The Airport..."I can't live if living is without you."
"Excuse me sir, are you flying Delta?" The Kiosk sales girl said to get my attention. I'm in terminal A; there's nothing but Delta here, so I kept walking.
After breakfast in the Mercure Hotel, Santo Domingo, and a 15 mile drive along the Carribean, we entered the world of flying - checking bags, browsing gift shops, going through security and watching the masses from all over the world.
The flight to Atlanta wasn't full, so I had an empty seat and no chitchat with a stranger. In flight movie and sermon prep (Jack not David slew the giant), before making a smooth landing back in the USA, where I quickly cleared Customs and took the tram to Terminal A.
I know our country is a mess, but it's still the land that I love; so anytime I travel overseas, I always have a great sense of pilgrimage home, when I step off the plane in an American airport.
For years we've had a running contest in our family about who's been in the most countries. Our oldest son is tops by several, and he claims that airports don't count. (I've been in Nairobi, Adis Ababa, Zurich, Rome, and Paris but never out of their Airports.) Well even if they don't count, when I walk into the Atlanta terminals (and mostly hear English), I feel that I'm home.
Being home truly has multiple levels - ordering pizza, hearing English, getting cellphone coverage, reacquainting with the familiar, reconnecting with family, sleeping in my own bed, but most of all it's about being back with Jane.
I ate dinner in a piano bar where the guy was playing, "I can't live if living is without you," and suddenly I was unconsciously singing under my breath. If I was more spiritual like the Apostle Paul, I would say, "For me to live is Christ, to die is gain." (Which I used to quote while surfing in thunderstorms), but in this life, in years of journey, Jane has ever been my faithful friend, constant companion, sacrificial servant and intimate lover.
We've boarded for Charleston, a full flight, I'm in the middle seat with strangers on either side (you can't look out the window or to the aisle without them thinking you're staring at them); this stage of the adventure is winding down. My airport field trip is nearly over (Charleston International here I come!); I can almost feel her embrace - then I'll be home.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Santo Domingo - "Beisboll bin beddy, beddy gud to mi."
Santo Domingo - "Beisboll bin beddy, beddy gud to mi."
It's 9:00 pm, and I'm watching my Cards play the Pirates in Spanish. One more night in the DR, we're in the Colonial District, the oldest part of the oldest city in the New World, home to 3 million plus. Baseball is king here, and over 70 Dominicans play in the Major League.
Mission teams usually have a day to unwind or play tourist before heading back to their homes, so this morning we left San Pedro de Macoris and headed for the Capitol. After navigating the smog filled highways and streets, we checked into our hotel and played tourist.
Cristoval Colon Plaza (how do we get Christopher Columbus?) with the statue of the explorer pointing West, the Cathedral of Saint Mary of the Incarnation, the oldest fort, the oldest castle, the oldest everything, the Museum of National Heroes (used to be a Jesuit church, now an eternal flame, plaques & tombs, guards and intervals with the National anthem) and cigar stores with master craftsmen at work - most of it, most of us had seen before, but we traipsed through the tropical heat simply preparing ourselves for "re-entry."
In reality my ministry continued with some of the team - I have already mentioned how disparate this group was, and I had spent as much time on the trip praying about my pastoral role with them as with the Dominicans, so while we sat in the shade, shooed the pigeons and hung out at a cafe, I had searching discussions with several.
One of our Catholic members (quite devout) could not understand Christians being so judgmental towards gays, "when they were born that way." I spoke of our universal brokenness, different proclivities and brought her to Scripture, while challenging how she had been conditioned by our secular media into buying misinformation and accepting things that she admitted to being uncomfortable with.
When one brings people to the clarity of God's word, it is not long before arguments of straw are exposed, but it also shows how biblically illiterate the average church goer is. Being illiterate, people become content with crafting their own theology and ethic, unwittingly using these to defend their own self-willed, wounded nature. So much of my trip has been navigating how to lovingly and prayerfully speak truth and grace to religious Americans.
Another team member, searching deeply and in a bad relationship back home, is trying to find God's will for their life, while having been raised in traditional and "boring" (their words) churches that reinforced the dichotomy of the secular and the sacred. Another describes me as "over the top" because of my passion and desire to see everything as sacred, while another lectures me on the twenty minute limit to good sermons - I smile and say nothing, knowing that they can scream for three hours at a Clemson or Carolina game.
Well the Cardinals have won, and I'm less than a day away from reuniting with Jane. As I lay my head down tonight, I am mixed with hope and deep concern. I ever hope because the finished work of the cross and an empty tomb, but I am deeply concerned for our nation, the western church and the spirits loose in our land.
For now, it's late; I know that the Lord is on his throne and "mercy triumphs over judgment." I'll edit and post this, turn out the lights, and think this is an amazing day in which to be serving the King.
It's 9:00 pm, and I'm watching my Cards play the Pirates in Spanish. One more night in the DR, we're in the Colonial District, the oldest part of the oldest city in the New World, home to 3 million plus. Baseball is king here, and over 70 Dominicans play in the Major League.
Mission teams usually have a day to unwind or play tourist before heading back to their homes, so this morning we left San Pedro de Macoris and headed for the Capitol. After navigating the smog filled highways and streets, we checked into our hotel and played tourist.
Cristoval Colon Plaza (how do we get Christopher Columbus?) with the statue of the explorer pointing West, the Cathedral of Saint Mary of the Incarnation, the oldest fort, the oldest castle, the oldest everything, the Museum of National Heroes (used to be a Jesuit church, now an eternal flame, plaques & tombs, guards and intervals with the National anthem) and cigar stores with master craftsmen at work - most of it, most of us had seen before, but we traipsed through the tropical heat simply preparing ourselves for "re-entry."
In reality my ministry continued with some of the team - I have already mentioned how disparate this group was, and I had spent as much time on the trip praying about my pastoral role with them as with the Dominicans, so while we sat in the shade, shooed the pigeons and hung out at a cafe, I had searching discussions with several.
One of our Catholic members (quite devout) could not understand Christians being so judgmental towards gays, "when they were born that way." I spoke of our universal brokenness, different proclivities and brought her to Scripture, while challenging how she had been conditioned by our secular media into buying misinformation and accepting things that she admitted to being uncomfortable with.
When one brings people to the clarity of God's word, it is not long before arguments of straw are exposed, but it also shows how biblically illiterate the average church goer is. Being illiterate, people become content with crafting their own theology and ethic, unwittingly using these to defend their own self-willed, wounded nature. So much of my trip has been navigating how to lovingly and prayerfully speak truth and grace to religious Americans.
Another team member, searching deeply and in a bad relationship back home, is trying to find God's will for their life, while having been raised in traditional and "boring" (their words) churches that reinforced the dichotomy of the secular and the sacred. Another describes me as "over the top" because of my passion and desire to see everything as sacred, while another lectures me on the twenty minute limit to good sermons - I smile and say nothing, knowing that they can scream for three hours at a Clemson or Carolina game.
Well the Cardinals have won, and I'm less than a day away from reuniting with Jane. As I lay my head down tonight, I am mixed with hope and deep concern. I ever hope because the finished work of the cross and an empty tomb, but I am deeply concerned for our nation, the western church and the spirits loose in our land.
For now, it's late; I know that the Lord is on his throne and "mercy triumphs over judgment." I'll edit and post this, turn out the lights, and think this is an amazing day in which to be serving the King.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Ana Maria de Jarabacoa...
Ana Maria de Jarabacoa...
She is 42, widowed with four children and a grandchild. I don't know all of the story, but I first met Ana Maria via Facebook. She had worked in the Episcopal church in the DR and met mutual friends from Charleston, who brought her to the states for medical care. My Facebook friends would post photos and ask for prayer. What I do know is that she loves the Lord, loves people and loves to pray.
Now back in her home town, she felt led to go on a mission trip in her own country, so she made the five hour trip from the cool, highlands of Jarabacoa to the heat and humidity of Angelina and Los Conucos. The entire team is so glad she came.
As we would daily pray with scores of patients, whenever Ana Maria wasn't checking a blood pressure or filling out a patient form, I would call out, "Ana Maria, por favor, ayudame, vamos orar!" "Please, help me, we're going to pray." - or some variation.
Though limited, I'm not too bad with church Spanish, "Come, Lord. Touch this person with your grace. Touch them with your healing in their entire body. Heal their minds and fill them with your Spirit, love and peace. Give them many miracles in their family (everyone we were with needed miracles!) and visit them with your presence." Like a broken record (but with sincerity of heart) I would pray some arrangement of this over and over, but when Ana Maria prayed, her passion and faith gave me a sense that we were opening Heaven's gate and pulling the Kingdom down. You can understand why I would call her over as often as possible.
Many of us on the team speak Spanish better than we hear it, well enough that the patient often would take off in rapid style explaining their problems. We would quickly call Ana Maria; she would listen, then explain in slower, clearer Spanish, some Spanglish.
Our regular procedure, with two doctor stations, was getting basic patient information and their problems at the front of the church, examination by the Doc, with me assisting one (I'm not a nurse in real life, but I play one in the DR), followed by me anointing and praying, then a short trip to the "pharmacy" (a few steps up by the altar), then possibly to the optical or the dentist. Ana Maria helped everyone, everywhere, whenever we called, whatever we asked, all the while hanging in there, not used to 93 degrees and 96% humidity (no big deal for Charlestonians).
It is now the last evening of the mission - we wrapped up this afternoon, returned to the retreat center, rested, dined, worshipped and debriefed. Tomorrow we will all begin to head back to our very disparate worlds - the four Episcopalians back north, the three Catholics back to Boston, five Anglicans and a Methodist back to South Carolina, and Ana Maria back to Jarabacoa.
I'm sure that I will be processing and praying for some time about my time here, but one thing is for sure. I will forever be grateful and remember to pray for the young widow from Jarabacoa that loved Jesus, served the broken and showed me God's face and heaven's glory.
She is 42, widowed with four children and a grandchild. I don't know all of the story, but I first met Ana Maria via Facebook. She had worked in the Episcopal church in the DR and met mutual friends from Charleston, who brought her to the states for medical care. My Facebook friends would post photos and ask for prayer. What I do know is that she loves the Lord, loves people and loves to pray.
Now back in her home town, she felt led to go on a mission trip in her own country, so she made the five hour trip from the cool, highlands of Jarabacoa to the heat and humidity of Angelina and Los Conucos. The entire team is so glad she came.
As we would daily pray with scores of patients, whenever Ana Maria wasn't checking a blood pressure or filling out a patient form, I would call out, "Ana Maria, por favor, ayudame, vamos orar!" "Please, help me, we're going to pray." - or some variation.
Though limited, I'm not too bad with church Spanish, "Come, Lord. Touch this person with your grace. Touch them with your healing in their entire body. Heal their minds and fill them with your Spirit, love and peace. Give them many miracles in their family (everyone we were with needed miracles!) and visit them with your presence." Like a broken record (but with sincerity of heart) I would pray some arrangement of this over and over, but when Ana Maria prayed, her passion and faith gave me a sense that we were opening Heaven's gate and pulling the Kingdom down. You can understand why I would call her over as often as possible.
Many of us on the team speak Spanish better than we hear it, well enough that the patient often would take off in rapid style explaining their problems. We would quickly call Ana Maria; she would listen, then explain in slower, clearer Spanish, some Spanglish.
Our regular procedure, with two doctor stations, was getting basic patient information and their problems at the front of the church, examination by the Doc, with me assisting one (I'm not a nurse in real life, but I play one in the DR), followed by me anointing and praying, then a short trip to the "pharmacy" (a few steps up by the altar), then possibly to the optical or the dentist. Ana Maria helped everyone, everywhere, whenever we called, whatever we asked, all the while hanging in there, not used to 93 degrees and 96% humidity (no big deal for Charlestonians).
It is now the last evening of the mission - we wrapped up this afternoon, returned to the retreat center, rested, dined, worshipped and debriefed. Tomorrow we will all begin to head back to our very disparate worlds - the four Episcopalians back north, the three Catholics back to Boston, five Anglicans and a Methodist back to South Carolina, and Ana Maria back to Jarabacoa.
I'm sure that I will be processing and praying for some time about my time here, but one thing is for sure. I will forever be grateful and remember to pray for the young widow from Jarabacoa that loved Jesus, served the broken and showed me God's face and heaven's glory.
Monday, October 7, 2013
Los Ninos y Los Motos - a right of passage...
Los Ninos y Los Motos - a right of passage...
For every car in the DR (and there are many), there are at least ten motorcycles, with most of them blowing some serious smoke. Occasionally you'll see a helmet, then only half way on, but for the most part everyone moves around with "Easy Rider" abandon.
It is not uncommon to see lovers zipping through traffic, with the girl's arms tightly around the man's waist, and it it not rare to see a couple with their little children sandwiched between them. Everywhere you look, a parent or guardian with an infant in one hand, the handlebar in the other or a small child sitting in front of them.
On any given day between smog and the motorcycle mania, this is a pretty dangerous place, and from where we've been, it's a rather unhealthy place.
In Angelina we saw over and over again high blood pressure and high blood sugar; diabetes and hypertension - the two great killers of the poor, but today it was quite different.
We went to Los Conucos, the other place pastored by Father Feilx, 15 kilometers west of town, barrios built on the edge of immaculate golf resorts and country clubs, with a large population of Haitians. In the DR the Haitanos are the lowest of the low, with so many levels of depravation and oppression that I cannot begin to fathom. If in Angelina we saw poverty, in Los Conucos we saw wretched poverty.
All the children (most of them screaming) were dirty with infected scabies, infantigo, diarrhea, parasites, lice and other skin infections. With no electricity (no fans), stifling heat, and a chaotic crowd of patients, it was an exhausting day.
As we prayed for each patient and family, anointing them and laying hands on them (with a lot of hand sanitizer in between), I was forever praying internally, "Lord, how did you do this? What does Your authentic compassion look and feel like. Lord, I want to run to my safe, air conditioned, insulated, wi-fi world!"
When the last patient of the day was seen and prayed for, we all looked at each with an expression that said, "We made it!"
Now we are back at our air conditioned rooms (although the power's been out for almost an hour); our bellies are full; and we've had warm showers, recovering from a world that seemingly forever is filled with brokenness, sickness and pain, but as I listen to our team members' stories, I find that our earthly prosperity easily hides deep brokenness, sickness and pain.
When we come here does it minimize our challenges and heartaches or does it anesthetize us from our need for healing - healing of hurting relationships, sin scarred lives, despair in the face of unfulfilled dreams, deep seated addictions, rebellion towards God and more.
For the moment we're winding down toward our final day of service, physically and emotionally drained. We'll unwind for a day in the Capitol, Santo Domingo; the Doc will probably smoke a Havana, and I'll sit in the shade at Columbus Square and have a little Ron (rum).
The motos still rumble by, and the power just came back. Life is good!
For every car in the DR (and there are many), there are at least ten motorcycles, with most of them blowing some serious smoke. Occasionally you'll see a helmet, then only half way on, but for the most part everyone moves around with "Easy Rider" abandon.
It is not uncommon to see lovers zipping through traffic, with the girl's arms tightly around the man's waist, and it it not rare to see a couple with their little children sandwiched between them. Everywhere you look, a parent or guardian with an infant in one hand, the handlebar in the other or a small child sitting in front of them.
On any given day between smog and the motorcycle mania, this is a pretty dangerous place, and from where we've been, it's a rather unhealthy place.
In Angelina we saw over and over again high blood pressure and high blood sugar; diabetes and hypertension - the two great killers of the poor, but today it was quite different.
We went to Los Conucos, the other place pastored by Father Feilx, 15 kilometers west of town, barrios built on the edge of immaculate golf resorts and country clubs, with a large population of Haitians. In the DR the Haitanos are the lowest of the low, with so many levels of depravation and oppression that I cannot begin to fathom. If in Angelina we saw poverty, in Los Conucos we saw wretched poverty.
All the children (most of them screaming) were dirty with infected scabies, infantigo, diarrhea, parasites, lice and other skin infections. With no electricity (no fans), stifling heat, and a chaotic crowd of patients, it was an exhausting day.
As we prayed for each patient and family, anointing them and laying hands on them (with a lot of hand sanitizer in between), I was forever praying internally, "Lord, how did you do this? What does Your authentic compassion look and feel like. Lord, I want to run to my safe, air conditioned, insulated, wi-fi world!"
When the last patient of the day was seen and prayed for, we all looked at each with an expression that said, "We made it!"
Now we are back at our air conditioned rooms (although the power's been out for almost an hour); our bellies are full; and we've had warm showers, recovering from a world that seemingly forever is filled with brokenness, sickness and pain, but as I listen to our team members' stories, I find that our earthly prosperity easily hides deep brokenness, sickness and pain.
When we come here does it minimize our challenges and heartaches or does it anesthetize us from our need for healing - healing of hurting relationships, sin scarred lives, despair in the face of unfulfilled dreams, deep seated addictions, rebellion towards God and more.
For the moment we're winding down toward our final day of service, physically and emotionally drained. We'll unwind for a day in the Capitol, Santo Domingo; the Doc will probably smoke a Havana, and I'll sit in the shade at Columbus Square and have a little Ron (rum).
The motos still rumble by, and the power just came back. Life is good!
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Conviction and compromise on the ground in the DR...
Conviction and compromise on the ground in the DR...
There seems to be no rest for clergy in the DR; Father Felix's normal Sunday is a 6:30 am service in Angelina (north of San Pedro de Macoris), 8:30 in Santa Fe (east of San Pedro, 5:00 pm in Los Conucos (west of San Pedro), with him making house visits before the 5:00.
Today Felix is on vacation, and I'm the fill in priest (I do that a lot in SC too.), so I'm up before 5:00 am, celebrating the Eucharist at the morning services, and preaching and celebrating at 5:00 pm with a Creole speaking congregation.
I generally don't enjoy listening to the same sermon twice (had a 3x's Sunday at the Cathedral this summer!), but I was grateful for the opportunity to sit and practice, lip reading the Communion service, while a deacon preached. You see, I celebrated in Spanish, and on my best days I speak Spanglish. I did get to use the Prayer Book.
I had only done this once before in Honduras, and reading a foreign cadence and catching all the right, syllabic accents can be quite tricky. Nevertheless, we made it through, and when I stumbled or botched a word, the people would graciously help me along. And what sweet services we had!
Angelina was a smaller, quieter group (but what crowd is lively at 6:30?), and the Spirit was sweet. Santa Fe was larger and livelier, and I was right at home with the rhythm and the dancing (I could be a Latin Anglican!)
For lunch we transported all the leaders of Iglesia Santiago Apostol in Angelina to the retreat center in San Pedro and fed them a grand lunch. Without a doubt it will be their biggest meal of this week and of many others.
Sitting in the services today, I reflected how we have had two teams in one; our New England & New York liberal friends slept in and attended a later service at a church near our lodging, but everyone from SC was up with me before dawn, not wanting to miss worship with our Dominican family.
Working with our northern friends has been an enlightening experience - doing medical minimizes the spiritual side for them, while I have been free to minister as I felt led. Still "how can two walk together, lest they be in agreement"?
The poor really don't care about our theology, but our theology truly shapes what we bring them. And I'm afraid that when the "haves" reach out and lift up the "have nots", the "have nots" generally will embrace the theology of their benefactors.
The Episcopal Church in the DR has been the recipient of significant financial and human resources from the Episcopal Church in America (It is actually part of the national church), and I know that I am working this week with an organization that has greatly compromised the Gospel. I'm left with the dilemma of how that translates on the ground, knowing the poor in these villages love the Lord, as do their priests.
So while I believe that the Diocese of the DR has reached a point of irreconcilable compromise and liberal Americans are with me here this week, meeting real medical and physical needs, I have come with the Gospel of my Lord, the ministry of His Spirit and a commitment to His Word.
I'm pretty sure I will not do this again (The divide between us is glaring.), but it has been a valuable lesson on how American churches can positively or negatively effect the world. Resolving the necessary tension between truth & grace can only be obtained by a total commitment to both, and this is only gained by His Word and Spirit.
At the end of the day, there are people you can and should minister to that you should never try to minister with.
There seems to be no rest for clergy in the DR; Father Felix's normal Sunday is a 6:30 am service in Angelina (north of San Pedro de Macoris), 8:30 in Santa Fe (east of San Pedro, 5:00 pm in Los Conucos (west of San Pedro), with him making house visits before the 5:00.
Today Felix is on vacation, and I'm the fill in priest (I do that a lot in SC too.), so I'm up before 5:00 am, celebrating the Eucharist at the morning services, and preaching and celebrating at 5:00 pm with a Creole speaking congregation.
I generally don't enjoy listening to the same sermon twice (had a 3x's Sunday at the Cathedral this summer!), but I was grateful for the opportunity to sit and practice, lip reading the Communion service, while a deacon preached. You see, I celebrated in Spanish, and on my best days I speak Spanglish. I did get to use the Prayer Book.
I had only done this once before in Honduras, and reading a foreign cadence and catching all the right, syllabic accents can be quite tricky. Nevertheless, we made it through, and when I stumbled or botched a word, the people would graciously help me along. And what sweet services we had!
Angelina was a smaller, quieter group (but what crowd is lively at 6:30?), and the Spirit was sweet. Santa Fe was larger and livelier, and I was right at home with the rhythm and the dancing (I could be a Latin Anglican!)
For lunch we transported all the leaders of Iglesia Santiago Apostol in Angelina to the retreat center in San Pedro and fed them a grand lunch. Without a doubt it will be their biggest meal of this week and of many others.
Sitting in the services today, I reflected how we have had two teams in one; our New England & New York liberal friends slept in and attended a later service at a church near our lodging, but everyone from SC was up with me before dawn, not wanting to miss worship with our Dominican family.
Working with our northern friends has been an enlightening experience - doing medical minimizes the spiritual side for them, while I have been free to minister as I felt led. Still "how can two walk together, lest they be in agreement"?
The poor really don't care about our theology, but our theology truly shapes what we bring them. And I'm afraid that when the "haves" reach out and lift up the "have nots", the "have nots" generally will embrace the theology of their benefactors.
The Episcopal Church in the DR has been the recipient of significant financial and human resources from the Episcopal Church in America (It is actually part of the national church), and I know that I am working this week with an organization that has greatly compromised the Gospel. I'm left with the dilemma of how that translates on the ground, knowing the poor in these villages love the Lord, as do their priests.
So while I believe that the Diocese of the DR has reached a point of irreconcilable compromise and liberal Americans are with me here this week, meeting real medical and physical needs, I have come with the Gospel of my Lord, the ministry of His Spirit and a commitment to His Word.
I'm pretty sure I will not do this again (The divide between us is glaring.), but it has been a valuable lesson on how American churches can positively or negatively effect the world. Resolving the necessary tension between truth & grace can only be obtained by a total commitment to both, and this is only gained by His Word and Spirit.
At the end of the day, there are people you can and should minister to that you should never try to minister with.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Acabamos de arañar la superficie. (We just scratched the surface.)
Acabamos de arañar la superficie. (We just scratched the surface.)
It was our third day; we were weary - they kept coming. We served, examined and prayed with over 200 people, plus making home visits and walking the streets with scores of children. What a lesson in persistence - to have the same patience, compassion and intentionality in our prayers with patient #165, 190 that we did with #1, 10, 22.
The needs are real, unending and overwhelming - an 80 year old grandmother with 4 grandchildren and no food, a 49 year old mother of 6, with 3 grandchildren, who's been widowed 10 years and has no income (who offered me a bowl of rice when I visited!), three unemployed brothers, one in his 60s paralyzed by a stroke, one (maybe 45) who just lost a leg to diabetes, the younger (maybe 35 or 40) caring for the other two, everywhere young, single mothers with multiple children, no fathers and no work (many having given birth in the early teens). I could go on, and we just scratched the surface.
Everywhere in the DR there are baseball fields; Angelina is no different - no paved roads, no clean drinking water, no work, sparse medical care, the monotonous oppression of poverty - but there's baseball.
At lunch, after 20 kids hung around the church's side door and watched us eat our PB&J sandwiches, our team's young medical intern walked with me to the two fields; we were swamped by a dozen dirty children, holding our hands, running the bases, playing pretend baseball (I've got a mean slider!) and asking us questions. They all new one English word - "hungry"
"Tienen comida en sus casas?" Do you have food in your houses. They all shook their heads, no, so for less than $10.00 I bought them some food.
Anna, from the church, walked with me to a corner store, where we bought 5lbs. of rice, a pound of ham, some oil and two bags of beans, and we carried it all all to Olga, the 80 year old with all the kids. We gave her the food, prayed and walked back to the church/clinic. We had just scratched the surface.
We made house visits, cleaned and wrapped open, diabetic sores, dispensed medicine, prayed some more, pulled teeth, gave out clothes and glasses. Then we got on our bus and went back to our lodging. We had simply scratched the surface. We had our hot showers and two helpings of our hot meal, then had our evening service in our air conditioned meeting room.
We have three services tomorrow (starting at 6:30!) then two more days in another village filled with Haitians, back to Santo Domingo, a day of rest, and then Delta taking us home; knowing that one person at a time we may have made a difference, but we had just scratched the surface.
"For you always have the poor with you; but you do not always have Me." - Jesus
“One thing you still lack; sell all that you possess and distribute it to the poor, and you shall have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me.” - Jesus
"And if I give all my possessions to feed the poor, and if I surrender my body to be burned, but do not have love, it profits me nothing." - Paul
"Listen, my beloved brethren: did not God choose the poor of this world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom which He promised to those who love Him?" - James
It was our third day; we were weary - they kept coming. We served, examined and prayed with over 200 people, plus making home visits and walking the streets with scores of children. What a lesson in persistence - to have the same patience, compassion and intentionality in our prayers with patient #165, 190 that we did with #1, 10, 22.
The needs are real, unending and overwhelming - an 80 year old grandmother with 4 grandchildren and no food, a 49 year old mother of 6, with 3 grandchildren, who's been widowed 10 years and has no income (who offered me a bowl of rice when I visited!), three unemployed brothers, one in his 60s paralyzed by a stroke, one (maybe 45) who just lost a leg to diabetes, the younger (maybe 35 or 40) caring for the other two, everywhere young, single mothers with multiple children, no fathers and no work (many having given birth in the early teens). I could go on, and we just scratched the surface.
Everywhere in the DR there are baseball fields; Angelina is no different - no paved roads, no clean drinking water, no work, sparse medical care, the monotonous oppression of poverty - but there's baseball.
At lunch, after 20 kids hung around the church's side door and watched us eat our PB&J sandwiches, our team's young medical intern walked with me to the two fields; we were swamped by a dozen dirty children, holding our hands, running the bases, playing pretend baseball (I've got a mean slider!) and asking us questions. They all new one English word - "hungry"
"Tienen comida en sus casas?" Do you have food in your houses. They all shook their heads, no, so for less than $10.00 I bought them some food.
Anna, from the church, walked with me to a corner store, where we bought 5lbs. of rice, a pound of ham, some oil and two bags of beans, and we carried it all all to Olga, the 80 year old with all the kids. We gave her the food, prayed and walked back to the church/clinic. We had just scratched the surface.
We made house visits, cleaned and wrapped open, diabetic sores, dispensed medicine, prayed some more, pulled teeth, gave out clothes and glasses. Then we got on our bus and went back to our lodging. We had simply scratched the surface. We had our hot showers and two helpings of our hot meal, then had our evening service in our air conditioned meeting room.
We have three services tomorrow (starting at 6:30!) then two more days in another village filled with Haitians, back to Santo Domingo, a day of rest, and then Delta taking us home; knowing that one person at a time we may have made a difference, but we had just scratched the surface.
"For you always have the poor with you; but you do not always have Me." - Jesus
“One thing you still lack; sell all that you possess and distribute it to the poor, and you shall have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me.” - Jesus
"And if I give all my possessions to feed the poor, and if I surrender my body to be burned, but do not have love, it profits me nothing." - Paul
"Listen, my beloved brethren: did not God choose the poor of this world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom which He promised to those who love Him?" - James
Friday, October 4, 2013
How to paint poverty without thinking "ugly"
How to paint poverty without thinking "ugly".
The doctor and I wandered down the dirt streets with our small group, after we had finished an hour of home visits to treat some ladies, who could not make it to the clinic. All the cases were the same - open sores on feet and legs from diabetes, with many missing toes (amputations).
I had taken some photos as we walked, then commented, "I only took a few, because every street of poverty seems to look the same."
Doc simply replied, "Yeah, it's all ugly."
I did not think he was being callous, but it caused me to pause and say, "I don't think that's the right word, but I don't know what the right word is. What does this poverty truly look like?"
Scores of young men lying around, because there's no work, little girls in pig tails and school uniforms walking home to no running water and possibly no food, widows living in shacks caring for grandchildren, pigs freely grazing the trash in the grass along the roads, animal feces everywhere, and the hardship of this reality played out day after day after day after day after day.
We had spent all day in the church/clinic, treating and praying over scores of patients. My doctor friend, who with his wife has come twice a year for six years, looks at me and says, "The people seem to be in worse shape than ever. They're not getting better but worse." And we were running out of meds. The truth we knew, we were just scratching the surface, but we still believed that we were making a difference for the Kingdom, one person, one shack, one village at a time.
Among missionaries and others there is quite a debate about the long-term effectiveness of short-term mission trips, with many thinking they do more harm than good. I really don't know how to delve into that discussion, but I do know that countless lives are changed in the going and by those who come.
Anyone from America that wades into the muck of poverty in developing nations - we can't say third world anymore, but it truly is a different reality - doesn't (can't?) return with the same perspective that they had before going (unless they're heartless, consumer addicts).
After over 20 years of going to and even living in the nations, one important thing I know for sure - if we treat, feed, serve, dig wells, train, educate, finance, develop and clothe our "neighbors" but do not lead them to the living water of the kingdom of God, where salvation, miracles and rejoicing flow, then we are truly doing them and us no good.
But it's not an either or problem, and God's grace is bigger that I can imagine, so who knows what might be transformed by that cup of water and those parasite pills.
The doctor and I wandered down the dirt streets with our small group, after we had finished an hour of home visits to treat some ladies, who could not make it to the clinic. All the cases were the same - open sores on feet and legs from diabetes, with many missing toes (amputations).
I had taken some photos as we walked, then commented, "I only took a few, because every street of poverty seems to look the same."
Doc simply replied, "Yeah, it's all ugly."
I did not think he was being callous, but it caused me to pause and say, "I don't think that's the right word, but I don't know what the right word is. What does this poverty truly look like?"
Scores of young men lying around, because there's no work, little girls in pig tails and school uniforms walking home to no running water and possibly no food, widows living in shacks caring for grandchildren, pigs freely grazing the trash in the grass along the roads, animal feces everywhere, and the hardship of this reality played out day after day after day after day after day.
We had spent all day in the church/clinic, treating and praying over scores of patients. My doctor friend, who with his wife has come twice a year for six years, looks at me and says, "The people seem to be in worse shape than ever. They're not getting better but worse." And we were running out of meds. The truth we knew, we were just scratching the surface, but we still believed that we were making a difference for the Kingdom, one person, one shack, one village at a time.
Among missionaries and others there is quite a debate about the long-term effectiveness of short-term mission trips, with many thinking they do more harm than good. I really don't know how to delve into that discussion, but I do know that countless lives are changed in the going and by those who come.
Anyone from America that wades into the muck of poverty in developing nations - we can't say third world anymore, but it truly is a different reality - doesn't (can't?) return with the same perspective that they had before going (unless they're heartless, consumer addicts).
After over 20 years of going to and even living in the nations, one important thing I know for sure - if we treat, feed, serve, dig wells, train, educate, finance, develop and clothe our "neighbors" but do not lead them to the living water of the kingdom of God, where salvation, miracles and rejoicing flow, then we are truly doing them and us no good.
But it's not an either or problem, and God's grace is bigger that I can imagine, so who knows what might be transformed by that cup of water and those parasite pills.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Working with the dazed and confused...
Working with the dazed and confused...
What a bizarre team we have - five Evangelicals from SC, four liberals from Massachusetts (quite wacky and lost), three Roman Catholics from Boston, and one precious Pentecostal from the northern part of the Dominican Republic. I knew that medical teams could be like that, and I knew that I was supposed to come - to minister to the Dominicans and to this team.
Yesterday at the airport, one of the wacky liberals (there's really no other way to describe them, except to sometimes add belligerent) immediately told me about her wonderful church with its gay organist and their gay priest.
I'm thinking, "Seriously? Why is all about twisted sex with you guys." But I simply pray and direct the conversation towards the Gospel.
"You're not one of those Evangelicals (a pejorative) are you."
"Yes, mam, I am." She was old and I am southern.
Later she tells me about some serious infirmities, and again I go to the Gospel and the healing power of God, thinking, "Maybe God might touch her and open her eyes."
"That sounds like that Evangelical stuff, no thanks."
She would rather be friends with her infirmity than believe the Gospel? Amazing!
To say the least I was doing a lot of praying, and I knew that I was here to model truth and grace, pastorally to everyone, without judgment or compromise.
Today (Thursday) was frankly amazing on many levels. We spent the day in Angelina, running the clinic out of the church and walking around the village, visiting and praying with folks.
We had two doctors set up and seeing patients, with me assisting one and our Dominican, Pentecostal sister (Anna Maria) with the other. We also had a dentist set up across the street in Pepe's house and a pharmacy and an optical area.
After a medical exam Anna Maria and I would anoint and pray for each person. (I can do church Spanish pretty well!) And oh, how we pulled on heaven when we prayed! But let me back up.
There are two main churches in this village, La Iglesia Anglicana and La Iglesia de Dios de Profesia (The Church of God of Prophesy), and most of our patients went to one or the other. When they told me they went to the other one I would ask (in Spanish) "Is the presence of the Lord strong there." "O yes!" "Are there miracles?" "O yes!" "Is there the language of heaven (tongues)?" "O yes!" "Do you speak in tongues?" And many would answer yes.
But there was this one lady (60ish) who answered, "Not yet, but I desire to do so."
So I prayed with her for healing and for the release of the Spirit, and he fell on her, and she began to speak, and it wasn't Spanish or English.
What a joy! The wacky liberal was in the pharmacy away from us and the presence of God was moving with healing and power and love!
During one break though I was talking to one of our Catholic team members, and the first thing she declared about her parish, "We have lots of gays in our church, and we're very accepting." Mind you, I had not said anything about sexuality to anyone.
Why is it always about sex with these folks? Why would you define the glory of your church by celebrating anal sex between to men or whatever two women do?
What a sad and empty Gospel we have accepted in our broken nation, indeed this is no Gospel at all. To confuse love for all sinners with accepting life styles that truly seek to redefine God's design for marriage and the church. "I'm speaking a mystery ( a husband and wife) of Christ and His church." (Apostle Paul)
Before our day ended, I wandered down to La Iglesia de Dios de Profesia and found 30 ladies in a circle praying, so I joined them - material for another blog.
Well, we have had dinner, showers and our evening service, and everyone has crashed; I am tired and full, but the Catholic came back to me after our devotions with many questions and a hunger for the truth.
The greatest miracle on this trip may not be the sick villagers in Angelina receiving God's healing touch. It just might be the way he transforms those who have come to serve but don't know the truth about the Great Physician.
What a bizarre team we have - five Evangelicals from SC, four liberals from Massachusetts (quite wacky and lost), three Roman Catholics from Boston, and one precious Pentecostal from the northern part of the Dominican Republic. I knew that medical teams could be like that, and I knew that I was supposed to come - to minister to the Dominicans and to this team.
Yesterday at the airport, one of the wacky liberals (there's really no other way to describe them, except to sometimes add belligerent) immediately told me about her wonderful church with its gay organist and their gay priest.
I'm thinking, "Seriously? Why is all about twisted sex with you guys." But I simply pray and direct the conversation towards the Gospel.
"You're not one of those Evangelicals (a pejorative) are you."
"Yes, mam, I am." She was old and I am southern.
Later she tells me about some serious infirmities, and again I go to the Gospel and the healing power of God, thinking, "Maybe God might touch her and open her eyes."
"That sounds like that Evangelical stuff, no thanks."
She would rather be friends with her infirmity than believe the Gospel? Amazing!
To say the least I was doing a lot of praying, and I knew that I was here to model truth and grace, pastorally to everyone, without judgment or compromise.
Today (Thursday) was frankly amazing on many levels. We spent the day in Angelina, running the clinic out of the church and walking around the village, visiting and praying with folks.
We had two doctors set up and seeing patients, with me assisting one and our Dominican, Pentecostal sister (Anna Maria) with the other. We also had a dentist set up across the street in Pepe's house and a pharmacy and an optical area.
After a medical exam Anna Maria and I would anoint and pray for each person. (I can do church Spanish pretty well!) And oh, how we pulled on heaven when we prayed! But let me back up.
There are two main churches in this village, La Iglesia Anglicana and La Iglesia de Dios de Profesia (The Church of God of Prophesy), and most of our patients went to one or the other. When they told me they went to the other one I would ask (in Spanish) "Is the presence of the Lord strong there." "O yes!" "Are there miracles?" "O yes!" "Is there the language of heaven (tongues)?" "O yes!" "Do you speak in tongues?" And many would answer yes.
But there was this one lady (60ish) who answered, "Not yet, but I desire to do so."
So I prayed with her for healing and for the release of the Spirit, and he fell on her, and she began to speak, and it wasn't Spanish or English.
What a joy! The wacky liberal was in the pharmacy away from us and the presence of God was moving with healing and power and love!
During one break though I was talking to one of our Catholic team members, and the first thing she declared about her parish, "We have lots of gays in our church, and we're very accepting." Mind you, I had not said anything about sexuality to anyone.
Why is it always about sex with these folks? Why would you define the glory of your church by celebrating anal sex between to men or whatever two women do?
What a sad and empty Gospel we have accepted in our broken nation, indeed this is no Gospel at all. To confuse love for all sinners with accepting life styles that truly seek to redefine God's design for marriage and the church. "I'm speaking a mystery ( a husband and wife) of Christ and His church." (Apostle Paul)
Before our day ended, I wandered down to La Iglesia de Dios de Profesia and found 30 ladies in a circle praying, so I joined them - material for another blog.
Well, we have had dinner, showers and our evening service, and everyone has crashed; I am tired and full, but the Catholic came back to me after our devotions with many questions and a hunger for the truth.
The greatest miracle on this trip may not be the sick villagers in Angelina receiving God's healing touch. It just might be the way he transforms those who have come to serve but don't know the truth about the Great Physician.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Angelina - It's been five years
Angelina - It's been five years.
Woke up at o'dark hundred; Jane sacrificed and got up too. Riding to the airport, our eyes and contacts still calibrating clarity, as we prepared to leave our normal world for a place where the daily grind is much more severe.
Angelina - I've walked her dirt streets before, Gringos going door to door to share and pray, finding weary souls, hungry bellies and stories of brokenness.
I've never gone to bed without today and tomorrow's meal; never been sick without medical care close at hand; never gone without clean drinking water or indoor plumbing; never been cared for by grandparents, because no one knew my Daddy, and Mom worked the streets in Santo Domingo (when she wasn't high).
Oh, I've felt our collective pain at the gas pump and moaned about inflation, but scraping for a $.50 bowl of rice and wondering how our family will make it, when the same bowl is now a $1.00, is beyond alien to this overweight, achy knee preacher.
My life has dripped with plenty in a culture weighed down and intoxicated by affluenza. Like living and breathing in a moldy house, I have breathed in modern, western Christendom and interpreted much of my world and God's through its distorted lenses. Angelina helps me see more clearly, our universal brokenness and the deep, spiritual poverty amidst our plenty.
Last month I rode in a Porsche, played golf at a prestigious country club, ate in a four star restaurant, slept in an 18th Century plantation, preached to comfortable people and played on my iPad.
Today I'll land in the Dominican Republic and be grateful for AC, hot water and rice and beans, and tomorrow I'll arise and return to Angelina.
Woke up at o'dark hundred; Jane sacrificed and got up too. Riding to the airport, our eyes and contacts still calibrating clarity, as we prepared to leave our normal world for a place where the daily grind is much more severe.
Angelina - I've walked her dirt streets before, Gringos going door to door to share and pray, finding weary souls, hungry bellies and stories of brokenness.
I've never gone to bed without today and tomorrow's meal; never been sick without medical care close at hand; never gone without clean drinking water or indoor plumbing; never been cared for by grandparents, because no one knew my Daddy, and Mom worked the streets in Santo Domingo (when she wasn't high).
Oh, I've felt our collective pain at the gas pump and moaned about inflation, but scraping for a $.50 bowl of rice and wondering how our family will make it, when the same bowl is now a $1.00, is beyond alien to this overweight, achy knee preacher.
My life has dripped with plenty in a culture weighed down and intoxicated by affluenza. Like living and breathing in a moldy house, I have breathed in modern, western Christendom and interpreted much of my world and God's through its distorted lenses. Angelina helps me see more clearly, our universal brokenness and the deep, spiritual poverty amidst our plenty.
Last month I rode in a Porsche, played golf at a prestigious country club, ate in a four star restaurant, slept in an 18th Century plantation, preached to comfortable people and played on my iPad.
Today I'll land in the Dominican Republic and be grateful for AC, hot water and rice and beans, and tomorrow I'll arise and return to Angelina.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Why I Keep Going
Twenty-three years ago Jane and I went to Brazil on our first mission trip. It changed us forever, and we have never seen the world in the same way.
We stayed in a luxury hotel on the Copacabana Beach and worked in the favellas (slums). The contrast between the two worlds, side by side, was both eye opening and surreal.
We returned to the States with an awakened desire to go to the nations, a desire that our Baptist heritage had sown deep inside us and our seminary days had intensified (Southwestern had sent more missionaries overseas than anyone).
Since that trip we have continued to go to the nations, always sobered by the needs and overwhelmed by the power of the Gospel. We have lived and or ministered in Europe, Central America, South America, Africa and the Caribbean, and our grown kids have done the same.
Now tomorrow (the 2nd) I go again - heading out early for the fourth time to the Dominican Republic. I'll serve as the chaplain on a medical team ministering in some very needy villages that are just a few miles away from the world class resorts.
Why do I keep going? The Kingdom of God explodes with vibrancy outside the developed world, and that vitality washes out of me the lethargy of our blighted culture. And when I come home, I have a renewed hunger to see the Kingdom break out here with the same fervency and power.
I would write more, but I've got to go pack...
We stayed in a luxury hotel on the Copacabana Beach and worked in the favellas (slums). The contrast between the two worlds, side by side, was both eye opening and surreal.
We returned to the States with an awakened desire to go to the nations, a desire that our Baptist heritage had sown deep inside us and our seminary days had intensified (Southwestern had sent more missionaries overseas than anyone).
Since that trip we have continued to go to the nations, always sobered by the needs and overwhelmed by the power of the Gospel. We have lived and or ministered in Europe, Central America, South America, Africa and the Caribbean, and our grown kids have done the same.
Now tomorrow (the 2nd) I go again - heading out early for the fourth time to the Dominican Republic. I'll serve as the chaplain on a medical team ministering in some very needy villages that are just a few miles away from the world class resorts.
Why do I keep going? The Kingdom of God explodes with vibrancy outside the developed world, and that vitality washes out of me the lethargy of our blighted culture. And when I come home, I have a renewed hunger to see the Kingdom break out here with the same fervency and power.
I would write more, but I've got to go pack...
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