipulation to find who will be to ultimate manager of people. Then we go to school and compete for marks. We eagerly await the public announcement of exam results with a deep desire to be near the top. It’s no wonder that by the time we hit our professional stride the competition and rankings of honor are our deepest desires.

However, human dignity strikes us to the core. The place we don’t want to admit. We all have our failings. There are places in life where we can not compete well. There are places in life where either by poor fortune, plans, abilities, or execution we are simply out muscled. Some is our own doing, but some is just the bumps and bruises in the rough and tumble game we call life.

It’s the call to human dignity that enables us to lift our heads high. Political reformers for thousands of years have faced tyranny with the unshakable conviction that all men are created equal. History’s best theologians laid the philosophical foundation for reformers by their unshakable conviction that human beings are all made in the image of God despite differences in race, language, culture, education, belief system, or economic strength. None of the trappings of hierarchy can remove our human dignity. It is an indelible right simply because we live and breathe in the confines of human skin.

As with all philosophic beliefs the trick is not in intellectual assent. The struggle is to make it practical. We all want to be treated with dignity. We all want to receive the honor due us. We typically belief our human dignity is seen by us receiving basic rights such as freedom, equality, and practical matters such as education. We most feel that others express their belief in our dignity through actions such kindness and generosity. However, I propose others express their belief in our indelible human rights through accountability. Collins English Dictionary defines accountability as being responsible to someone or for some action. Without the practicality of accountability we all become powerless victims in the game of life. With it we are held responsible for results and our human dignity goes to new heights.

I have the privilege to do some guest lecturing in Ethics at local universities. I try over and over to explain the difference between plagiarism and research. I use dictionary definitions. (Collins English Dictionary defines plagiarism as stealing ideas or passages from another’s work and presenting them as one’s own, and research as a systematic investigation to establish facts or collect information on a subject.) I use stories and illustrations. Yet, a portion of my students only seem to learn what plagiarism is when I find it in their assignments and return them with a mark of zero. It seems for some accountability is the only true teacher.

Accountability is a very painful teacher. For weeks my students have labored. They have been in the library or on a computer. They have done extensive reading. They have written until their hands and head can handle no more pain. They have poured many cups of coffee to stay awake with the hope of an on time finish. Yet, they never conceptualized the ethical line they had crossed. Intellectual integrity demands that they quote the thoughts of others and then use their youthful creativity to refine ideas and discover afresh. Instead, many treat intellectual pursuit as little more than a game of swallowing and vomiting information. Maybe, that is the reason plagiarism is so repulsive. It reads like the smell of vomit.

When that moment comes in which they are shocked with the mark of zero all within them cries out for their restored dignity. Surely they are the victim of an unjust system. Will injustice reign or will their plight be ignored? All within their being cries out that the mark of zero is unfair.

Yet, if I relinquish accountability their human dignity is lost. I allow them to believe less than the best about themselves. All the prejudices of the world that are stacked against them will be validated. Plagiarism is driven by a belief system that says the thoughts of others are better than I can attain. The chronic plagiarizer may be lazy, but worse than that he makes untruthfulness, deception, and thievery a part of his life’s character.

A mark of zero is my statement to them that I belief in their intellectual capacity to discover and create. I will accept no less from them as authentic. I believe they hold within them the image of God. They are able to understand and communicate truth. Finally, I belief that they possess the ability to be good stewards. They can understand that the physical items and intellectual ideas of this world are possessed by another. To call another’s work one’s one is theft. Whether it lands us in prison or academic hot water theft is still theft. Even if we succeed and dodge accountability throughout our life there is a cost to pay. Life is the ultimate exam. Exposure may not come in a timely manner, but history books tell us it will come.

A funny thing about accountability and human nature is that we will all have these marks of failure upon our lives. Thankfully, life is a game that is played with many second, third, and fourth chances. For my students caught in plagiarism I will typically provide a more difficult assignment of reflection as a make up for their failed assignment. Human dignity demands both accountability and forgiveness, and I am willing to give both.

However, in this dance with human dignity and accountability the steps become more complicated as we become more sophisticated. In any honest academic institution a lecturer always wins the conflict with the students over plagiarism. No dean, rector, or trustee could overrule the lecturer without throwing his institution into an academic free fall. However, life gets more complicated as the rules of life get fuzzier.

Let me propose as life becomes more sophisticated our call to human dignity must always come with a cost of accountability. There is no place to allow the most unfortunate of life to wallow in self-pity and victimization. Whatever is placed in their hands they must do with excellence despite mounting injustice. Similarly, those in the greatest positions of power and influence must also bear the weight of accountability. They too must meet the standards of both written law and eternal principle. To accept less from them is also a mark of dishonor upon their character. Dignity requires accountability.

Come run with me.

SEEKER BEWARE

Last week, Shyaka wrote an editorial (“Police should do more about outrage of rapist pastor”) that should sober our Balokole community. Though Shyaka and I do not completely share the same belief system, I believe his words were dead on. Since an ongoing investigation is taking place concerning Pastor Murenzi’s alleged defilement and rape it would be best for me not to comment on that case. However, both last week’s headlines (“More cases against alleged pedophile pastor?”) and editorial call us to significant reflection.

A quick glance through Christian history takes us to astounding contradictions. Both humanity’s greatest heights and most depraved moments have been done in the name of religion. It seems that for every Mother Theresa saving the destitute of India there is a Jim Jones Suicide Cult leading masses in death and destruction. Africa is not immune from the phenomenon. The fires of Evangelical faith and action thrive on the same soils that produced the Kanungu massacre in Uganda. Rwanda has seen this sad state of Christian history more than any other nation. From the soil of Rwanda began the East African Revival in the 1930’s. No student of Christian history can deny the impact of Rwanda upon all Evangelicals in Sub-Saharan Africa. Yet from the same soils that changed the face of Christianity throughout Africa, the Christian religion participated in the 1994 Genocide.

Is it any wonder that so many of Rwanda’s intellectual community are both spiritually hungry and religiously skeptical? The problems that we live with can only find solutions through both faith and reason. The pain we need healing from can only happen when our entire being – body, mind, and spirit are healed. We are created in God’s image and only by using our full human capacity can we become all He intends. What could we be, but spiritually hungry? Yet the failings of pseudo-Christian leaders are so numerous and blatant how could any one with a brain not be religiously skeptical?

This problem of being spiritually hungry but religiously skeptical is not a new one. In fact, the ones the Lord has chosen throughout time to provide leadership have wrestled with this dilemma. They have many sleepless nights. Conflict seems to be their way of life. The weight upon their shoulders leads them to gray earlier than most. Their journals and diaries tell painful stories. During their season of leadership they have many detractors. Yet history shows them to be the ones God chose to use.

So how do we find such men and women? How do we hear their message? Where should we gather with those who will not exploit us, but nurture us to our greatest heights?

Allow me to propose some of history’s answers. First, though we desire for church to be a place of love, peace, and fellowship it’s very nature is one of conflict. The Greek word for church is Ecclesia which literally means “those called out of the world.” The concept of church is one of separation. Yet as this separation happens and goodness thrives sometimes something goes very wrong. David Hansen, in his book, “The Power of Loving Your Church” calls it Pastor Narcissus. Narcissus is the mythical Greek figure who died staring at his own image in a pool. Pastor Narcissus is the same vile character who makes church into his own image. He has such a powerful need to be needed that he ceases to call the church out of the world. Instead he calls the world to himself and creates a self absorbed cult. Here’s the bottom line. When ever you meet Pastor Narcissus run as far and fast as you can. Though his words and image are smooth, he is a demon in human flesh full of jealousy and trickery. Though for a season he is a wonder worker in the end he brings death to all he touches.

So how do we recognize Pastor Narcissus? I propose four markers to recognize Pastor Narcissus. The first is he is a crowd pleaser. He knows how to take our most fleshly needs and desires and market them as God’s. Some of his mantras are pseudo-Christian teaching like “Name it. Claim it.” Another of his mantras is the Health and Wealth gospel. He habitually neglects that Jesus’ basic message was that He would go to a cross and He promised his followers the same fate. Pastor Narcissus thrives in a self absorbed crowd. All who want to be healed and become wealthy flock to him. If you use a crowd as the barometer for God’s work I propose just the opposite. If everyone you know is flocking to a man, you should run the opposite way.

The second marker of Pastor Narcissus is a vision impossible to execute. This is just the natural consequence of his crowd pandering. Throughout time authentic leaders usually arose from humble backgrounds. Many were washed up failures until just the right moment. A problem arose and they saw it not as a problem, but an opportunity. With no resources but the Lord and a creative mind and willing hands they went to work. Winston Churchill was such a man when at the low point in the Second World War he promised Britain nothing, but blood, sweat, and tears. Pastor Narcissus is just the opposite. His mouth spews many easy to digest ideas. They appeal to our need for ease. If everyone you know is flocking to a man whose hands have no calluses, run the opposite way.

The third marker of Pastor Narcissus is the inability to speak the truth. Truth can be painful to hear. We all want to be heroes in our own minds. We want to believe the best about ourselves. Yet, what if the truth is a message of conviction and accountability? We like those messages being directed at our opponents, but what if they are directed at ourselves? Again, history’s great leaders bring us to the painful mirror. We are not fascinated by our image in the mirror, but repulsed by it. Yet this repulsion brings about personal change. We become better men and women by listening to their indicting words. However, Pastor Narcissus tells us what we want to hear. He knows the itch in our ears and love for them to be tickled. If everyone you know is flocking to a man whose words taste like sugar, run the opposite way.

The last marker of Pastor Narcissus is the inability to live truthfully. An authentic message must be delivered by an authentic messenger. Frequently, we look for the heroic. However, history shows that most heroes are rather ordinary people. Simple actions show spiritual authenticity. A good leader is generous with his time, friends, and resources. His home is full of family and friends during seasons of both celebration and grief. His family is managed well. He arises each day and does the simple tasks placed before him with excellence. Pastor Narcissus is just the opposite. He hoards all that he has. He creates an artificial barrier between himself and those he serves. The illusions he creates are ones that make transparency and accountability impossible. No one really knows what he does with his money and time. His family is chaotic. In fact, to meet his need to be needed he frequently preys upon the most vulnerable of society such as women and children. With his illusions comes inconsistent performance. Thus he continues to resort to grandiose claims and delusions as he hides from reality. If everyone you know is flocking to a man whose actions are not true, run the opposite way.

So what are we to do? I’m with Shyaka on this one. I propose a simple zero tolerance policy for religious charlatans. If they are guilty as charged let them bear the full responsibility for their actions. They have misused Christian grace and forgiveness and now need to experience Christian accountability to truly change.

But what about those of us seeking for more? My plea is simply this – Don’t give up on faith. Keep seeking. Test everyone and every idea. Give your trust to those who have shown themselves trustworthy. You will find what you are seeking.

Come run with me.

Historicals

A fascinating term I sometimes hear is the word "historicals." My spell check won't accept it. My dictionary does not include it, but it seems to be a word I read and hear in this region of the world. Since my dictionary does not include "historicals" it falls upon us to create the definition.

Here's my best attempt - HISTORICALS: "The first individuals to share in a vision and rally to a cause. Those willing to take risks and embark upon a historic effort no matter what the cost."

Historicals are usually defined by history. Not every cause will succeed. Not every cause will redefine the past, present, and future. However, on occasion a historic cause arises. The great challenge will be if we can be discerning enough to know when that season has arisen. Everyone wants their lives to matter. No one wants to finish life full of regrets and the question of "What could have been if only I had done _________?"

In 1999 I first came to visit my friend, Justin Rudasingwa in Rwanda. From my first days in Kigali I was fascinated by the possibility of starting an English speaking church for thought leaders who were both spiritually hungry, but religiously skeptical. I came to Kigali about one week per year after my first trip in 1999, and continued to pray for someone to arise to the task.

Instead, after 5 years the Lord stripped everything that was comfortable from me, and made it clear that I was to be the answer to my own prayer.

On June 22, 2005 my family arrived and began the task. We tried to make as many friends as possible, listen to lots of advice, served in any ways we could find (I taught Ethics at KIST, SFB, and wrote for Focus), and walked the halls of government to secure a new church registration. We received our Provisional Registration in May, 2006 and our Legal Personality in December, 2006. On 4 March 2007 we began our first worship and on 15 April 2007 we occupied our current facility.

In many ways, we've had to run to keep up with the opportunities.

This next few weeks we will be at a crucial time. The task and vision is too big for a few. We need others to join the task.

Thus we are offering our Beginnings Class this Saturday, 10 November from 1 to 5 p.m. This is the first step into understanding CCR and becoming a recognized member sharing in the vision.

It's my prayer that Rwanda is on the verge of something historic. It makes sense. After all, the East African Revival began here in the 1930's. Will God do something new in our generation? If so what will it be like? I know that if He chooses to move in an out of the ordinary way that the task will be bigger than one individual, church, or organization. Instead, he will call many to a vision of unity and renewal.

I pray that we'll be part of God's "historicals" in this generation of Rwanda.

Will you join me in this journey?

Dave

Ready to Join?

We are entering a new season in our church plant. The time has come to find who will join in the vision. You are invited to attend our Beginnings Class this coming Saturday, 10 November from 1 to 5 p.m. This class will be the first step in discovering if this is the church for you. I hope to see many of you there.

Dave

Man of Action Speaks

Our journey through the stories Mark wrote about Jesus of Nazareth will take an interesting turn this week. Mark tells stories of Jesus being a Man of Action. He heals where ever he goes. The crowd can not get enough of him. We saw a few weeks ago where he asked for 12 men to give up everything and follow to be trained for a future appointment. It must have been thrilling to be around so much action. As this happens conflict increases. There was so much action and the words seemed so few it must have been puzzling for the potential proteges.

This week we will begin looking at 4 stories where Jesus stops the action and begins extensively speaking (Mark 4). It should catch our attention as we catch our breath. The words will seem like simple stories, but they'll be hard to put into an Action Plan. They seem rather ordinary. One is about soil. Another is about a lantern, and two more are about seeds. Yet the crowds are puzzled.

Fortunately, one of the men who was with Jesus when he stopped the action and started speaking was one of the 12 proteges. He asked some more questions, and we get the answers.

I hope to see you this Sunday as we ponder the simple stories about an inconceivable kingdom.

Imana ikurinde,

Dave

Family Formation

Last Sunday marked an important day in the life of our forming church. We began our first Beginnings Class with 12 people attending. It is our hope that in the next month we will take some important new steps as a baby church and formalize our church membership. If you are unable to attend the next 3 Sundays after worship I hope you will join us for a 4 hour Seminar on Saturday 10 November.

A few of you may be asking, "But why is it so important for me to 'join the church'? After all, can't I just love Jesus, be ok, and go to the institution called 'church' at my convenience? Besides church is more about the institution and not about relationship."

To be honest I can empathize with your feelings, but can not disagree more strongly. If these are your thoughts I suggest you may need to rethink what church is all about. There are several metaphors in the New Testament that describe what church should be. One of them is family. In fact, this week we'll examine some words of Jesus about His true family (Mark 3:20-35). We all know we need a family to survive. It is the basic building block of all societies. Without it we flounder in loneliness and do not have either the wisdom or resources to make it on our own. No matter what our state we all hunger for family.

Jesus rejected a model of family that was purely just biological. Instead, he defined the family of God as being those who obeyed God. This week our sermon will examine this concept of a family formed by obedience to God. If you are hungering for something more I hope you will join us.

Imana ikurinde,

Dave