The Field Experience

Launching a Leadership Network

2011-09-23T04:53:00.000-07:00

Earlier this month we loaded up a team of eleven from Kampala and made our way to the big island of Buggala in Kalangala District for our second annual conference of the Island Leadership Network.

Brent teaches a workshop on worship under a large tree

Since we’ve been working on the islands for the past five years, our vision has expanded from simple weekend church visits to intensive Bible schools to a now comprehensive plan to link local church leaders together and systematically “take the lake” for the Kingdom of God. Here’s our official mission:

The Island Leadership Network (ILN) exists to encourage meaningful relationships and strategic partnerships between local church leaders, equipping them to be more effective in their ministries, for the purpose of maturing strong churches that will transform the communities of Lake Victoria’s islands.

As I stood on the platform and addressed a group that represents nearly half of all believers on the islands, I was humbled by the humility of the group, their willingness to follow a young foreigner in the vision of God for their congregations, and their eagerness to be trained in the Living Word of God. Many of these leaders have sacrificed more prosperous futures on the mainland to serve in these island slums for more than a decade, fighting through discouraging population shifts, intense spiritual warfare, and a pervasive culture of self-indulgence that has left the majority of the islands infected with HIV, and drunk with sin.

My few sessions were devoted to vision casting, so from Psalm 24, I iterated the position of local church leaders as the spiritual gatekeepers of their community, capable and responsible to let the glory of God enter into their local populations, ultimately allowing the glory of the Lord to flood the islands as the waters cover the sea. Our conference theme, “Vessels of Honor” capitalized on the idea of cleansing leaders’ lives from things that would dishonor and mar the glory of God, while becoming useful for the Master and prepared for good works (2 Timothy 2:21).

Because most “Bible teaching” in Uganda comes in the form of a simple salvation message or a word on material prosperity, topics like “Honorable Marriage,” “Honoring God through a Life of Sacrifice,” and “Honorable Shepherding” were as fresh as they were foreign, producing lasting impact in the hearers. I spoke with one participating leader the other day who so enjoyed the teaching and fellowship at the conference, he hasn’t stopped mulling the principles around in his head ever since. “What was spoken there has done so much in my life, Pastor,” he told me over the phone, the reception crackling due to his remote location, “I’m ready to come back anytime there’s another teaching.”

Here’s the network’s strategy for infiltrating the entire Lake with the message of the cross:

Annual Conferences - The ILN sponsors an annual conference for the purpose of developing and deepening relationships, inspiring vision, and equipping ministries. These gatherings of all members from across the islands are times of great personal refreshing in the presence of the Lord.

Regional Conferences - Throughout the year, the ILN sponsors smaller regional conferences in geographical centers so that members can build deeper relationships with leaders closest to them, gain a vision for their region, and come together to implement strategies for continual collaboration.

Island Leadership School - We offer a 16-week intensive leadership training school for our members. Because of the high cost of attending traditional Bible schools far from home and the great pressures between school, family, and ministry, we position these courses in various regional centers to make training accessible and affordable for leaders as they continue the work of ministry (additional fees apply).

Equipping Seminars - Our specialized equipping seminars train leaders and their congregations on various Biblical topics inside individual local churches. These are designed to boost and sharpen ministry already occurring in members’ churches and are instrumental in taking the entire church to a new place of maturity while allowing those serving the network to understand the state of the church and its leadership.

Resources - ILN offers Bibles and other printed materials to members at subsidized prices, and will eventually publish a membership directory and website (www.islandleadership.net) that can assist people in locating ILN related churches.

Consultation - Our leadership team is committed to the growing of strong, healthy churches and is always available for pastoral counsel, nurture, and care to members. From personal edification to church strategy to troubleshooting ministry issues, the network will be a source of strength, encouragement, and wisdom to members.

Evangelism Support - Partnering together with members, the ILN assists in bringing in teams from the mainland and overseas to spread the Gospel throughout the islands while equipping and encouraging island leaders to do the work of evangelism.

We’ve already been facilitating most of these strategic activities, so the new leadership network is simply a formalization of ministry already taking place across Lake Victoria. It brings together all local church leaders in an entire region of the world under one vision of community transformation by the glory of God through the development of healthy churches led by Christ-like leaders. With 80+ “Born Again” churches located on the islands from all different denominations and church covering organizations, we realize this is an impossible task, but with our God, all things are possible!

As this network continues to form, relationships are being cultivated, leaders are being refreshed, paradigms are being challenged and enlarged, resources are being multiplied, pastors are being equipped, and the impact will only be supernatural in the years to come!

The Harvest is Plentiful...

2011-08-31T10:38:00.000-07:00

An extremely important question I really need you to weigh in on:

If I were to issue a compelling argument for reaching the remainder of the world’s population with the Gospel of Jesus Christ, provide systematic training to equip you for cross-cultural ministry, and guarantee lifetime provision for you and your family, would you offer yourself as a missionary for the remainder of your time on earth, using your talents to finish the Great Commission in your lifetime?

If not, why not?

If so, when do we get started? =)

Casting out Demons

2011-08-02T11:14:00.000-07:00

I think I was in the middle of crushing g-nut grains between my molars when she poked her head into the mud & thatch church shelter we were using as a dining room and kitchen. A handful of team members looked up briefly from their bowls of fried dough, bananas, & nuts to exchange greetings with this member of Faith and Deliverance Community Church in Kamesse, Buvu Island. Her words were brief, if not strained, indicating she had come for more than a casual greeting. As I continued to munch my breakfast, she spoke a long sentence in the Luganda language while a brother interpreted her plea for help. “I woke up this morning with a splitting headache,” she began, “half of my sight is gone, I feel weak, and desperately need prayer.”

I set down my chapati and milk tea, slightly annoyed at the disturbance, since we were still preparing for the day and “ministry time” had not yet begun. I called together a handful of our mighty men and we went to work, laying hands and believing God for a miracle to remove the migraine from this precious woman. But after a few minutes of intense prayer, commanding the sickness to go in Jesus’ name, she stopped us, sat down, and through excruciating pain, communicated the real source of the ailment: “This is not the first time this attack has come upon me,” she painstakingly reported. “I normally have demonic attacks in my body because of my background in witchcraft from where I come from.”

Knowing that believers cannot be cursed or oppressed unless a door has been opened to the enemy, we began probing for the cause of the torment. “There’s no witchcraft in my house, and I haven’t participated in it since I gave my life to Jesus,” she responded to our inquiry. “This curse is coming from my family back in the village.” We began instructing her on her authority in Christ, and coached her on renouncing the power of the devil in her life. Still wracked with pain & torment, with her eyes clenched shut and her head swaying back & forth in agony, she began to pray timidly as the attack worsened.

Sensing the need for further help, Elisha grabbed her hand and had her repeat a prayer of renunciation, claiming the blood of Jesus over her life, and commanding the devil to leave her alone. She became bold and prayed with strength for a few minutes while we prayed fervently and then she opened her eyes. The attack was over. The pain was gone. Her sight was restored. Her soul was at peace. With sweat on her forehead and tears in her now functioning eyes, she thanked us for our help. I opened my Bible to Numbers 23:23, explaining how a believer can’t be bewitched and not to give in to any oppression in the future.

It was this newly delivered friend who later on warded off a thief who came to steal the acoustic guitar we had left behind, and proceeded to prepare for our team a sumptuous supper of fried rice, g-nut paste, and smoked fish. I thought of Peter’s mother-in-law who rose from her sick bed and immediately began serving Jesus.

The next day, Jackson, Elisha, & Frank were circuiting the largest landing site in this particular string of islands, named “Kachanga” due to the large turnover of sexual partners in days past. As they passed by a certain open door a neighbor entreated the brothers to enter the house and pray for an acutely sick woman who was struggling to live. They respectfully removed their shoes on the dirty porch and ducked beneath the low doorway onto a vinyl floor covering in the two room house.

There on a twin mattress lay a sister in the Lord who had come under demonic attack after being cursed by a jealous lady who worked the field next to hers. Our sister had been a diligent worker and was prospering in her produce when the envious onlooker picked a fight claiming the land wasn’t hers to work on. The feud had gone on for some weeks until finally our sister fell sick and came near death as the demonic forces sent from the other woman battered her aging body.

The three disciples knew nothing of this until later, and confidently went to work in prayer, commanding her body to be made whole in the mighty name of Jesus. When a demon began to speak through the woman they spoke back, commanding it to be quiet and come out of her. After some struggle it appeared the demon had gone and the now sane woman shared her story with our brothers, ate some food, was completely whole, and got up to move around, promising to attend our crusade that evening and our seminar the next day.

The next morning Seth and I approached pastor Kamulali and his wife as they chatted on the road. They hurriedly briefed us on the situation at hand: It seemed the pastor had gone to visit our newly freed sister early that morning and all was well. She testified of her healing and deliverance and was up washing, cooking, and carrying on in a normal fashion. But soon after he had departed, another member of the church called him back to the house, saying the demons had come back in full force and she was worse off than before. Pastor stopped short at that point and at a loss as to what to do next, he led us to the house and brought us inside.

There she lay, lips trembling, head twitching in slight, uncontrolled movements. Pastor indicated they had been praying for the peace of God but hadn’t dealt with the demons yet. Learning that she was a believer I wanted her to pray a prayer of renunciation as we had successfully done earlier in the week, but it was clear she wasn’t coherent enough to even speak. Pa

stor sat her up, stood behind her and cradled her head in his hands as Seth and I laid hands on her arm and shoulder and began to pray. In her feverish stupor, she began to shout and flail about, while other brethren jumped on the opportunity to scream, “FIRE!” in her ears at the top of their voices.

When the violent activity seemed to produce no results, we began to command the evil spirit to be quiet and come out of her in the name of Jesus. Her face would contort uncontrollably while she would wail and cry out in the Luganda language. The demon was talking through the woman’s tortured voice. Pastor interpreted for us that the spirit had come from another village to take her back. It said it would come out if we would sacrifice a goat and make her drink the blood. We laughed at it and kept commanding it out.

At one point the demon declared that it was going to kill her, and she lay back on the mattress, still and quiet. That was enough for me. I jumped on her, commanding the spirit of death to leave her alone, declaring the life of Jesus over his blood-bought servant. Many more violent reactions continued, but at times the demon would stop, pretend to be gone, and release her mind and mouth for a moment. She would come to, looked around the room, call for the pastor and ask what was going on. But a nod towards a closing prayer would bring back the attack, and we were at it again. At one point, I wanted to grab my camera as Seth held his face and accusatory index finger an inch from her face forcing the demon to be quiet and stop tormenting her. After nearly an hour of this whole process the pastor discerned, “It’s soon leaving,” and sure enough following a final violent outburst, the spirit left and did not return.

Out on the doorstep, two of the pastors were talking together expressing their opinion that the devils were being revealed in the lives of their believers because they were scared of the anointing our team had brought to the island. I was excited for the opportunity to be a part of their deliverance, but more so to help these precious believers understand their authority in Christ over every demonic power.

Behold, I give you the authority to trample on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall by any means hurt you. - Luke 10:19

Back in Action

2011-03-20T14:19:00.000-07:00

I'm sure glad to be back in Uganda. After 5.5 weeks touring the Western USofA, it's nice to sleep in my own bed (with it's 6' mattress & footboard for my 6'2" body), bathe in my own shower (once I remember to turn on the water heater), and be in familiar surroundings (plucking bettle larvae from my bedsheets). In the first 24 hours on the red soil, I've been re-baptized into the culture, having viewed the holes in my ceiling from the exterminator frantically escaping biting bats in the attic, the marred passenger door on the LandCruiser that lost more parts than were fixed while at the mechanic's, & killing a black mamba lurking sneakily beneath the cover of the sandbox.

While in America, many people asked us what our biggest difficulty is in living over here. You would think it might be demon possessed people or witchdoctors or corrupt officials opposing the freedom of the church, or lack of funds, lack of laborers, or lack of sleep from the burden of the work. But it's not. Our biggest challenge is the daily frustrations that come from living in a place so different than the one we grew up in. Having to boil water and strain the ants out to get a lukewarm drink of water. Having to talk the tomato seller down .50 on principle as she tries to take advantage of our white skin. Being forced to jump through bureaucratic hoops in order to not participate in corruption and pay bribes. It's the little things that try to get us.

"You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You..." This is our greatest challenge - that in the midst of daily setbacks and frustrations we would be in perfect peace as we work for the One who sent us here. On the other side of all these little things, a great harvest is begging to be saved.

Sailor's Log

2010-12-03T02:13:00.000-08:00

Left sailing club over an hour late at 9:20, due to some slothfulness and staying up too late again on the CD mixing. This lifestyle is terrible and needs to end this week. I'm looking forward to Monday very much. Seth stayed behind to fix our awful vocals in time for the launch, but helped load the boat after a 3 hour rest.

We forgot to have Geoffrey clean the boat this week, need to make that a weekly task for him (or Lawrence these two weeks that Geoffrey's gone). After bailing, loaded 11 rolls of papyrus for the Kaaya church walls, picked up the guys on the beach to avoid Fred's weekend club fees, and were off.

I was trying out my "new" GPS, and figured we were racing at 15MPH at full throttle, 4 adults on board (me, Alan, Frank, Moses) with little cargo. With my head down calculating the D/T=S equation, SMSing Peter on our ETA, and updating Twitter for prayer support, I failed to see some nets that startled me as they broke free from our prop. But the fiberglass is helping with fuel & speed, worth the investment despite the added weight and difficulty in parking.

We made it to Kaaya in 1:38, slowing to a crawl as the 24 liters of fuel depleted towards the end. We borrowed AIM's extra fuel tank this morning - so much easier to switch the fuel line instead of pouring petrol into the funnel in the waves.

Excited children and one mzee from the church helped us carry the mats to the church and we took a few pictures of the now tarpless structure that desperately needs something to keep out wind and rain. After briefly greeting Mukyala Musumba, were back on the water to Misonzi at 11:15.

I was tentative about the trip having only been here once by water and over 1 year ago, but encountered no stones on the way on the :18 trip. (reached at 11:33)

The fishermen assisted in landing the boat and I was pleased they didn't ask for money (to my knowledge). The beach was packed with boats and parking space was scarce. Because of our weight, we left some length in the water, secured our things and found Peter teaching a group of 7 believers in Misonzi's pastorless church.

Should be a great couple days of impartation.

- Brent

Set Me on Fire!

2010-11-09T23:19:00.000-08:00

Sometime last year we were approached by our pastors here in Kampala with the prospect of starting up a discipleship training program for young adults at Life Church. Because we’ve been involved with such hands-on ministry training schools for the last nine years (having met during one, and marrying after our second year, then leading new classes of students ever since), we were the natural choice. After prayer, we decided that making disciples in the context of the local church fit our mission in Uganda and we gladly put our hands to the plow and began gathering students for the first ever program of its type in Uganda.

We began “Ignite” in January this year, armed with a mission statement to “set young adults on fire, train them to be radical followers of Jesus Christ, and prepare them to operate as disciple makers within their own spheres of influence.” Twenty students attached themselves to that purpose, and we hit the ground running. We always begin with a “Transformations” weekend - a time to clear out the past in preparation for the great future God has purposed in the months and years ahead. From the outset, many students found freedom from controlling issues that had plagued them for years and started their year off on the right foot.

Classes commenced with a teaching staff from Life Church’s pastors and leaders, and mentors were assigned to each student to walk through the course with them and lead them deeper in relationship with Jesus. Opportunities for service were organized inside and outside the Life Church compound, and the goal of becoming like Jesus began its painful process.

For months we met each morning to exalt Jesus in worship and prayer together. The typical shotgun approach to God was gradually replaced with a focused devotion and unified cry to know Him more. Many students began hearing the voice of God for the first time; some were baptized in the Holy Spirit, while others would step out with a prophetic song or words for the group. All were challenged to life change as they looked their God in face each morning and became more like Him.

As time went on, the students’ age mates began to notice the difference in their friends as they rapidly matured spiritually. “They even talk different” one young man told me. “I want to be the first to sign up for next year. I’m really missing out.” Outreach times began to bear fruit as the small bands of students would visit the community surrounding the church building each Saturday. Stories of neighbors coming to church and devoting their lives to Jesus became commonplace, as were miraculous healing and deliverance. God was easily pouring out of the vessels He was pouring into. The hands-on discipleship training approach was working and the students were loving it. Mostly.

Of course we’ve had our challenges. Confronting sinful attitudes and actions in maturing young people is never easy or fun. Some never fully yielded to the transforming work of the Holy Spirit. Some were like the soil on shallow ground, where the seed sprung up quickly, withering quickly once the safety of the immersed environment was removed. Some learned to put on an external godliness without internal revolution, with a “fake it ‘till you make it” attitude right up to graduation. Others caved to the pressure to feed their selfish lusts.

Disciple-making is extremely difficult work full of frustrations and disappointments, but it is definitely worth the challenge. The stories of personal victory far outweigh those of backsliding and compromise. Our students have come out the other side changed for eternity; our entire congregation has not only noticed the change, many of them are living proof of the impact of fiery lives upon others.

We took the team to Bunjako Island at the culmination of our program. Six months of training upon transformed individuals converged on the shores of Lake Victoria for a week of soulwinning with miraculous results. Very many lost souls found themselves singing praises to God, bodies were healed, and demons chased from their former victims.

During the morning hours some members would stay at the local churches and teach the believers many of the things they had been taught in regards to following Jesus while the majority would hit the streets, sowing the great news of Jesus’ life, death, & resurrection to all who would hear. The evenings became Gospel crusades - open air evangelistic meetings full of song, dance, and intense preaching. We would baptize our new brethren in the murky lake while the community looked on. Seth invented the “goodbye wave” as the last glimpse of the former life went down into the waters to die.

On our final night, after a wonderful street crusade, some of our guys literally chased down a demonized man that needed deliverance and drug him to the church to work upon him. Hours of demonic manifestation finally gave way to freedom as he gave up his witchcraft fetishes at last and let the team raid his house and pray. The man came to our campfire as we celebrated the victories of the week and proceeded to lead our team in praise to God.

I enjoy the months of our time together in Ignite, but I especially enjoy seeing how each life is changed as they finish training and enter the land of the living. Right now, many of our former students are now actively teaching with us on the islands in weekly seminars on the character of Christ. One is about to marry a godly man from the church. Others are leading ministries at Life Church, while a handful are attending university and standing strong against a godless, self-pleasing culture. Nearly all of them are yearning to continue what they began with us in the short season we called Ignite.

We are presently enrolling a new crop of world-shapers for next year’s program. The excitement is growing among the eligible, and applications are being licked up as fast as we can print them off. What a great privilege to have a hand in setting ablaze those who will burn for Jesus for the rest of their lives.

Building the Church

2010-07-29T02:14:00.000-07:00

Our focus on the islands of Lake Victoria has been to build the people and leaders of the church prior to constructing buildings so that the spiritual structures can continually support the physical structures once put into place. I've seen far too many great buildings that sit largely empty because the strategy was backwards.

That said, we've been working with Life Church in a fishing village called Kaaya, on Lulamba Island for the last couple of years. We've taken multiple teams to do evangelism, held teaching seminars, and trained the senior pastor and one of the elders in our leadership school last year. We've seen some great changes (new affiliation, growth, etc) and have sensed a humble, teachable, faithful spirit on the members and leadership. We've expressed our desire to them to continue resourcing their growing church as time goes on.

A few months ago, their mud and stick building that they had occupied for about 7 years collapsed in the heavy rains. We visited them and saw the ruins of the place we had been ministering and felt urged to assist them in constructing a semi-permanent structure on the rented land they've secured and are working to buy. We had bought them a tarp to meet under temporarily as they had been gathering under a tree for a number of weeks - the pastor said the people were starting to get discouraged from coming because of the heavy rain. As time went on the community had even begun to mock the church and their God as they walked by the ruins of the old church and multiple new cult religions began to build their own small shelters near the church's property.

We spent some time researching the costs of a simple pole and iron roof structure that could accommodate up to 150 people and be expandable for future growth at a cost of around $2,500. The church members began pitching in with the purchase of bricks, some sand and stones to mix into concrete, and raised some funds that altogether accounts for about 10% of the cost of the project.

Tuesday we sailed the 2.5 hour trip to Kaaya on to deliver materials and start the project. After months of planning and finding the right builder, we were finally ready to go, and had spent Monday/Tuesday in purchasing materials in Kampala city to take to the island. We had unusually smooth waters and no rain for our cement (a big answer to prayer!).

When Pastor David and the members of the church met us on shore, they couldn't stop hugging us and thanking us for the great gift we had brought them. They quickly ushered us to some benches to eat bananas while they unloaded 2 tons of cement, iron sheets, iron bars, nails, door frames, etc, and carried them the quarter mile up to the site. When everything was safely stowed in and around the pastor's small house, the believers gathered under their now fraying tarp and began to beat drums, dance and sing their praises to their God who had answered their prayer for a shelter of their own. With our coming and the subsequent construction, the mouths of the mockers were stopped - our God is in fact able to help his people!

We awoke yesterday morning and decided how the church should be situated - paralleling the main road and facing the community, with room to double in size as the church and community grows. The church will be the first building as you enter Kaaya landing site, a community of around 500 people, the building seating around 100. Many of the church came out to crush rocks for the concrete, and we spent our time clearing the site and advising the builder on exactly what we were wanting. The pastor gave us free reign to decide where everything should go and how it should be, rejoicing at the good plan we had put together, and excitedly running around to show everyone the sketch of the finished product.

At one point, we walked up to the next village to talk to a man who owns much of the forest on the island so they could get busy logging trees and cutting them to size for the rafters. The green wood will take some time to dry, so we wanted to get it cut as soon as possible. The builder we finally chose for the whole job is a great brother who has worked on quality projects in Kampala, and really seemed to know what he was doing, even in primitive working environment with limited resources. He was planning to plant all 16 iron poles in the sandy soil with reinforced concrete the first day, and holes were being dug as we had to leave in the afternoon, as we had to arrive home before dark on the water.

We rejoiced in such a successful start in this mission of edification for the church in this practical way, as we shivered in the rain on the way home.

The project should take about 2 weeks to complete; we left Peter there to oversee the work for the start, and we'll have to send some more materials out and make a return trip to inspect the final product. If all goes well, we'll be right at budget, have a great builder, have good cost sharing/ownership from the church, and give 75+ souls a place to worship their Savior, safe from the elements.

We're anticipating that this will be something we'll replicate to help more remote island churches in the future - as their leaders become trained and their congregations attain a measure of spiritual health and maturity, they begin to grow and need shelter to meet in. We're currently involved with around 50 island churches, most of which will need new buildings in the next few years.

It’s such an exciting thing to see physical buildings erected, especially when we’re confident of the integrity of the spiritual House.

Kituufu: "That's Right!"

2010-06-09T01:54:00.000-07:00

It was just coming to 5pm as we carefully glided our 30' Sesse canoe past various underwater obstacles into Kituufu's tiny bay. "It's either going to be a short meeting, or a drive home in the dark." I said to my co-pilot, Seth Sokoloff, with a knowing grin. "Actually it will probably be both." The YWAM team we were transporting had been a few hours late due to unforeseen problems so we had already missed half a day's worth of ministry, canceling out a church meeting and door to door evangelism, remaining with only an outdoor evangelistic crusade to complete in the next hour or so.

Pastor Joash Batwaya pointed to a decent landing spot and as I steered our ship filled to capacity with 20 inhabitants, a similar vessel came alongside. Rastafarian Alan Somebody unintentionally collided with a third boat coming into port to the disdain of all passengers involved. The scene quieted quickly since such incidences are so commonplace, and we began unloading our sound system and generator to set up for the big event. As we went about our business, the dreadlocked driver was making comments in the Luganda language, suggestively mentioning he ought to get saved, since our young ladies were so good looking. He tossed a Luganda greeting my way so I shot back my familiar response words, prompting the usual surprised looks and comments that a Muzungu knew a bit of their mother tongue.

Alan spoke in English this time as we stood side-by-side securing our engines and clearing out our boats. "Take a drink of this lake water. I did when I first came to these islands, you should too!" We didn't quite understand what he was shooting at, so let it go and finished our business. The crusade started up in moments without a hitch, despite the church members waiting for us since 10am. Many had become tired and had left, but a small crowd of 25 began singing and beating drums while the generator roared to life and brought with it terribly joyful noises from screaming worship leaders on faulty microphones.

I was called upon to preach with approximately five minutes' notice, and looked to Jesus for the words to say. I was suddenly led to Isaiah 55:1-2, a passage I had not been meditating on and hadn't read for some time: "Ho! Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat. Yes, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend money for what is not bread, and your wages for what does not satisfy? Listen carefully to Me, and eat what is good, and let your soul delight itself in abundance." The message went on to admonish the onlookers to seek satisfaction in the only One who gives living water, causing them to cease their search for fulfillment.

Somewhere in the discourse, I began to talk about drinking from the lake, and noticed Alan standing off to my right, just behind one of the speakers we had placed on a nearby roof. He had been listening, but began to walk away at that point, so from the microphone I called him back to his place and informed the crowd what he had spoken upon our arrival just an hour prior. Now I had his attention.

Michael Kyazze closed out the message and invited the people to surrender their lives to Jesus in the Luganda language. Alan was not only among the seven villagers that responded, he was the first to step forward in front of everyone to receive salvation by faith. When asked what made him come forward, Alan said he's a mature guy and wants to make good decisions, and this is the best decision he could make. Michael drew his attention to the Rasta gear around his wrists and neck, and instructed him to remove the paraphernalia as a sign of being born again and a new life in Christ. When he hesitated, one of my students from our discipleship program at Life Church stepped in and shared his own story of freedom from the same bondages Alan had faced.

After prayer for our new converts and prayer for sick individuals, the pastors from Kituufu went around collecting names and personal information to ensure proper follow up once our team left. I was confident in their work, as the lead pastor and his wife trained in our Bible school some years back. When all was finished, Pastor Milton quickly ushered us to his small mud and thatch home in the fading light to show us his pet crocodile that had recently been captured on the island.

We prayed for their growing family, rushed to the boat, and in minutes were on the water, headed for Osanidde Village where we would lay our heads for the night. The outline of hills were barely visible on the horizon, but I had memorized their shape upon our departure, and just as I began to doubt my coordinates, the solar powered lights from the orphanage flickered in the distance. I grinned again at Seth. "A short, good meeting, and a dark ride home!"

Human Sacrifice

2010-02-24T12:38:00.000-08:00

Over coffee with some of our greatest friends in Uganda tonight, we heard the horrific tale of a young lady currently being rescued from a children's prison camp. Without disclosing the gruesome specifics of her story, I will report that this 13 year old, HIV infected girl was placed by her surrogate mother into the care of a witchdoctor operating a shrine some few hours from their family home. During her years at this place of demon worship, the male witch and his female assistants would regularly carry out ritual sacrifice with human babies as their victims. Our dinner table conversation didn't go into the exact methodology of the slayings, but our friend indicated that the girl had described the primitive destruction of these precious lives in terrible detail. At one point, she was even forced at knife point to drink a full cup of human blood. Her faith in God was strong and after witnessing of the forgiveness of Jesus to one of the butchers, some light dawned in the woman's heart and they escaped together to Kampala city, with the girl eventually landing in the children's prison for lack of a better place to accommodate the destitute orphan.

This reality is unfathomable to me - that in the year 2010 in a rapidly developing nation like Uganda, human sacrifice is still widely practiced throughout the nation with very little protest from the general populace, let alone from the 80% that claim to be some form of "Christian." Other than occasional mentions in the local news, there is no outcry for the closing of such shrines, of making the practice of "traditional healers" illegal, or even for neighbors or the otherwise informed to report such wickedness to civil authorities.

But as we considered this atrocity, a similar situation came to the forefront of our conversation - a parallel brutality that is widely accepted throughout many "modern" cultures throughout the world. This sterile killer's softened terms ("termination of pregnancy") have helped murder become a socially acceptable "mother's choice," but the practice is no less brutal or wicked than human sacrifice on the dark continent of Africa.

Whenever my wife and I are about to deliver a newborn baby, I get crazy about this subject. To even consider the snuffing out of a precious human life, whether from inside the womb or without is an evil that only the completely deceived or demonically possessed could attempt. I know many people around the world who have carried out abortions, terminating the life growing inside their bodies, either from convenience or to cover up their unrestrained infidelity. In every case I've personally known, the destruction of life produces internal sorrow and regret that far outweighs the shame of producing an illegitimate baby or the inevitable interruption of child-nurture.

As I pondered the merciless massacre of Ugandan babies at the hands of demon-crazed, money-hungry witches, I couldn't help but think of an American t-shirt slogan from one of my favorite advocacy-for-life sites: "Would it bother us more if they used guns?" cries the graphic, while displaying a handgun and the group's website address. What of using machetes, as they do in Uganda? I think it should bother us a lot.

"Open your mouth for the speechless, in the cause of all who are appointed to die. Open your mouth, judge righteously, and plead the cause of the poor and needy." - Proverbs 31:8-9.

At the Booking Desk

2009-12-29T08:06:00.000-08:00

I've been standing at Delta's ticket counter long enough to browse all the iPhone travel applications, decide I probably don't need one, download a blog updater, and write this post.

We've now missed hours of sleep and an amazing breakfast feast at Embassy Suites in exchange for a greasy egg and sausage biscuit from Wendy's and long lines. Instead of casually enjoying a Starbucks with my wife, we're rushing through PDX attempting to make our itinerary fit into the matrix of the largest airline in the world.

It's really not Delta's fault; the problem is an unresponsive attitude indicator--an old school piece of aviation machinery that relies on a spinning gyro to demonstrate the pitch and roll of the aircraft relative to the horizon. Our captain pleaded with the little guy, poked and prodded it, and finally admitted his failure and our mutual frustration. We all deplaned once maintenance confirmed it would take too long to make our connections. The good news is that someone saw Virginia's protruding tummy and booked us an extra infant for this return flight. Glad we don't have to pay for that.

The staff has been downright cheery, seemingly enjoying disgruntled customer handling long before dawn. My attitude indicator is still registering in the green: we'll still get home on time with our bags, Josiah will survive (as long as the DVD player does too!) Virginia will get to sleep in her own bed, our joy-riding infant will continue forming at an alarming rate, and we'll get to see the inside of Minneapolis. "Don't fret, it only causes harm."

I realize I haven't written on this blog since August and when I finally did it was concerning one of the lesser exciting events of our lives. I also realize that in my usual writing style I enjoy using a little story from my personal life as a launching point to instruct my readers in a spiritual truth. Today I just had some extra time and wished we could have been spending it together instead of the above non-adventure...

Update: Virginia called from Gate D7 to tell me that Maintenance fixed the indicator early and they were reboarding the flight. Since we were already in process out front, our bags (and now we ourselves) won't make our original flight. And this new app erased my entire post when the phone rang...so this is a re-write. Sad.

Update2: I busted through security and literally ran to our new Gate D8 alongside two new Delta friends to find my frantic wife nearly in tears, immobile with 3 large carry-ons, a two year old, and no husband to board with. The valiant workers finally worked past the glitch in the system and got us onboard within minutes of takeoff. We moved approximately 8 feet before the captain sadly announced that this plane also is experiencing technical difficulty and Maintenence would be called in for a flap problem. Unbelievable.

Mercifully this one was short, we're now in the air, Josiah is resting his sleeping head on my arm, and barring any unforseen setbacks, we'll glide into Entebbe on schedule. I just hope Zane got my txt about picking us up...

-Brent

Doors of Hope on Windows of Soul

2009-08-10T11:05:00.000-07:00

I remember slipping into the back row of the wooden plank church shelter, curiously resembling a single-wide trailer. The narrow building was lined with rough cut benches and a smattering of homemade sitting implements, all uninhabited for the time being. The vibrant, dancing praise from the small congregation was unusually devoid of dust, as the freshly cut grass floor covering the pale sand padded the excited worshippers, so thrilled to have their small village chosen for meetings of this sort. The Church was situated 100 yards off the shoreline, and in this windy season the steady sound of breakers striking Senero’s beach was a welcome addition to our song and dance. Our team of 14 outnumbered the local attendees on this Tuesday morning, but as the leader began to bellow “Mpambatira Mukama,” a tune now familiar to our visitors, every hand was raised while voices confessed in the Luganda language, “My heart longs for You, I love You my God!”

We had come to this landing site for a dual purpose: to pour gasoline on the flames glowing in the hearts of the few church members, and to plunder souls from the gates of Hell. Though I could go on and on describing the fruitfulness of the morning’s conference, the door to door ministry, the afternoon evangelistic meeting, and the evening showing of the Jesus film, there was one quiet moment unnoticed by all present, that was etched into my recollection that wild morning.

The boy was sitting next to his mother on the second-to-last bench as I came in with cameras poised to capture the moments of ministry delivered by members of Westside Church in Bend, Oregon. I had used enough stealth to arrive undetected by the other adults, but somehow caught the attention of this young child, no more than two years old. His double-take turned into increasingly longer glances until he swiveled around and faced me for an unashamed stare at this white intruder.

I can only imagine what the curious little guy was thinking, but as I looked into his unguarded eyes, all the busy logistics of planning and executing this difficult mission, the timeline for day, and even my current objective of capturing ministry endeavors on film all melted into painful reality. This kid lives here. He was probably born on these shores, stays with a splintered family in a filthy one room shelter, and knows no comforts but the rags that hang on his thin frame and the young mama by his side, busy breast feeding the newest arrival. In a fishing village of 500, with but one fledgling primary school and hours away from modern civilization, the little man has little prospects for a better life than his fisherman father who undoubtedly spends each night on the lake, toiling for food to eat.

Something about the stripling’s eyes made me reconsider my pitying thoughts midstream. Because of our close proximity to the backdoor, I could see a perfect reflection in his eyes of what now looked to me a glimmer of hope. The light streaming in from the open door encapsulated at the edge of the boy’s soul reminded me of the whole point of our ministry in Senero, the whole point of the Gospel. Jesus’ Good News remains focused on the transformation of lives--lives that clearly include children such as this. Due to the message of the cross, this boy need not live his life in an impoverished struggle for survival devoid of abundant life. Regardless of his whereabouts or life circumstances, the young man can grow as a child of the King of kings, with all rights and privileges of the godly.

As I quietly stole out the door to take my place in front of the Church, I soberly reconsidered my role as one who is called, equipped, and sent to point God’s children toward the hope of overflowing life. Jesus, burn it on my eyes!

A Recent Email

2009-06-21T08:12:00.000-07:00

Subject: Lessons from Kibanga
From: Brent Earwicker
Date: June 20, 2009 10:50:57 PM GMT+03:00
To: Westside Church Mission Team 2008

Hey Guys,
Hope you're all doing great in your respective corners of the world. I just got back from a 150 mile, three day tour of the islands, visiting some of the places we've been in the past year, checking on the pastors and their sheep and praying about where to take our teams in the next month. Pastor Joash, Uncle Michael, and I returned to both Kaaya and Kibanga where we ministered with you last summer and I wanted to fill you in on the details of what I found there, since I learned a thing or two on the trip.

In Kaaya, I think you could sense (as I did) that the people there were humble, genuine, and overflowing with the love of God. Reaching them this time, we found them in the same faithful state, simply loving Jesus and working for Him with pure hearts. Pastor David and Jim (the church elder who speaks good English and is writing the book about the islands) took us around the whole of Lulamba Island (where Kaaya is located) and a couple surrounding ones so we could get a comprehensive understanding of what the needs of the places are. After our little tour, we sat in David's house and told the church leaders that they have a different spirit about them (that Scripture from the book of Daniel) and that continuing to be humble, obedient, and faithful would surely exalt them in due time.

These simple guys really opened up the door to this "new" island chain, and a day after leaving we all agreed we should take the team to attack Lulamba with the Gospel. Pastor David had a dream days before he knew we were coming this week. The Lord showed him that we would be setting our tents in his front yard - this terrified him since the island is so primitive, without proper facilities, especially for a whole team of whites! We left blessed, and are excited to bless them back in a couple weeks.

The next day, in a rush to get to another location before nightfall, we landed at Kibanga and asked for Sunday (the guy who they called Pastor, who was our main contact for the ministry there last year). We found him, hurriedly asked him where we could buy a little fuel, and as we scurried to get it poured into our jerry can, he gave us the good news/bad news scenario: The pastor from the church up the trail forced all the new believers from our crusade to walk to the old church building for weekly fellowship. This was the right thing to do since there was not a proper shepherd in Kibanga. He said many of them are standing strong in the Lord and continuing to make the walk to church. That was exciting, good news!

The bad news is that Sunday's wife left him with their seven children recently. He was so disheartened by this and overwhelmed by the burden of caring and providing for them alone that he gave up fellowship with the Church and left the faith. We found him in this state. As I took his hands with Pastor Joash and prayed for him, it seemed he was even a bit embarrassed to pray publicly with us. But after, he did seem a bit encouraged, and we pledged to call him in the near future to see how he's doing.

The trip was about checking on folks and seeing new places, but really took on a ministry of encouragement in every place we landed. Pastor Joash continually commented on the importance and power of simply visiting people and encouraging them in the Lord, since the impact on the people was so evident.

One major lesson I learned from the follow up this week is that we definitely went about our ministry in Kibanga the wrong way. We should never have gone there to do evangelism without properly connecting to a nearby existing church unless we were prepared to start one ourselves with a called, qualified, equipped shepherd who would stay and carry on the work. You remember the spiritual heaviness in the place and the attack on us personally, on the equipment, the LandCruiser, and every part of that mission. Then in the eyes of the unbelievers and believers from the area, we put emphasis on a man who didn't have a stable home life and wasn't able to hold on to Jesus when times got rough. The people called him "Pastor," but the Master hadn't. We attempted to start a "fellowship" in the area without a leader and set them up for failure. Good enough, God still works all things for good for those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. In the end, some were saved and are becoming disciples in a nearby church. But in future days, we'll for sure change how we go about our ministry here, especially in unreached fishing villages known for ghosts.

Just wanted to keep you in the loop and let you in on the follow up from your trip last year. Hope you're encouraged - please keep praying for all the precious souls on the islands!

See you soon,
-Brent

I Will Help: Stanley

2009-06-03T11:50:00.000-07:00

There is a young man who came to us a couple years ago as we were beginning our first leadership school on Bussi Island. His pastor spoke for him, recommending he join the class and learn how to be a minister of the Gospel. Stanley Kabuye was enrolled and after months of strenuous labor in the Word of God, attended his very first graduation ceremony, receiving a certificate in Biblical Studies.

Now, just over a year later, Brother Stanley has remained a leader in his local church in the small village of Mabamba, on Bussi Island. He’s gone from a shy teenager to a man on fire, desperately desiring to reach his island with the Gospel. He accompanies the teams that go out from the Mabamba Church, preaching on the trails and from house to house.

Recently Stanley shared with his pastor the desire to learn to play the guitar. He knows that this uncommon instrument would be a big draw and that people would gather to hear him play and sing about his Savior. This ministry tool would provide a great opportunity to share the message of the cross with all who would hear him.

I’m willing to help Stanley with occasional lessons to get him started, but he must have his own instrument to use in training and in the work of evangelism. An inexpensive good quality acoustic guitar can be purchased here in Uganda for around $200. You can help Stanley Kabuye reach his island with the love of Jesus. Click here to help.

All contributions given through this site are tax-deductible through our administrative partner, The Cause.

I Will Help: Lawrence

2009-05-20T23:36:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I did an informal survey to the collective 1,000+ people that follow our ministry on Facebook and Twitter:

If I were to regularly post pressing needs of personal Ugandan friends, would you be interested in giving small $'s to help change lives?

Many of our friends and followers said yes to this impromptu mission that goes beyond our regularly scheduled programs and ministries - they would want to be involved. So from time to time, you'll see posts on this blog, on Facebook, and on Twitter, that give you opportunity to turn your pocket change into life change for people we are personally in contact with. Any amount, from $1 and up, will make a huge difference in the lives of these needy friends.

Here's our opening occasion:

My friend Lawrence is a brother from our life group in Entebbe. He's been looking for a job for a few months and has done some odd jobs around our house in the meantime. His landlord has recently informed him that he must find a new place to live by the end of the month, and with no income and while caring for his two year old son, his situation seems impossible. To top it all off, Lawrence was robbed of all his clothes Friday while away at an overnight prayer meeting. I'm raiding my closet to get him more than one set of clothes to wear, but you can help us refurnish his wardrobe. Click here to help.

All contributions given through this site are tax-deductible through our administrative partner, The Cause.

Update 12 June, 2009:
Thank you for your generous donations! The $50 that came in for Lawrence will not only help him with new clothes, but will also pay his rent for up to three months. A little bit goes a long way in Uganda.

Foundations of Fruitfulness

2009-05-11T04:28:00.000-07:00

I had an important conversation with my dad last night. In our few minute video call via Skype, he inquired as to what our biggest encouragement has been recently. I responded that the worship times at church inside of the music ministry we’re helping to head has grown in leaps and bounds. To have an operational team and to be free from technical work to worship Jesus and lead others into His presence has been refreshing.

“Your greatest frustration?” The continual setback of acquiring our own water transportation for the field God has sent us too. One year after buying our first boat, the thing still sits in our driveway, unusable. A mechanic sits in the town jail, and a new boat sits on the beach without an engine. A call this morning to the Yamaha center after a month of waiting revealed that it may be another month of sitting before they get new stock for us to purchase.

As I voiced my thoughts on how to meld the ministry on the islands with the local church and my manifest lack of knowledge on the merger, Dad reminded me of what season we’re in: “Don’t you think as an American, you want instant results when it really takes time to lay foundations for future fruitfulness?” His gentle reminders to not be so hard on ourselves or expect everything to happen immediately was just the thing my little overwhelmed heart and mind needed. He took the pressure off.

One of the elders at Williamson River Christian Fellowship did the same thing in January - instructing us to pace ourselves for the long haul, and that we ought to take whole weeks to stay at home and be refreshed when necessary. To hear this from our biggest financial backers was a sizable stress reliever. Our pastor at Family Life Church told us over a Bloomin’ Onion at Outback: “Of course you’re not fulfilled! This is plowing season! We’re not reaping the full harvest at the church here either. But we have our hand to the plow...”

I’ve picked up a nice little nugget of literature off my shelf in the last few days: 50 Missionary Heroes Every Boy and Girl Should Know. This little chronicle of biographies written for children in 1913 is giving me a glimpse into the immense sacrificial labor so many went through to pave the way for the gospel throughout the nations. In bygone generations, it took years - sometimes decades - to win a single soul for the Kingdom. Here I am frustrated over some lost time with a boat engine while at the same time we’ve seen scores transformed by the power of the Word. In our 2.5 years in East Africa already thousands have been impacted by our simple proclamation of Jesus.

“...the good thing is that you guys are in this for the long haul. If if takes five to eight years to lay a foundation, it’s well worth the investment!” Thanks for the reminder Dad!

One Thing After Another

2009-05-01T10:42:00.000-07:00

This is an update on the April 7th post, "Happy Birthday."

A few days after Geoffrey’s new baby boy had graced the world with his first cries in that awful clinic, I phoned him to see how the family was doing. He responded that the baby was fine and that the mom was in some good pain, but he then related some sad news. Because we were rushing to get Emily (his girlfriend) to the medical facility in time for the birth, Geoffrey had left the door to their one-room house un-padlocked in his haste. Because of the relatively remote location, thieves were plundering their meager possessions while Emily was laboring on the delivery table. They had taken her dresses, their only mattress, and other personal belongings that day, leaving the new Mom and Dad without the means to provide for their new child.

When Virginia and Kelly arrived at the house a day after the phone call with a baby bed, more clothes, various lotions, soaps, powders, toys, and an arsenal of new mom knowledge, they found Joel clothed in the three-month-old onesies we had given as a gift prior to the birth, and wrapped in Josiah’s old baby towel.

Because the clinic had sent this first time mom away with absolutely no instruction on hygiene, breastfeeding, or how to care for the baby in any way, Virginia wanted to instruct Emily in basic infant and self care so that she wouldn't feel unequipped to handle the normal things that occur after birth and the feelings of anxiety starting out as a new mom.

Geoffrey and Emily are not married, either in our Western ceremonies or in the cultural African introduction. Because he took Emily to his home and began a new family without the consent of her parents and without paying the bride price for her, the parents are now demanding that she and Baby Joel move back to the village, more than eight hours away, until Geoffrey can come up with the equivalent of $900. This sum is an enormous amount of money that will take him at least one year to work for, even with assistance and loans from his employer (us). This separation is a sad start for the new family, but comes as a natural consequence of doing things in an improper way from the start.

But for such a tough life, they sure have great attitudes and smiles...

Are You Offline?

2009-04-07T01:14:00.000-07:00

I am an avid online computer user. As a free-lance missionary stationed in a relatively peaceful developing country in the 21st century, I have 64K ADSL piped into my residence over the land line from Uganda Telecom and broadcast wirelessly throughout the house. When I jumped on the MacBook yesterday and didn’t have access, I remembered it was the 6th and our prepaid monthly subscription had once again escaped my watchful eye and needed a recharge asap. I threw my son in the car, made the five minute drive to the service center in town, paid much too much cash to the teller, and immediately the gmail notifier on my wife’s Dell XPS verified we were back in action.

I use Twitter and Facebook to catch up with new and old friends and post updates on our lives in Uganda. I make full screen video calls on Skype (username: earwickers) and regularly keep in touch with hundreds of friends, family, and supporters via online email marketing software. I keep a blog (that you’re now reading), follow about 35 others’ blogs in a feed reader, constantly update a website, and even send international SMS/TXT messages from this handy machine. I have videos on YouTube, use an online music organization software, have five email addresses, four online banking accounts, and four sites I visit monthly to make charitable contributions to ministries our family supports. I download podcasts with iTunes to keep current on the teaching of our local church, and have downloaded a BibleReader onto my BlackBerry to make good use of daily wait times. I chat with missionaries in Romania, New Zealand, Kenya, and the United States via Gmail Chat, and can send my rent payments to my Dutch landlord through Western Union’s website.

These are all wonderful tools that a modern-day missionary family can use to keep from the “out of sight, out of mind” mentality that plagues church/missionary relationships and stymies spiritual, emotional, and financial support, and these implements greatly increase productivity of various projects. But any ministry apparatuses of this nature have the potential to sap time and energy away from the real work of service.

Occasionally when I “stumble” around the web, or read others’ blogs, I find a plethora of babble about how to increase your Twitter followers, enlarge your online presence through daily blog comments, or best practices for Facebook pages and profiles. These advice logs would be fine if relegated to the corporate advertising world or multi-level marketers, but I’m reading sites of Christian ministries and local churches who are spending increasing mass amounts of time in the cyber-world that modern society is rapidly disappearing into. Just yesterday my friend Ejnar described the population of his native Denmark as empty shells, increasingly becoming like the machines they daily bow before. Another fellow missionary reported that the average American young person spends roughly 30 hours per week on the world wide web, not including other media (television, movies, and music). I’m guessing this figure is not any different inside or out of the Kingdom.

What if the Church of the Living God spent just 25% of that time per week in solitary prayer, waiting on the voice of Jesus and simply being with Him? How would our lives be transformed to start each day with an hour in the Secret Place? Is increasing your online presence as valuable as the expansion of His presence in your life, family, ministry, and business? Is making silly comments on friends’ ramblings so important that we miss a daily hour abiding in His unfailing Word? I think we understand the power of prayer, Bible reading, and worship in our busy minds, but our daily time log tells another story altogether. Our priorities have shifted from rising early to seek His face to staying up late to seek friends on facebook. The minutes of contact we might have had to broadcast the everlasting Gospel to passersby are now spent “tweeting” what we are up to (or not up to) at any given time. We eagerly check a roster of regular bloggers to discover the opinions of man, but forget to check with the Holy Spirit for His wonderful counsel and excellent guidance.

Maybe it’s our self-sufficiency that deceives us into putting other gods before Him. Or maybe we are bored of God’s presence after our multiple failures to hear from Him. Whatever the case, we must make a massive movement back to waiting on Him and obedience to His directives.

I’m very blessed to not live in the 1800s where hand-written letters took three months to cross the ocean, and I’m clearly not advocating a boycott of the internet or calling for the destruction of smartphones. But as disciples of Jesus and ambassadors of His Good News, let us have our priorities in order and not make our profusion of ministry tools an end in themselves to the detriment of abiding in Christ.

Happy Birthday!

2009-03-27T03:22:00.000-07:00

“Geoffrey asked to leave work and go check on some problem at home. He said he would call if he needs a ride to the hospital,” my wife stated as I rounded the corner of the front porch to walk the yard with our 14 month-old Josiah. We both knew our day guard/gardener’s live-in girlfriend was great with child and due in a couple of weeks, and figured she was heading into early labor. A few minutes later, Geoffrey was on the phone, urging me to meet him on Entebbe road as soon as possible to take his lady to get medical care. My trip to Nsonga Island had already been canceled for the day, and I found myself in the LandCruiser on Entebbe road, Geoffrey running toward me in his long-sleeve collared shirt, slacks and polished black dress shoes.

“I think the baby is coming today,” he said as we bumbled down the long muddy track to his one room house in a nearby neighborhood. “You said you have a friend who is a doctor?” I was surprised the man hadn’t planned ahead when he had a good nine months of prep time for this critical event. I indicated that we would need to go with a facility closer than the 45 minute drive to Mulago, but he was hesitant to take her to the government hospital where so much mistreatment has been common in recent days. His girlfriend (a good foot and 1/2 taller than his 4’10” frame) came out of the unplastered, bare brick home and in great pain settled herself into the front passenger seat while a sister and Geoffrey threw a suitcase in the back. Back on the narrow mud lane, the sister began to give directions to a “good” clinic she knew of in nearby Kitoro as I gingerly veered between waterlogged potholes and pedestrians, noticing this lady was in advanced labor and needed attention quick.

Minutes later, we cut the engine at what looked like the front porch of a decent sized, older home and rushed into the front waiting room to start the delivery process. Just inside, I was struck by the cigarette smoke hanging thick in the air and clinging to the thinly painted filthy yellow walls. Cracked mildewy ceiling plaster, rusted out window screens, and peeling health posters made me a bit hesitant to leave a desperate expecting mother to bring her child into the world. Geoffrey reassured me that this would be a great place for the delivery, and his girlfriend was ushered into the smoke-filled consultation room of the waiting European doctor. I knew it was only the personal loan I had helped Geoffrey with that would enable him to pay for even this terrible place. I wouldn't want to see the alternative.

No information was given to either Geoffrey or myself as we sat on hard wooden benches nervously looking around the dingy room. An old bumper sticker hung over the reception desk that ironically and hypocritically stated: “Health or Tobacco? Improve your heath, stop smoking.” I asked Geoffrey if he wanted to be in the delivery room with his ladyfriend, but he indicated that men were not allowed. After playing with my phone awhile and chatting briefly about my own limited experience at my son’s birth, I informed my friend I needed to get some things done today and that he could call me if he needed anything or if there were complications. The doctor had just gone back to his office (for a smoke, presumably) so I figured it may be awhile. But only 25 minutes after we arrived, we heard the anguished cries of a newborn wafting down from a dirty room in the hallway. I sat another few minutes, and the doc emerged from his hiding place to announce to “the husband,” “Congratulations, you’ve just had a baby boy!” He chastised Geoffrey for not bringing her sooner, but we were all relieved to hear everyone was healthy and well.

We waited 30 minutes more, assuming they were washing the baby or doing routine checks on his little body, but after some time we got impatient and went to see the little tyke. The new mother lay still on a metal-frame bed in a dark 5’x10’ room just next to another recovering lady. The newborn was too tiny, maybe half the size of my son at birth, snuggled up against his mom, embryonic fluid still clinging to his curly black hair. I congratulated Mom and Dad and disconcertingly walked back to the LandCruiser to pick up some yogurt and cheese for my wife on the way home.

A fellow missionary told me the other day that I was brave to have my own son here in Africa, while he had recently flown back to England to have his own. But I think the real bravery isn’t ours who land in international hospitals and have sterilized delivery tables and OB/GYN’s without cigarettes hanging from their lips. God bless these precious people who somehow survive childbirth and grow up to be someone great.

Cult-ure Clash

2009-02-06T23:58:00.000-08:00

In the 84 hours we've been back in Uganda, I've personally had quite the experience getting back into a different way of thinking and transacting business. My stories from the last few days could fill a small book and I could probably publish a study on the terrible ways cultures collide inside of daily life. But by far the most thought provoking event occurred early on Thursday afternoon in a small suburb of Kampala called Kawaala Kataka.

Hannington, my outboard engine mechanic, had called the night before, urging me to meet with the man who supposedly wants to purchase our broken boat. Glad to have the opportunity to rid my driveway of a hunk of fiberglass and liquidate thousands of dollars at the same time, I agreed to meet the man at 11am. As I rushed out the door the next morning in an attempt to make the 45 minute drive and arrive promptly, I found that our beloved LandCruiser wouldn't turn over, once again the victim of fouled heater plugs and an inconsistently charged battery.

Soon after the rest of the household pushed me out the gate, I arrived to the agreed upon area and phoned Hannington for final directions. But because of language/understanding barrier, he was unable to say more than "go a little further…go down…it's just near…" and I ended up sitting on the side of the road for the good part of an hour, waiting for him to find me on foot. When he eventually did, we had forfeited our big man (who happens to be the former Major General of the Ugandan army) to an important meeting, and went to visit Hannington's sick cousin-brother in a mud/brick home nearby while we waited yet again.

Winding through dirty alleyways full of half-clothed children, waste water, and occasional small animals, we dead-ended at a small row of rooms bordered by a high brick wall not three feet from the front doors. Hannington went to find his brother in one of the tiny homes, while shouting towards an open door to a neighbor lady he described as a "real believer." The brother was away, but we requested this kind lady to come out so we could "have a prayer." After some coaxing past her timidity over not comprehending any English, I reassured her in the Luganda language that we could have a conversation, and she came out to talk.

We exchanged the familiar greetings in her native dialect, and she made some comment that Jesus is so good to send a "white" who would greet her in her mother tongue. I asked her after a bit, Osaba wa? (where do you attend church services?), and her reply startled me as she had the local testimony of a "real believer." She called Samuel Kakande her pastor, and she prays from The Synagogue Church of all Nations, a local congregation known by all the Born Again churches of Uganda to be a cult, following false teachings and idolatrous practices propagated by it’s founding leader. I’ve seen declarations on the back of taxis that proclaim, “Jesus of The Synagogue Works!” and after learning of this dangerous movement, I’ve been tempted to craft my own: “Jesus of the Synagogue is a Demon!”

I had read in Jeremiah 23 that very morning, where the true seer is declaring the word of the Lord in the face of false prophets broadcasting peace and prosperity at a time when the nation needed judgement for its wickedness and unrepentant heart towards God. The phrase that leaped from the page to my spirit was in verse 28: “...What is the chaff to the wheat?...” I had considered all the false teachers and their throngs present in this relatively small nation, and a confidence rose inside of me. We have the real thing! This worthless “gospel” that has prevailed upon the people for decades has no bearing on the Truth preached by humble, submitted servants of the Consuming Fire. Lying signs and wonders cannot stand up to the reality of the Living Bread that comes down from heaven! God’s Word truly is a fire and a hammer that breaks the rocks in pieces.

Because of time and linguistic hinderances (lack of a solid interpreter), I prayed a simple prayer over this sincere and deceived woman. I lifted my voice to the Father of her spirit that He would guard her against deception and false beliefs, drawing her to the Truth. We departed to find our general, with a renewed passion to preach Jesus crucified and risen again. With a zeal for the House of God and His Truth that makes men free, we will see this nation changed.

Breeding Lethargy

2009-01-28T10:59:00.001-08:00

Our visit to America for the holidays has been a wonderful treat, full of family, friends, food, and fun. And though it's been a restful time of reconnecting with the people and places we love, our beloved comfort culture sure has a way of breeding apathy in even the most zealous hearts.

At one point during the first weeks of January, I remember playing Mario Cart on the Nintendo Wii with a smattering of family members. As I rounded a colorful bend on a fantasy track within the Coconut Mall, my parents' landline rang and the caller ID voice indicator said in mechanical monotone, "Call from [pause] unknown." International numbers don't register on our American call systems, and sure enough, a brother was calling in from Uganda to give an update from the front lines.

I wedged the phone between my shoulder and ear and continued to steer my standard cart up giant escalators as the annoying sounds of Baby Peach wafted down from the top left portion of the screen. "Hey Brother! Great to hear from you!" I offered as I gave him less than my full attention. After the usual greetings, my friend mentioned that he was participating in a week long fast to start out the new year in fervant prayer. Knowing that "fasting" for Ugandans means absolutely no food and no water, I timidly put down my steering wheel and pulled out of the race, musing over the last ten days of gorging myself on multiple breakfasts, gourmet coffee, fast food, and home-cooked Christmas dinner every night.

He talked hurredly, precious airtime eating away by the second. I knew this was an important call. "My children are in the hospital with malaria," he began, "and I wanted to use the money I owe you to pay their medical bills." Of course I gave him the free use of the $30 and he continued his string of bad news: "Sister Agaba's husband just died." I was shocked to hear that this elderly pastor who seemed to be in good health just weeks before was no longer present on the earth. Agaba graduated from our leadership school in December, and her husband had been at her side celebrating.

"The fisherman told me someone has stolen their nets..." I hung my head as I put myself in the shoes of this desperate band of men so close to breaking free from a survival lifestyle. We had put together the co-op and loaned them money for a boat while they had scrimped and saved for months to supply the nets. Just weeks into their venture, now they were back to square one.

We traded some words of encouragement and reiterated our mutual trust in the sovereignty and provision of our gracious God, and he was gone to tend to his sick children. I slowly put down the phone, having suddenly lost my appetite for the Coconut Mall.

How easy it is for us who live in luxurious America to forget the desperate needs of our impoverished world, so hungry both naturally and spiritually, while we waste costly time, energy, and resources on more and better comforts. God teach us to remember our brothers and sisters who suffer. Change our very lifestyles that they might taste eternal life.

Confirming the Word

2008-12-19T12:21:00.000-08:00

The Island Leadership School is sixteen weeks packed full of instruction in God's living Word. Current and aspiring Church leaders from many differing church movements come in knowing very little in regards to the Bible or how to use it in their lives and ministries and many don't even have a copy of their own. But at the end of this brief course we are attesting to a gospel that does not hold authority by nature of intellectual reason, but by a demonstration of the Spirit's power.

In our last month before graduation, we gave a series of practical ministry assignments to encourage our students to become true "doers of the Word," with supernatural results. (Thanks to John & Sonja Decker for their model of hands-on ministry training that teaches everyday believers to "do the stuff" of real ministry).

Our students minister in small rural fishing communities like Senyondo (main street pictured above), where they reside.

Jessica Agaba shared that she and another sister from the school were requested to pray for a certain neighbor girl who was afflicted with a strange illness. The two had just been taught and assigned to pray for the sick and cast out demons, so in preparation for ministry they spent a whole day praying in the church building. As the ladies entered the neighbor's home that evening, they found that the girl was not only sick, she was mentally disturbed because of demonic influence and had gone insane, being tied with ropes and chains to keep her under control. The two were surprised and a little fearful of the outcome since they had never prayed for a madwoman, but they spent the entire night in prayer for the girl and left in the morning without seeing full deliverance.

A day went by before the neighbor excitedly came to report that her daughter was in her right mind and that all sickness and insanity had vanished! The removal of physical fetters that bound and cut her wrists were an outward sign of a miraculous deliverance from demons removed through the prayers of these faithful ministers!

Stephen Sekanjakko entered the school in September too shy to speak to anyone about God, but as his community learned that he was being trained in a real Bible School, they began to call the young man Pastor, asking him to pray for their sick from time to time. Last week after participating in a local soccer match, someone requested that he come pray for a certain young boy who was suffering from epilepsy. Stephen was fearful and quickly found the excuse that he didn't have a Bible with him and wouldn't be able to go. The man continued to urge him, reiterating that he wasn't asking for a sermon, just prayer. Stephen finally complied, trembling as he went.

As this fledgling, Bible-less minister laid hands on the sick boy, he was reminded of a certain memory verse he had just completed for a class assignment and prayed it over the boy, claiming healing in Jesus' name. As he hastily left the scene, someone ran to him exclaiming that the boy had been healed! A crowd had gathered around the boy and all could see that a notable miracle had happened by the name of Jesus.

Yudaya Nabasumba went to a friend's house to return her borrowed Bible (her own had been burned by her husband who was no longer supportive of her Bible education and drastic life changes). As she handed back the Book and thanked the woman, the Holy Spirit prompted her to ask, "Since I've had your Bible these few days, what have you been reading?" The woman opened up and began to describe her discouragement and how weak she had become in her faith, along with her backslidden husband. Yudaya offered to pray for her, and as the two women knelt before the Lord in prayer, the Holy Spirit fell upon the woman, causing her to cry out for God to forgive her sins and help her and her husband to live right before Him. They continued this way for some time, and when Yudaya left the house, the woman's burden was lifted and she was felt free, forgiven, and encouraged.

These few stories are a small sample of dozens of miraculous occurrences from just the last four weeks. You should see the faces of each student as the realization comes that their God is alive, that He is the same today as He was in the Bible, and that He is pleased to use them to bring about His Kingdom. What an awesome privilege to teach the simple principles of Scripture and watch them work in the lives of needy people.

Sexual Discourse

2008-12-15T04:41:00.000-08:00

The other day in class, I asked my thirty adult students an important series of questions in response to one of theirs. “How do I explain homosexuality to a young child who asks me what the word means?” was their inquiry, and I had an inquest of my own to provide them with an adequate reply.

“Raise your hand if your parents taught you about sex.” The embarrassed smirks that grew on every face in the room explained immeasurably more than the absentia of arms. Even Peter (my interpreter, administrator, and fellow minister) leaned over and stated in a hushed tone, “That doesn’t happen in Africa.” I went on with my interrogation:

“How did you learn about the sexual relationship?” The obvious response was through peers, culture, entertainment, hearsay, and ultimately through personal experience at too young an age.

“How many of you have children?” The majority of the gathering shot up their hands. I knew that most of them had at least two, if not seven children, some of whom were grown with families of their own. “Have you ever spoken with your kids about sexuality?” Again, the muffled laughter and quiet murmuring testified of their abdicated responsibility they never knew they had.

I’ve been told that within this developing culture at the onset of the twenty-first-century, with all the information available on the deadly consequences of HIV/AIDS, it is still a literal miracle to find a virgin girl to marry. People can talk about faulty healthcare or other causes of the lethal virus, but to be real honest, the fountainhead of the killer disease is completely sexual immorality--largely spurred on by a traditional and popular culture that refuses to address the issue or talk frankly about what happens in every man and every woman from the onset of puberty.

Peter informed me that local schools are trying to implement sex education to provide understanding to counter the silence at home. Parents are resisting even this, without offering to do the work themselves. It’s just too secret and too shameful a topic. And so a new generation, untaught and unknowing, continues to follow its impulses at the cost of their lives.

As I went on to explain the role of the parent in the life of a growing youngster, the lights began to come on. By the end of our Q&A session, the class was applauding and making commitments to inform their children so as not to lose them in the end. Even Peter paused his interpretations to inform me that he would be sharing with his twelve year old son that very week.

But here remains multiplied millions of African parents with sealed lips, continuing this terrible trend towards physical and spiritual death. God have mercy, and raise up a Church of strong, healthy families that will preach and teach the truth!

The Daily News

2008-11-19T22:05:00.000-08:00

These are a few headlines I found in one of our reputable national daily newspapers I picked up the other day to get the Ugandan scoop on President Obama:

"Obama-Mania Hits Ugandan Fans"
Due to the fact that Mr. Obama is a real African, nearly 100% of Uganda "voted" for him in the recent elections, in expectation that their distant relative would then funnel all kinds of money to East Africa in honor of his roots. No one knows what he stands for, what his platform is, or anything else about the man, but they love their brother dearly.

"Child Rights Abusers Warned"
Because child abuse is prevalent in the majority of Ugandan households, cases of corporal punishment in schools, torture, child sacrifice, rape, child brides, forced school drop-outs and incest have come to the attention of local officials. An inset photo shows a girl of around nine years with chain and padlock on her wrists for stealing. Authorities have cautioned abusers to stop it.

"How To Stop Child Sacrifice In Your Area."
Another article states, "The bizarre act of sacrificing children by traditional healers is back..." and reports on multiple instances of the murderous practice in recent days around the country. The writer reminds community leaders of their responsibility to put an end to the sacrifices, instructing them to keep a close eye on all traditional healers (witchdoctors) in their villages.

"Albinos Live In Fear As People Seek Their Body Parts For Witchcraft"
The paper tells us that around 30 individuals with an unusually low amount of melanin have been killed in Tanzania this year by witchdoctors who sell arms, legs, hair, skin, and genitals to folks who posess a demonic belief that these members will enrich their lives. Midwives are known to kill babies born with the skin condition, declaring them stillborn and burying them secretly, while albino school children fear kidnapping by the proponents of this lucrative black market trade.

Just another day in Africa. God have mercy on these precious people so bound and blinded by the enemy of their souls.

Drunken Man Surrenders His Life to Jesus!

2008-11-14T12:23:00.000-08:00

Because of ignorance to the principles of God's Word, the Church on the islands of Lake Victoria has largely lived out a double standard, preaching salvation and coming to church meetings on multiple days of the week, but not showing true transformation in their day to day actions. This has caused most community members to shy away from

A young lady from the village submits her life to Jesus!

submitting themselves to Jesus and receiving salvation in His name. I (Brent) spoke with one man on the street who sincerely wanted to live for God, but the very witness of the people of God kept him from committing his life.

But all that is changing because of the teaching of God's Word and the movement of the Holy Spirit. In the small fishing village of Ssenyondo on Bunjako Island, thirty students have been digesting and practicing God's living truths for the last three months, and the community itself is attesting to the drastic changes in the students. Pastor Mujabi testified that in his church at least one person is coming to be saved every Sunday morning since the school began. And nearly every week that classes are in session, a community member will wander into the church building where we are teaching, kneel down, and devote their lives to the Savior!

Newly saved Joseph with his "Mulokole" name tag.

A couple weeks ago as I taught a class on Bible Survey, an inebriated drunkard named Joseph came to the door of the church just a few feet to my left and started shouting something in the Luganda language while waving a large tattered Bible over his head. Peter, our interpreter, motioned him to the back of the room, told him to keep quiet and that we would pray for him after the class. He quickly informed me what the man was shouting in his drunken state: “Long ago the bazungu (white people) came and preached here. They gave us Bibles, but most people sold them for money. I still have mine—here it is!” He had indicated that he wanted to give his life to Christ, so after thirty minutes of trying unsuccessfully to follow us quietly, we called him forward to pray for him.

Joseph looked at us somberly and with a slight slur declared that beer is wicked and that he was sick and tired of it ruining his life. He told us that all his money was thrown away on alcohol and that his life had fallen apart after backsliding into drunkenness years before. He knelt on a papyrus mat and lifted up his hands and we instructed him to pray a prayer of repentance. With large tears rolling down his face, he asked Jesus to forgive his every sin and to save his soul, and as I placed my hands on his head and chest, he looked into my eyes through his tears, a broken man.

With conviction heavy on his heart, he requested one of our school name tags that he could see on each of our shirts, explaining that after leaving the building, he wanted to be sure to declare to all he would meet that he really was a different person. We gladly obliged and promptly wrote on a new tag: “Mulokole,” (a Luganda word that indicates a person who has been born again) followed by his full name.

Joseph has re-joined the church after so many years of living for himself. He runs a small shop in town, and each week we stop by, greet him, pray with him, and encourage him in the Lord. A great transformation is coming to this small community as God's people raise up a standard of righteousness and live for Him.

Speechless

2008-11-02T08:00:00.000-08:00

You haven’t heard from me in a consistent way on this blog, mostly because we’ve been diligently working to serve multitudes of needy people here in Uganda on the islands of Lake Victoria to the neglect of reporting on it. But in the midst of all the projects and tasks we have going right now I felt compelled to share a little piece of our hearts for the forgotten during this critical hour that very literally determines the future course of the United States of America.

As I've mentioned before, one of the themes of our service in Uganda comes from Proverbs 31:8-9:

“Open your mouth for the speechless, in the cause of all who are appointed to die. Open your mouth, judge righteously, and plead the cause of the poor and needy.”

This has been a driving motivation for us for many years now: that we would become mediators between a pleasure-saturated, greed-loving, glory-hungry world and the destitute forgotten the world over. Of course these “speechless” include AIDS orphans in Africa. Certainly they are comprised of widows and refugees and slum-dwellers and those who live on less than a dollar a day. But the quintessential “poor and needy...speechless...appointed to die” are innocent children who live their short lives in acute vulnerability and are silently snuffed out by those discharged with the sole duty of bringing them to birth.

I’m writing this while watching my smiling 10 month old Josiah sing a contented tune of “ba-ba” from his prostrate position on the living room rug. Having become a new parent this year, the theme of rescuing “the speechless” has leaped from the political issue to the realm of daily living. And this abhorrent thought of “the deliberate termination of a human pregnancy” is no longer politics, but moral obligation. On Tuesday this week Americans everywhere will make their voice heard on their concern for the voiceless.

As US citizens living in a foreign land, we were privileged to vote absentee by mail a number of weeks ago and took the time to research the candidates (even the “3rd parties”), the issues, and the various things that are at stake in this pivotal election taking place mere hours from now. I realize there are multiple issues to ponder, but consider this: In the next four years, multiple members of the aging US Supreme Court will likely retire and the President will appoint like-minded members to the bar who are allowed to serve in their position for life. This election is not about Obama or McCain, but about the next 30-40 years of judicial decisions that will determine the moral course of our land. And if liberal, pro-abortion judges are set in (not to mention a liberal President signing law from a liberal Congress), we stand to see multiplied millions of the poor and needy appointed to die.

I’m not asking you to vote like Jesus would (undoubtedly he’d mention something about giving to Caesar the votes that are Caesar’s), but I am imploring you to vote according to Biblical principles and Godly values so that the rights and freedoms inherent to the foundation of our great nation might be applied to all members of the family.

Opening my mouth,
 -Brent

PS - Check out a great article from my uncle Wendell Smith on "Principles over Politics."

Island Leadership School | Bunjako Campus

2008-10-26T13:37:00.000-07:00

On September 1st, 2008, we launched our second Island Leadership School in a small fishing village of 1,300 people identified as Ssenyondo (meaning "big hammer"). This "new" lakeshore location is on the island of Bunjako, just 25 miles and 1.5 hours by sea, and 68 miles and 3.5 hours by land (via land bridge through a large swamp) from our house in Entebbe.

A new intake of thirty students have entered into 16 weeks of intense Bible training covering a variety of subjects similar to classes you would expect at a typical Bible school in the United States. Bible Survey, Interpreting the Scriptures, and Foundations of Christian Doctrine are core classes taught primarily by our American staff (Brent), while Local Church, Leadership, Spirit-Filled Ministry, Evangelism, and Worship are covered by guest ministers who volunteer their expertise to impart Biblical knowledge to our eager pupils.

Our agenda is intense, both in the content we're attempting to cover, and with the great challenge of imparting so much to nearly illiterate elementary school dropouts who have an impoverished witchcraft worldview deeply implanted from childhood. Though our students hail from all over Uganda and Congo, all are fluent in the Luganda language and were taught basic English in elementary school, so we utilize an interpreter to instruct both in English and the Luganda language. We work hard each school season to translate more materials into Luganda (hiring a translator per page) and have them available to the students for their nominal school fee. That way each can go home with quality resources for further exploration and study and will be able to catch up on all they missed through slow writing skills.

We've set up this second mobile school so students can travel from all parts of the 10,000 acre island each morning (by foot or bicycle) and journey home each night in order that family life may not be disrupted. Because the program is only in session three days each week, doesn't interfere with normally scheduled church meetings, and has a short life span of four months, these leaders are willing to put in the extreme effort for a season, adding Biblical studies to their already full life of raising families, working jobs, and overseeing ministries.

We've hired two spectacular cooks to prepare breakfast and lunch each day, giving our group of 40 equal shares of brain power and drowsiness. Our "faculty" includes Bro. Brent (Dean), Bro. Peter (Administrator), and one guest pastor/teacher each week with classes divided so as to cover all necessary topics.

Each leader-in-training pays in 20,000 Shillings for the course (around $12), and our ministry pitches in around $250 for each student. Catering for thirty students becomes rather expensive for us, but is most likely the only way any of these precious servants would ever have access to such a program and this quality of training.

In the first eight weeks we have seen drastic improvements in the lives of each student. The testimonies we are hearing inside and out of class are more than worth the temporal investment of time, money, and energy expended, and watching lights go on in heads and hearts and witnessing true repentance and the makingof real disciples is both amazing and rewarding. It's been encouraging to see various individuals make contact with the Holy Spirit and then see tangible transformation in their lives. Marriages are being fixed, families put back together (or unrighteous polygamous ones split apart), illegal businesses are being converted, mindsets are being shifted, and the Spirit is daily dealing with life issues as we teach and pray.

It is humbling to be a part of the Church and watch the Master move in this forgotten place.

"I'm Eating Eyeballs"

2008-10-09T09:05:00.000-07:00

Let me take a short reprise from more serious matters to describe a unique lunch episode I enjoyed this week:

When Frank (our master chef at the Island Leadership School) queried whether we would enjoy “mukenne” in our beans this week, I much too hastily replied in the affirmative, my comment followed closely by a flood of not-so-pleasant memories of the smelliest town I’ve ever stayed four nights in. You can read all about our YWAM adventure in Lambu here, but for now let’s just declare that nine vomiting young adults and a fishing village that reeks of dead, putrid fish drying in the sun is not a happy mix. Needless to say, I’ve never tasted nor seen that these bite sized corpses are any good for ingestion, and until this week I had staved off any propositions to partake. (Last year I had also successfully avoided eating “ensenene” (grasshoppers) until a student gifted me a small fortune of the expensive snack).

But now, here I was with a sizable bowl of sweet potato and poscho (solid state cornmeal) awaiting the beany mixture I had previously requested. I assumed the little fishies would surely be mashed or pounded into powder like the small protein deposits in our German Shepherd’s dog food, but alas, their full bodies were intact--somewhat flattened and curled by the sun’s heat, now soaked in yummy bean juice, beckoning to me with their silent open mouths.

I tried to play it cool. Most Ugandans really love the stuff and the two teachers visiting the island with me were gleefully anticipating their midday meal, plotting with the local pastor how to commandeer some quantities of dried delicacy for their wives. As I took the first bite, my teeth ground the small chewy things as the familiar stench of Lambu filled my mouth and nostrils. “I’m eating eyeballs” was the first thought to reach my head, and devoid of any like minded white folk to share the experience, I exuded a quiet smirk and pressed on through a difficult meal.

Halfway through the monstrous bowl, I remembered the varied species of small ant in my dinner last night that I had discovered just following the large lake fly in my hot mug of sugar-sweet tea. And just then the realization came to me that this disgust for “visitors” in my nutriment is really fabricated in my psyche only and has no bearing on the quality of actual sustenance or even real savor. These things don’t taste so bad really. If I were blind and/or had super dim light to chew by, I would ingest more insects without my knowledge and therefore would be a more satisfied customer. And if mukenne were not indelibly coupled with a sickly experience in my recent past (as well as staring me in the face), I wouldn’t mind eating their eyeballs for every lunch. I think.

Any Questions?

2008-10-05T04:33:00.000-07:00

My top 20 all time favorite questions asked by my students (believers ranging from 17-60 years old; many of these folks have been serving Jesus for a number of years but have had no shepherds or fathers in their lives to feed them):

1. As a new convert, can I hear from God like older Christians do?

2. What was God’s intention in becoming the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit?

3. What is the difference between the Holy Spirit and angels?

4. The Bible says that Jesus sits at the right hand of the Father. If He and the Father are one, where is He really sitting?

5. At the marriage supper of the Lamb, who is serving the meal?

6. You said that God is omnipresent, but here in Luke it says that Jesus was in Capernaum?

7. Was God a duality [as opposed to a trinity] before Jesus came?

8. Why didn’t God save all the people who had snake bites? Why only the ones who looked at the bronze serpent?

9. If I understand that so-and-so is a false prophet, can I still go to him for my miracle?

10. You said Melchizedek was and Old Testament appearance of Jesus, and the Angel of the Lord is the same. So, is the angel who appears to Mary to announce Jesus’ birth also Jesus?

11. Did God intend for us to stay naked and foolish in the Garden forever?

12. If I’m living with someone I’m not married to, and on the way to sanctify my marriage I die, will I go to heaven or hell?

13. When I give my tithe to a certain man I get immediate blessings. Is it okay to give it to him if he’s not my pastor?

14. Are there different sizes of the Holy Spirit?

15. My worship leaders are dressing immodestly (wearing trousers) because they want to be like the whites. How do I discipline them without losing them?

16. What is that word “Selah” that we always skip when we read the Psalms?

17. If no man can see God’s face and live, how did Jacob wrestle with Him?

18. Is it right for a married couple to have sex on a Saturday night if the husband (a pastor) is going to preach the next morning? Are there not devils around?

19. The Bible says that all the fat belongs to the Lord. Should I not eat fat?

20. Why did God treat the whites of Israel more specially than the African Egyptians? We in Africa have a bad situation--can God redeem us to be in such a good situation as the whites?

Though many of these are mildly humorous, all of them reveal the severe dearth of understanding of God’s Word among Ugandan churches today. These leaders starve in a land with access to Bibles because they lack laborers to teach and impart to them. TV & radio preachers from America and other nations have succeeded in confusing the Church by emphasizing minor issues and downplaying the majors while each occupies himself on Sunday morning with songs and shouts and exhortations devoid of foundational truth.

What a privilege to be a part of the solution to this monstrous need.

Making Ministers

2008-10-04T02:27:00.000-07:00

To be honest, my flesh would much rather deal with selfish, whining young adults sitting across my large cherry wood desk while situated comfortably in plush chairs in my private office at Westside Church, as we counsel about the minute details of their lives, relationships, and ambitions. My computer would be quietly humming merely inches from my ready hand, my library carefully displayed on the side wall, my decor complete with floor-to-ceiling styrofoam globe that serves to remind me that I’m actually called to “the nations.” My paycheck would come on time, and coupled with my wife’s generous pay, I could even conduct lucrative real estate transactions in my spare time, enjoying ministry in a prospering seeker-friendly church that allowed me the freedom to preach, teach, lead worship, lead a small group, or do all at once if I so desire.

I’d rather not deal with the-witchdoctor-cursed-my-children-and-they-died type of scenarios, or be confronted with the reality that a good portion of my class is dying from HIV, or after finishing six straight hours of teaching, feel obligated to pray for half a dozen ladies suffering from various illnesses and domestic trauma. It’s a bit taxing staying in lodges where prostitutes and their men argue and brawl into the night, and where the local movie house next door blares American Sci-Fi from the ‘90s interpreted into Luganda on the loud speaker for the town can hear. I won’t lie to you, trying to give a Bible college education to nearly illiterate elementary school drop-outs who only speak Luganda is challenging.

But knowing the call of God for the Earwickers, and seeing the abundant fruit of obedience to that very specific summons makes all the difficulties and lack of comforts more than desirable. In the last five weeks since we launched our second Island Leadership School on Lake Victoria, I’ve been floored by the literal transformation that comes to the lives of men and women who mix the simple Word of God with simple faith.

One brother testified after the first two days of teaching that the Master convicted him of destructive anger toward his misbehaving children. “After receiving the teaching this week, I sat down with my family and apologized to them for becoming so angry all the time when things weren’t as I would like. I told them that from this day on, their father is a new man.” He said that after this family meeting, he has had overflowing peace in his heart in regards to his children, and has begun praying for them to also have a change of heart. In a culture that has an acute lack of solid families and godly father figures, this was the hand of God actively moving this father to humble himself and step out in faith.

Another student, a recent convert from Islam, said that as he sat in class the second day, he pondered the thought that God is more powerful than the devil. There seems to be a local witch who has relative control of the local rain patterns on that particular side of Bunjako Island (of course he’s in cahoots with the “prince of the power of the air”), and refuses to allow rain to fall there. Our new brother gave God this challenge: “If you are really more powerful than Satan as our teachers have been saying, then I want to see rain here by tomorrow.” And from about 5:00 am the next morning, we had monsoon rains pelting our metallic roofs up until school time. The man came rejoicing in His God with a testimony on his lips.

Though the individual stories keep us coming back for more, in recent weeks, we’ve unearthed the horrible realities of the state of the rural Church in Uganda: it lies in ruins. Even the pastors and leaders have had no spiritual foundations laid in their lives. No one has preached a message of repentance unto life (one revealing question from a co-wife in last week’s class was, “What is compromise?”). No one has prayed for them to receive the Baptism of the Holy Spirit - it’s virtually not done in these "Pentecostal" churches. Most of the "married" folks are just living together with no cultural or spiritual commitment to each other in Holy Matrimony. Many are running illegal businesses, some are still practicing witchcraft, all are bound in a poverty mentality, and many are deathly ill. There is virtually no real fellowship in the churches and even the pastors are primarily Masters of Ceremony. These shores are a literal wreck without the Gospel in pure form nor any sort of shepherds to tend the flock.

But the islands simply scream opportunity and the probability of a healthy, strong, growing Church on Lake Victoria is high, given this felicitous moment, the hungry harvest, and our ready Redeemer. Seeing that nothing is hard for Jesus, that He delights in doing the difficult, and that He works revival through the prayers and toil of broken servants, I’d say that this dark continent is ripe for the glory of God.

This is Unnecessary

2008-09-28T12:07:00.000-07:00

I just ran across this immense passage in Tozer's The Knowledge of the Holy (a manual on God's nature that I used to tell my students was worth a limb). In his discourse on the self-sufficiency of God he explains:

"So lofty is our opinion of ourselves that we find it quite easy, not to say enjoyable, to believe that we are necessary to God. But the truth is that God is not greater for our being, nor would He be less if we did not exist. That we do exist is altogether of God's free determination, not by our desert nor by divine necessity. Probably the hardest thought of all our natural egotism to entertain is that God does not need our help. We commonly represent Him as a busy, eager, somewhat frustrated Father hurrying about seeking help to carry out His benevolent plan to bring peace and salvation to the world, but....the God who worketh all things surely needs no help and no helpers.

"Too many missionary appeals are based upon this fancied frustration of Almighty God. An effective speaker can easily excite pity in his hearers, not only for the heathen but for the God who has tried so hard and so long to save them and has failed for want of support. I fear that thousands of younger persons enter Christian service from no higher motive than to help deliver God from the embarrassing situation His love has gotten Him into and His limited abilities seem unable to get Him out of. Add to this a certain degree of commendable idealism and a fair amount of compassion for the underprivileged and you have the true drive behind much Christian activity today." - A.W. Tozer

I sure like that about God. This truth just destroys my fat ego and confused thinking opposing the fact that I am the one that needs Him. The self-sufficient, self-confident, self-absorbed, independent me monster has all but consumed that humble creature God formed in His image. And as a missionary trying so desperately to fill the earth and subdue it with the glory of the Lord, what a wonderful reminder of His lovingkindness poured out on me: that He would even want me at His side in this labor.

Opportunity Beyond Our Lifetime

2008-09-27T01:34:00.000-07:00

These last four weeks, the Island Leadership School has been doing a study on Matthew 6:19-21, and I thought it wise to share learned insights with the world at large, intending to spark some godly thoughts and influence perspective shifts during these times of economic insecurity in our nations today.

“Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal; but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (NKJV).

After a thorough look at this passage we’ve interpreted in light of various related portions of Scripture and settled on the following meaning for this controversial commandment from the Master:

A disciple of Jesus should work to store up spiritual treasures in heaven, ensuring his heart remains with God where it should be, while not heaping physical possessions for himself on earth. God will supply his every real need, and will give extra so that he can give to others, but a disciple should not seek riches or be a person of excess. He is called to live differently than the world and to be rich in God.

One of the many ways the God-breathed Bible indicates we might amass spiritual wealth is through secret, sacrificial giving to others, especially to the poor and needy. The issue is not whether God desires our happiness or if He’s really good, since that is obviously revealed throughout the Good Book. We’re talking about the state of our hearts before God and harnessing the overflow of our provision to either give or withhold life from another human soul. Our decision on financial stewardship is a choice between our own personal comfort and the very life and eternal destiny of another.

It’s fully up to you. You, who have been superabundantly blessed beyond measure and without ability to contain, were not given extra funds to squander on comfort drinks or luxury hamburgers. You, who fall into the category of top 10% of the world’s wealthiest (an elite group of only about 700 million), were not blessed to bless yourself with the latest fashions and keep up with newfangled technology and motorcars, but yea, verily, to bestow life upon the nations of the world. You and I have the extreme privilege of using our worthless, combustible monopoly money to purchase eternal destiny for the sub-fortunate.

Living in this wonderful worldwide web means that we have endless opportunity to give both creatively and purposefully in whatever way the Master would direct. Please prayerfully consider devoting your earthly treasure to some of the following options (all of which are impacting destinies for under $1/day):

Purchase Bibles for Christians starving for the Word of God: from $1/Bible | Impact Ministries, Plead the Cause, Bible League

Build an elementary school for AIDS orphans in Uganda: $3.45/month | The Cause

Send an orphaned teenage girl to College: $10/month | Amani Life Project

Send an impoverished slum-dwelling child to school: $28/month | Gospel for Asia

Fund a native missionary’s Bible school education for evangelism and church planting: $30/month | Gospel For Asia, Plead the Cause

Support an orphaned child with a family, food, clothing, shelter, and hope for a future: $30/month | King’s Kids Village, Otino-Waa Village, Osanidde Village

The awesome truth is that you might store up eternal spiritual treasure for yourself by storing up the basic necessities of life for them. Opportunities abound.

Remember Your Brother?

2008-08-31T07:53:00.000-07:00

The news media has conditioned us to expect that only bad news is noteworthy, and having been inundated with such communication for decades we’ve not only believed it, but become virtually numb to it. Tsunami in the Indian Ocean, war in Iraq, genocide in Darfur, earthquake in China, floods, violence, terrorism, and persecution. But in our comfortable homes, cars, businesses, and churches, the images and reports with their vivid sights and sounds seem like another reality, worlds away from our otherwise comfortable existence and terrifically busy schedules.

I was interrupted from my typical trip to the internet cafe a few days ago by a disturbing email report from K.P. Yohannan, founder of Gospel for Asia, the church planting movement that devotes itself to sending native missionaries to establish congregations among the most unreached people on the planet. In his bulletin he described another piece of bad news, though not simply for the sake of giving information or making a buck on nearby advertisements.

“It is with tears I must report that the massive attacks against our Christian brothers and sisters in Orissa have become even more vicious over the past three days,” he began. And with the reminder of my own personal, spiritual relation to these precious people, my heart was moved from it’s desensitized position in my chest, beginning to throb a little more rapidly. As I read the short memo, I had to imagine what it would be like if the faithful pastors from the churches we’ve been ministering in were attacked in their homes, their churches burned to the ground, and their believers raped and massacred before their eyes. I considered how I would feel if Pastor Joash was slaughtered simply for following and preaching Jesus, or if his wife were chopped to death with a machete, and I had to pray.

I had been reading in Hebrews 13 just that day and found the verse that commanded, “Remember the prisoners as if chained with them—those who are mistreated—since you yourselves are in the body also.” My wife whacked her baby toe against the coffee table yesterday and the pain instantly shot throughout her body, causing her to writhe in agony on the sofa for a number of minutes. Her entire being felt that shock wave from one of the smallest appendages on her petite frame. I believe we should respond to the tribulation of our relatives in a similar fashion: praying fervently for the pain relief of our Body.

Though these believers in India may not be literally in a prison cell, they are still my family members who are being illtreated, and the Master is imploring me to remember them as if I myself were hurting. I’ve fasted for a week at a time for the people of India and the work of Gospel for Asia in years past. It’s been dearer to my heart much longer ago, but I’m trying hard to wake up and pray. Please join me at this time.

Check out this page, watch the video, review the information, and begin to intercede for your siblings who are suffering for the name of Jesus.

The Place of Prayer

2008-08-18T06:05:00.000-07:00

I discovered a spectacular quote from Leonard Ravenhill the other day (I snatched the reference from K.P. Yohannan who unearthed these marvelous words in his book, “The Road to Reality” on which I needs do a full report in a future post):

“No man is greater that his prayer life. The pastor who is not praying is playing; the people who are not praying are straying. The pulpit can be a shopwindow to display one’s talents; the prayer closet allows no showing off.

“Poverty-stricken as the Church is today in many things, she is most stricken here, in the place of prayer. We have many organizers, but few agonizers; many players and payers, few pray-ers; many singers, few clingers; lots of pastors, few wrestlers; many fears, few tears; much fashion, little passion; many interferers, few intercessors; many writers, but few fighters. Failing here, we fail everywhere.

“We...mistake action for unction, commotion for creation, and rattles for revivals...”

-Leonard Ravenhill, Why Revival Tarries

Hospitality

2008-08-15T10:44:00.000-07:00

I love Uganda. Not so much the perfect semi-tropical climate complete with year round mild temperatures in the mid-70s with a slight breeze off the lake at all times. It’s not really the lush vegetation that covers the countryside, or the robust cinnamon dirt that supports it beneath. I don’t have too much endearment the beautiful water views or the adventurous allure of the remote islands that dot the second largest lake in the world.

When God commands us to ask for “the nations for your inheritance, and the ends of the earth for your possession,” I don’t think it’s geography He’s speaking of. The “wealth of the nations” isn’t ethnic foods or cultural practices, differing styles of dress or skin color. It’s the people. These eternal souls, fashioned in the very image of God Himself, housed in two body styles with endless variations, compose the Uganda that I love.

There’s plenty of things I love about the Ugandan people. I appreciate their soft-spoken mannerisms and typically shy personalities. I like the mix of their generally passive nature and curiously friendliness. They have a God-given gift of hospitality that has been developed for generations. They are a people without pretense, saying and acting what they think with little to no filter. And one of my favorite characteristics that mark these rich people is their helpfulness.

I suppose it’s part of the hospitable makeup that causes church greeters to promptly commandeer every personal possession from the hands of entering parishioners while dragging them by the hand to locate the best seat in the house. It’s natural for them to forbid elders or visitors to do any sort of work, forcibly causing them to rest while tirelessly laboring to provide for and please them.

But there comes a point when helpfulness can become unprofitable. When loose pages are falling out of my favorite Bible, something has shifted in the realm of accommodation. When I’m led to the front row (every time), with my 7-month old who couldn’t sit quietly for two hours if I paid him in breast milk, I’ve missed the value of the kind gesture that’s been offered me. But these are mere inconveniences, I remind myself, and if they feel cheery and fulfilled by their obliging actions, let me be the recipient, whether it benefits my life or not. We are culturally distinct anyway.

But without a doubt, the worst part of being hosted by such kindness is when it is financially costly to endure it.

After preaching to elementary school kids at an island primary school (worshipping children who would put most adult believers to shame), I left my beautiful Martin guitar sitting softly in its plush case on a nearby desk while we prayed for people and shook hands with students. This costly gift had been bestowed by a favorite uncle of mine on a missionary visit last December. I rarely take “the nice guitar” out to the islands, but with a team in tow I decided it was worth the risk. I don’t know what inspired us to choose that guitar for the evening’s meeting, but nonetheless it was present. I neglected to latch the lid, knowing I would close it properly at our time of departure and safely carry it on the motorcycle back to the tent. Yet even as I thanked the miniature worship leader for his ministry that evening, I heard the horrifying sound of hollow hardwood striking hard packed soil with an eerie E-diminished tone. I held my composure and hoped for the best as I brushed past the rest of the students to inspect the guitar. Sure enough, Fred’s instinctive helpful grasp combined with ignorance of high tech American latches made for a six inch separation between back and sidewall on the Martin. With the absence of a good guitar shop in all of East Africa, I’ll be pulling out my super glue...

On another occasion, our speedboat landed near the shore of a fishing village surrounded by scores of interested first time viewers. Many of these were church members of the nearby Redeemed of the Lord Evangelistic Church who helpfully (there’s that word again) offered to tow our boat to a safe location while we went happily onto the meeting, unburdened by such a menial task. But once back on the water, noticing the lack of depth indication at critical lake positions, I leaned over the stern to discover my sonar emitter had been brutally detached from it’s key bearing and was gracefully slung over the edge of the fiberglass vessel. Once again, super glue might be my goodly savior.

One would think that poverty and the general lack of nice or expensive things would cause another to be very careful with that person’s property, but quite the opposite is true. That silly ignorance of care for useful ministry tools continues to be a costly blunder by many loving hosts. But I can’t blame them. And I can’t get angry. I’d rather lose my stuff than lose my relationships. In reality this stuff is completely replaceable and was never mine in the first place.

God bless Uganda.

A Day in the Life

2008-08-08T07:47:00.000-07:00

Yesterday’s mission: Pre-registration meeting for the second Island Ministers’ School with church leaders on Bunjako Island.

6:15 am | Rise and pray. Woke up an hour late. Rush the prayer time. Grab a toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwich while reading the Word. Notice the red sky. Sailors take warning.

7:20 am | In the shower running late while Peter Mukaabya arrives. Hurry up, gotta leave by 8.

7:30 am | Make tea for Peter. Can’t let visitors/ministry partners/employees go without breakfast.

7:50 am | Have Peter take a look at the new application I just altered from last year’s. My Luganda is pretty scanty. Help me get new dates, new location, and new fees right. Lots of corrections from last year. Looks like we’ll be late.

8:30 am | Printing applications to give senior pastors. Don’t print too many so Peter can make grammar corrections over the weekend. 10 copies will do. Senior pastors can give congregations the details.

9:00 am | Kiss Virginia and Josiah goodbye for the day. Motor to the sailing club two blocks away where the boat is stowed.

9:15 am | Boat is in the water. Hydraulics won’t function properly. They were working fine in testing Monday. Hmm. Boat Mechanic from Wild Frontiers gives the heads up on secret screw releasing engine to manual. Looking for a screwdriver.

9:45 am | Screwdriver found. Trying to adjust underwater; can’t seem to get it to turn. Decision made to pull the boat out and get a line of sight.

9:55 am | Monsoon blows in off Lake Victoria. Tarp over the freshly trailered boat and hop in the LandCruiser with Peter to sit it out.

11:30 am | Rain subsides to gentle sprinkle. Let’s try to go. Screw turns easily and engine will drop now.

11:45 am | Back in the water, vehicle’s stowed, engine fires up, we’re on our way. Peter fears death by drowning (lacks swimming ability) and is terrified by the small waves.

12:15 pm | Hit bottom near Kakyanga; the lake is “dry” (power company released too much water into the Nile to make more money. Water level is down, making transportation difficult).

12:40 pm | Arrival at Osanidde Village Orphanage picking up Pastor Joash. Thoroughly drenched and extremely cold. Looking forward to a hot cup of tea while we wait out the revived storm. Mental note to buy a rain slicker in town.

12:45 pm | Discover the bilge pump isn’t drawing water. In danger of flooding the boat. Remembering the incident in May where boat was found on Lake bottom due to rain and waves. Wouldn’t like to relive it while on board with non-swimmers.

12:50 pm | Joash says we go now as the pastors await us. I think I’ll make it if the rain relents soon. Not looking forward to another hour of this. Joash drives, I man the buckets. Peter’s feeling more relaxed. He needs a rain slicker too.

1:35 pm | Hit stones. Minimal prop damage. Press on.

2:00 pm | Arrival in Senyondo, Bunjako Island four hours late. Small crowd gathers on shore to view their first speedboat. Hearing comments that it looks like a car on water with my limited knowledge of the Luganda language.

2:15 pm | Boat is stowed offshore to thwart curious eyes and possible thieves. Led to the makeshift wooden building where the church is praising Jesus.

2:30 pm | Pastor Mujabe introduces me to the congregation and indicates that I will be preaching. More long introductions ensue while I consider what message to deliver. I thought this was a meeting with area pastors to discuss details of the upcoming school.

3:00 pm | Matthew 5 & 7: attitude of hunger and thirst for righteousness. Persistent asking, seeking & knocking. Convicted by my own message. Tie it in with school registration.

3:45 pm | Pray for the sick: HIV+, extreme stomach swelling (looks like a 9 mo. pregnancy), bad knees, epilepsy, etc. Petitioners kneel with hands in the air, no doubt believing that a visiting minister has more ability to heal.

4:15 pm | Quick lunch of matooke, sweet potato, and cassava dipped in beef broth. Asking questions about logistics to the pastor. He didn’t get the message in time to inform the other churches, but they are all excited for our coming and fully compliant on all points. Deliver application forms with a promise for more next week.

4:50 pm | Hurried tour of Senyondo looking for proper accommodation for weekly instructors. These places are pretty rough, but one is better than the other. We’ll take it at UGX 3,000/- per room per night ($1.88). Peter offers to share rooms to reduce the cost. I think we’ll take the extra space.

5:25 pm | Hoping to get home before dark, don’t want to risk the propeller and our lives on the water. Waiting for church member to bring us some paddles.

6:25 pm | Dropping Joash at Osanidde Village. No stones on the way back, smooth lake. Storm’s over. Discovery of broken sonar sensor off the stern. Good intentioned church members must have stepped on it. No more depth finder.

7:00 pm | Driving super slow over shallow spots. Out of fuel 10 min. from home, getting dark. Fumble with jerry can minus funnel, spilling fuel.

7:20 pm | No lights at sailing club, must be load shedding. Won’t be power at home either. Put boat on trailer, hear leaking air on the 30 yd. pull to shed. Driving on the rim now. Going to get my money back on my new two-day tire.

8:10 pm | Gift two bags of boys’ clothes for Peter’s new baby with ripe avocados. Drop Peter on Entebbe road to catch a taxi for the one and a half hour ride home.

8:15 pm | Home at last. Kiss Virginia. Get out of wet clothes. Hot shower never felt better.

Life as a Spectator Sport

2008-08-04T23:41:00.001-07:00

At lot of times I feel like a spectator in my own life. Not really a fan, but an observer of the events of my own existence, steadily marching past my face while I stand in the eye of the storm. It’s not like I’m an especially passive person, and I am generally the planner and leader of most things I participate in, yet still as the world happens around me, I can’t shake this feeling that I’m not really the one making the actual stuff transpire.

One of our team members was asking about Pastor Joash’s expectations for them as a unit. My response was that Joash’s hopes are the same as mine, since we are together in our leadership. We planned this mission as one. We spied it out side by side. And we are executing it jointly, leading the team as equally vital personas with varied functions.

As a white person, largely ignorant to cultural faux pas and dependent on a mediator to successfully navigate remote Uganda, I constantly look to my black counterpart for direction and decision, and the leadership lines blur a bit. “I’m pretty sure I’m the leader,” is a great position to work from when it’s not passive and when there’s mutual service to one another in love. “One in spirit and in purpose” makes way for governance that seeks not its own, but gives place to others’ strengths, talents, and special graces.

But above all, I realize I’m mostly a watcher due to the operation of the Holy Spirit in my life. “The Father who dwells in me does the works,” Jesus said, and so much of the activity we engage in has a lot riding on the presence of the Master. “Man makes his plans, but the Lord directs his steps,” and though we’re making plans and facilitating them, it’s the Father who gave us the vision in the first place, funded it, and inspired us with His strategies for its fulfillment. He brought the people alongside, opened up the doors for effectivity, and is continually adjusting our course with His voice behind us that says, “this is the way, walk in it.”

In the end, all we have to do is show up and watch Him work. He saves. He heals. He delivers. He makes new. And I get to take lots of pictures.

Aquaphobia

2008-08-04T06:04:00.000-07:00

The stank hit me in the face before I ever planted my foot on the top step. The whole second story of the half-constructed home we were staying in was permeated by a foul odor emitting from the partially open entrance to my makeshift bedroom. Even with half the window openings lacking glass, the smell lingered. I held my breath and pressed on only to find the very source of the funk was the roommate I was required to sleep a mere six inches away from for the remainder of the night.

"Bro, you need a shower." I declared even before I could fully see his face in the dim light. My face contorted to display my disgust and I made it clear this was a serious matter. “I know, I haven’t bathed since we were at your house.” That was over seven days ago! I couldn’t believe this good looking young man would make a conscious choice to smell so horribly when there were washing facilities available for his use.

This hatred of water, generally typical of house cats, is also very common to the average North American short-term missionary. Our previous team had acted in the same manner and flew under my radar for nearly a week before my wife appeared and commanded them to be baptized immediately.

In considering the source of this aquaphobia, I’ve concluded that it has everything to do with a standard of comfort inherent in all who have spent their childhood immersed in opulence and a life of ease. “If it feels good, do it” surely has an antitheses that we all have bought into and spent our livelihoods on preserving. In the case of bathing, we’d trade in the horrific discomfort of a cool bucket bath for the relative ease of layers of deodorant and baby wipes any day. The suffering imposed on me by those handfuls of cold liquid have nothing on me as long as I abstain.

The problem with our ideology of enjoyment is that it is nearly opposite the requirements of following Jesus. “Indulge yourself, pick up a coffee, and follow Me” was not the Master’s recipe for discipleship, however churches these days would have us believe. If we want to be the real deal and waft the aroma of life onto those around us, we’ll have to go through the water and through the fire. We may have to skip a meal now and then. It’s possible that we might even experience physical discomfort, nay suffering as we live out an authentic Christian existence.

I’ve made a new statute for all future teams of laborers: Mandatory Bathing Day. The guiding edict behind such a wonderful regulation is that if you didn’t bathe yesterday, you will today, or else be tossed into the Lake. Since my good friend Bill-Harzia lives in Lake Victoria, it’s a good idea to take the few extra minutes each morning to cleanse the epidermis of all that might defile and perpetuate hints of sick.

In regards to my spiritual life, I need to implement some mandatory stuff as well. Fasting, prayer, study, worship...all the disciplines of the Christian life need be continually in operation, qualifying me for shadowing Jesus and preparing me for the unknown that lies ahead.

Let me grab a quick shower; then I’ll be ready to go...

Door-to-Door

2008-08-03T07:15:00.000-07:00

Driving into my gate yesterday, I spied two young well dressed bazungu men casually chatting with a man they had stopped along my dirt road. They had neatly pressed white shirts carefully tucked into black slacks, shoulder bags slung across their thin frames still revealing the infamous name tags on the left breast...yep, Mormons. I stuck around the living room, hoping they’d continue down the path and try to convert us since I’ve previously done my homework and am acquainted with all the right passages to counteract the “burning in the bosom.”

As much as I detest false, deceptive, doctrines of demons, I do admire the Mormon missionaries for one thing: their persistence. For around 700 days straight, these devotees traverse endless neighborhoods seeking converts to their movement. Door-to-door work is difficult, be it carpet shampoo sales or the bona fide Gospel about the original Jesus (as opposed to the created Jesus who they say is brother to Lucifer...don’t get me started...). Yet the stats on young Mormon men who stick with the Latter Day Saints after their two year mission abroad are pathetic: most walk away after propagating lies for twenty-four straight months, convinced by their would-be converts that their message is awash with falsehood.

I’ve done my share of door knocking, and for the right cause. From Southern California to Eastern Europe to South Africa and various other nations of the world, I’ve been in some great situations and unbelievable dwellings while spreading the message of the cross. Last week in Lambu was one of those times.

We blocked out one full morning to flood the landing site with the Word of God, but the team woke up terribly ill with some sort of bacteria ravaging their plumbing, so we set out with half our guns armed to do damage to the kingdom of darkness. I was chosen to work alongside a local pastor and the two of us headed off to hit the officials and big men of the town.

The first set of policemen gave us a typical response to our plea: “I’ve heard your message, and I’m coming to be saved...just not now...” Our urges to not delay were met with similar parry, and we left them with seeds sown on hard soil. This excuse is characteristic of those people who see the truth of the word, but have some dark area of life unwilling to be surrendered and transformed.

The town manager was busy with a pile of paperwork and a stack of men sitting around his office when we approached him with the opportunity to hear God’s Word. This muslim man gladly obliged and sat smiling as we spoke truth to the entourage for just a few moments of their day. At the moment of invitation, I pleaded with them to give themselves to God and escape His judgment for their sin, entering into eternal life with Jesus. The big man smirked and barfed up some nonsense about all roads leading to God and everyone already believing in Jesus. After his brief communication, he quickly thanked us for our time and busied himself with his work once again.

En route to another office, the head of fisheries called us to the locus where he was working with other fishmongers, bagging heaps of small fish called mukenne. We preached to the small gathering as they continued raking and packing, but were met with rebuke following our discourse: “What about all those Christians who are living in sin? They come to church and act holy, but we see them around town living just like us! And especially those pastors who are doing such things...you ought to preach to them before us!” We did our best to tell them of standing alone before God, being accountable to the truth of His Word, and of their personal knowledge of Jesus, but the damage was done. These refused to believe while witnessing hypocrisy in action.

Finally we met a man running a coca-cola distribution franchise. He was a staunch Catholic, spoke good English, and even took notes while we were speaking with him, indicating he would study each passage at home when he had more time. He was an honest man, open to God’s Word, and seemed to eagerly desire to grow in deeper relationship with Jesus though he was sure Catholicism had all the answers he needed. After a long debate in Luganda, the man had a breakthrough moment while looking at one Scripture that explicitly told him he must be saved. Customers seemed to come out of nowhere and our time was up, but if anyone would take the time at home to consider our words, this one would.

We returned for lunch with mixed emotions. The burden to teach holiness to the Church weighed heavy on my heart. The vision to train church leaders was clearer than ever. For the sake of souls. For the sake of the world. I’m so glad that it’s not my job to save people. I’ve been commissioned to deliver a clear message, sound out a comprehensible call to follow Jesus, and sow the the Word into every heart that will hear it.

I think I can do that for more than 700 days.

Faith

2008-08-02T23:56:00.000-07:00

I prayed for a man to be healed of AIDS.

He stayed on his mat, in pain.

I returned the next day and tried it again.

He lay on his death bed still.

I promised the family I'd continue to pray.

Though I soon forgot and moved on.

But faith as small as a minuscule seed

Embodies potential within.

Yesterday I heard the great news:

"Our brother is recovering well!

He's growing stronger with each new day;

Thank you for praying for him!"

I shouldn't doubt when immediacy fails

But it's always so easy to do.

The seed of God's Word when mingled with faith

Will never return without fruit.

The problem with language and culture and all

Tends to hinder disclosure.

But what if I stood believing my God

Who sees beginning from end?

Though experience fail me or knowledge or proof

I'll be seeking nonviable things.

Why should it seem an impossible task

God even could raise up the dead?

Fruitfulness

2008-08-02T03:51:00.000-07:00

Our new rental house in Entebbe not only came loaded with a hot water heater, oven, and ample dwelling space for a small army, but it situates itself on a nice little plot one block from Lake Victoria. Upon this particular piece of ground, the thoughtful owner deliberately planted a plethora of fruit-bearing trees that now, years later, are producing bountifully for us new tenants. Bananas, guava, oranges, mangoes, grapefruit, jackfruit, a hot pepper-yielding bush, and best of all, a large avocado tree that literally drips gigantic avocados by the hundreds. Each morning, this particular tree will gift us with half a dozen fruits the size of small melons, quietly sitting on the grass nearby, nearly ripe and ready to enjoy. We’ve already gifted scores of these luscious windfalls to friends as there is no way to savor them all by ourselves, especially with the baby unable to gum them until next month!

On the Lake this past week with YWAM Oxford, New Zealand, our mission was largely evangelistic, though we had our share of planting and watering seeds in the process. Countless messages delivered over the past twelve days had every range of effect on the thousands who caught them. But every evangelist’s constant hope, dream, and end goal is to harvest. To discover those low hanging fruits that are so ripe and ready to receive, that at the moment of communication, they tumble off the branch of worldliness they’ve clung to all their lives and are gathered into the Father’s loving arms to be brought up and made into disciples, with full rights and privileges as sons and daughters of the Most High.

And in every location we frequented on this excursion, I couldn’t help but consider how relatively easy reaping harvest is. Of course, we’ve not attained to the apostolic ministry of the New Testament, passing through stoning and shipwreck and all sorts of persecution for the sake of our message. But here on Lake Victoria, every time the Word of God is presented, someone is ready to receive it. In every landing site and village, for the effort exerted in preaching there is return on eternal investment. And in many places, the fruit is just laying there on the ground, ready to be valued, chosen, and cherished. But just as in my backyard there is an avocado graveyard replete with rotten returns, so many of these pre-believers are left to die spiritually with no one to shepherd them into real life.

If only we could push a little further, visit extra places, bring in additional teams, work harder, preach longer...if only we could do more... I recall standing on the shore of Nsonga Island after preaching to a crowd of fishermen last week, and thinking of Jesus’ words to His disciples: “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few. Therefore pray the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into His harvest.” If only more people who trembled at the Words of God would make personal sacrifice to see that dying people could hear the message of life, then more harvest could be brought in. If we could raise up an army of godly servants who cared nothing for their own lives, but lost them for Jesus and His Gospel, untold multitudes could receive eternal life.

In my parting speech to the team on Tuesday, I adjured each to become a true long-term laborer in the great harvest of God. With tears in my heart I pleaded with them to not let this be merely a memory of adventure, but to step out in faith to see the “someday” of fruitful service with God become daily reality.

We simply cannot let ripe souls rot on the ground.

Scary Jesus

2008-07-17T10:13:00.000-07:00

I had already been to 4 ATM’s in the past hour or so. I had pulled out nearly half of what I needed, but now I feared my debit card would be deactivated by my US bank just like the last time I suspiciously attempted drawing money from all over the third world nation of Uganda. I decided to ditch the automated option and go for a real live teller.

Entering the bank, I spotted a long line of about eight formed in front of teller number one, with only one other person being served at counter two. Since I’ve gradually come to reason more and more like a real Ugandan, I elected to push past the imposing queue and stand just behind the nearly discharged client, to the silent dismay of line #1. One customer verbally objected towards a lady behind a nearby desk who reminded him of the African system of obtaining service: position yourself in the foremost pocket of empty space and don’t allow anyone to crowd in front of you.

I turned to the obviously very important business man (judging from his impatient demeanor, fancy suit, and large wad of shillings in his sweaty palm) and offered to let him go in front of me, though the gesture was somewhat a reversion to my Judaeo-Christian American ways. He gladly obliged, but as he began to fill his deposit slip the teller came open and he begrudgingly motioned me forward. My time had come. I slipped my debit card before the lady, requested $XXX.XX and waited as she called the verification number.

As she took long to ascertain the sad fact that my debit card really wouldn’t work today, the restive man breathing down my neck began frantically scoping the room for his options. He spied counter number one’s prestige position beginning to open and practically begged the young lady in line for her privileged pose. Her response shocked me and I had to restrain myself from laughing out loud. “You shouldn’t cross the lines, sir. Jesus sees you and will follow you home today.” Not only was I surprised by her casual instruction of the man in the supposed ways of the Lord, but I couldn’t believe her view of my Good Shepherd.

The woman must have received her doctrine from her own abusive father or possibly a local church that taught her about paying her dues to the detriment of enjoying fellowship with the Master. Her statement made me feel like Jesus was the boogeyman or Santa Claus, watching my every move, taking it down, and standing ready to smite me or withhold something good. I’m so glad Jesus isn’t like the gods of Uganda: good to you when you’re good to them. Terrifying when you cross them or fail to sacrifice. I’m so pleased that Jesus’ loving favor is unconditional, unfaltering, and more certain than the sunrise. I’m so glad that when I tip over in my chair my Father doesn’t reach over and slap me, but lovingly sets me straight and faithfully teaches me again.

I wouldn’t like to worship scary Jesus anyway.

Reclaimed Waste

2008-07-15T11:10:00.000-07:00

Please be warned of the graphic nature of this post. This harsh reality is uncomfortable to hear, but is a story that I pray incites real Christians to actual prayer and tangible action. God has given us a command and responsibility: “Open your mouth for the speechless, in the cause of all who are appointed to die. Open your mouth, judge righteously, and plead the cause of the poor and needy” (Proverbs 31:8-9).

For the last 19 months, we’ve resided in a small two bedroom structure in Old Kampala that had an acute lack of indoor plumbing. The “bathroom” was a little bigger than a linen closet with a pipe that drizzled cold water at the top for showering and boasted a spigot near the floor for washing. To use the “toilet” we would head out the back door in our slippers to another closet-like concrete edifice, smash a few cockroaches, and squat over a 6-inch hole.

The pit latrine is a perpetual fixture on the average African home plot. Usually hand dug to a depth of around 30 feet, all human waste is conveniently disposed of with minimal odor, maintenance, or cleanup. If used and regularly cleansed by one small family of two, a pit latrine can remain in good working order, free of bacteria and disease. But many urban households are sharing “the pit” with countless other residents, like our 7-family next door neighbors’ house and their dozens of children. Conditions worsen. I’ve often shone my flashlight to the bottom of a pit latrine and been disgusted to see the floor alive with all sorts of feces devouring creatures (not to mention a cesspool of human offscourings).

Yet the saddest and most disturbing fact about the Ugandan pit latrine is that often times this site of convenience becomes a place to dump unwanted newborn babies. Read this text message we received last night:

“Please join me in prayer. Our friends found a newborn in a pit latrine today and no one has the means to take care of her. If it breaks my heart it must grieve the Creator even more. Oh, these dear little souls...”

When she says that they “found a newborn in a pit latrine,” she doesn’t mean that the desperate mother left the little one sitting in the corner to be found by a passer-by. The child was heartlessly dumped into the abyss of excrement and contagion left to die a torturous death in hopes that ensuing toilet use would cover up the child’s cries and all evidence of the murderous crime.

Our midwife gave us a similar account: a friend had found a beautiful baby girl with so many maggots resident in her ears and face that emergency hospitalization was necessary to save her life. Who knows how long she lingered in the sewage before her rescuers noticed her plight and by some means lifted her to safety?

Sexual abuse is on the rampage within this culture. 80% of all girls in Uganda are sexually assaulted by the age of 18. Between this and unrestrained immorality by consenting teenagers, it’s no wonder unplanned and unwanted pregnancies abound. Guilt, shame, and fear, along with family pressure and cultural practices at times will drive a young girl to do the unthinkable. I suppose pit latrine ditching is simply another form of abortion, one in which the mother is not required to actively participate in the death of her offspring.

Bo Stern has reminded us that there are 143 million orphans in the world today. I wonder if that number merely represents those who have no living parents physically present on the earth. If we could possibly count “social orphans,” (those whose biological parents have abandoned or otherwise disposed of them, or chosen to abdicate their responsibility to care for and raise them through severe neglect and abuse) the figure would be overwhelming.

There are a few baby homes in the country that do take in thrown away children. Our ministry partners have a charming two year old running around their compound thanks to the loving care one of these homes have provided. Another missionary family has three adopted children from these godly organizations. Many hospitals and clinics throughout Uganda make an effort to provide resources and supervision while a local pastor even told his congregation to leave undesired babies at a rich man’s gate as an alternative to killing these precious little people.

But the grim fact remains that these stories of rescue are the exception and not the rule. The fervent prayers of God’s people are desperately needed at this time for the children of Uganda. Loving care on the part of thousands across the globe is necessary to provide for rescued souls and offer support to fearful young moms. The Church of the Living God must rise up in this dark hour to do her job and save a dying world.

While in the process of writing this post, we received a follow up text message from our friend:

“All glory to God. A lovely Christian lady from church has taken the baby. I will stay in touch and help her as the Lord leads. Thanks for prayer.”

Busted.

2008-07-13T10:30:00.000-07:00

It wasn’t like I had committed a heinous crime. The hit and run victim I spotted on the way to town this morning had a much worse perpetrator. My incident didn’t actually hurt anyone or cause any trauma, maybe just some minor inconvenience or light braking. But nonetheless there I was, idling in the Landcruiser while officer gundi (so-and-so) chewed me out. “Why did you just violate that traffic light?” the man demanded. I didn’t need to pull over...I could’ve kept driving...like Saturday, when they tried waving me down in Kajjansi... my thoughts continued: It’s not like they can chase me on foot, or track me down...

I’ve been stopped before. This was probably my fourth face-to-face encounter with a member of Uganda’s police force (traffic division...as always). The first was a routine check made by a bored officer in a rural area up north near volatile Gulu town. After his greeting and request for ID, I handed over my Oregon driver’s license and waited to see his response. My lack of a Ugandan or international driving permit didn’t seem to phase him and he passed it back with a shrug of his shoulders, glanced at my insurance stickers and waved me on. The second run in was similar. But number three was a doozie.

At 2 am I was rushing a couple of friends to the airport for an early morning connection through Amsterdam on KLM. The desolate early morning streets posed no threat to our hurried plight, and we plowed forward (at a breakneck 90 kph) for most of the 45 minute cruise to Entebbe. As we passed the Civil Aviation Authority offices, I neglected to reduce my zoom and found our vehicle running headlong towards the international airport police checkpoint. Screeching to a halt, the olive green uniformed man scowled mightily and informed me that I had broken the law and would promptly be taken to the police station. With some convincing, the officer allowed me to put my friends on the outgoing flight before returning to negotiate my fate.

Knowing that my pale complexion is a continual target for impoverished opportunists in authoritative positions, I breathed a prayer for wisdom on how to get through the checkpoint without feeding the corruption that has eroded away justice and equity in Uganda from the federal government to the market seller. His immediate plan (he said) was to hold me there until daybreak, write me up a citation, personally take me to the police station until judgment could be made against me, at which time I would pay a large sum and receive my vehicle back. Aware of his ploy to squeeze funds from my wallet, I played into his little game with difficulties of my own: “I can’t do that today. I’m heading out of town this morning and won’t be able to appear at the police station. I can come back next week, but today just won’t work for me.” As our tense conversation progressed, I finally stopped the man in his tracks with a simple, “Ok, let’s just do what you want to do. Take me down to the station.”

He knew I was never going to feed his sinful lust for filthy lucre. And as the realization washed over him, he gave me a steely glare and uttered a strange phrase that I never expected: “I forgive you.” I didn’t quite understand what was transpiring and attempted to continue my train of reasoning about visiting headquarters... “Did you hear me? I forgive you.” “Oh...Thank you sir. So, I can go?” “Yes, but can you at least leave me with a soda?” The pathetic request for 700 shillings (about .44 cents) aroused about as much pity in my soul, and sensing the shift from demanding bribes to begging pennies I gladly “thanked” my captor for his mercy and went merrily on my way back to bed.

With the same determination to not bestow any sweetener, I now sat beside Michael, our ministry partner on Lake Victoria’s Islands. “Just give him 5,000 and we’ll go.” he said, as the officer now waited patiently at the open window. Michael had been stopped for using his mobile phone while driving just a few months ago. He knew how the system worked. I turned back to the man using my make-it-difficult logic once more: True tales of why it wouldn’t work for us to go to the police station. Real recounts of phone calls from my wife needing me at home as soon as possible. Verifiable facts of our distant destination and lack of available funds for alternative transport. The policeman just walked away, and we simply fired up our machine and drove.

I think next time I’ll just get straight to the point, tell him bribery is sin and that he should either prosecute or forgive me. That way I’ll get home a lot faster to help my wife with a screaming baby...

Starting Out

2008-07-13T10:22:00.000-07:00

Inspired in part by various requests for descriptions of our day to day existence on the field, by fantastic bloggers such as Bo Stern, Prodigal Jon, and my own mother, and ultimately by our ludicrous life as freelance missionaries in East Africa, I’ve decided to capture a snapshot of sorts that might give a glimpse into the world of expatriates and the situation we find ourselves in continually.

I hope that this brief look into our story might bring broadened perspective to a reading audience that may never have the privilege of remaining so long in such a strange land. I very much welcome your comments, concerns, and corrections, but especially your encouragements as this little missionary family works with all our hearts to see the Kingdom of God come to a little pockmark on planet earth called Lake Victoria.