Missions Development…#10, or "Why ‘It’s all good’ Is Not Acceptable as a Missions Philosophy…"

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The Romania team got together 1x with everyone who had signed up to go – about 6 weeks out. Turns out that our application & screening process, (supposed to come with an interview, age minimum, checking for a semblance of maturity in Christ,) had turned out to be a ‘suggestion’ for some groups.

There were approximately 12 churches represented, with 125 people on the team; most churches had at least 1 adult leader with them. At this point, the unanswered questions from the scouting trip came back to haunt us – magnified- became clear through our ‘interactions’ that there was a serious issue: we lacked a cohesive idea of what the mission was about – so, everyone made it about what they thought it should be.

I dreaded the real-deal.

In August – we flew out of SF to Helsinki, Finland, the a plane to Budapest, then took buses to Romania. Rather than go through every day & every issue – the snapshots of the trip:

  • Groups of loud, obnoxious Christian teens making the “sleeping” portion of the trip east unbearable for just about everybody. And not sleeping. One memory is a guy playing his guitar at about 3 in the morning. On the plane. And when he was told to put it away by the flight attendant, he couldn’t believe he wasn’t allowed to ‘worship.’
  • One 16 year old guy got so scared on takeoff out of SF that he literally pooped his pants. Then sat in it for the 10 hour flight. It was only upon arrival in Helsinki that the accident was discovered & his adult leader had to make him (MAKE HIM) change his pants. The weirdest part was that he had a spare pair of skivvies & shorts in his carryon. The one he’d had on the plane. Turns out he was a bit emotionally disturbed, & probably shouldn’t have come on the trip in the 1st place.
  • Arriving in Budapest, & having the suitcase with all of our materials for the outreach not show up – (it arrived back in Reno 3 months later. Intact. Weird.)
  • Getting loaded onto buses in groups of about 20… & realizing that there was no one (or several someones) making sure that everyone was accounted for – & that the only one that supposedly knew where we were going was the bus-driver. Who didn’t speak any English.
  • Having our bus break down on the voyage from Budapest to Oradea, & waiting for hours for someone to come & fix the bus. Being left alone on the bus while the bus driver left & went… somewhere. He eventually came back, but not before many of us were THIS close to formulating a plan of action & an attempt to find help on our own.
  • Finally arriving at our “hotel” in Felix, very near Oradea, & finding that there was still at least 1 bus that hadn’t arrived yet. It stumbled in in the wee hours of the next day, with all the people who had been stuck on it looking like death warmed over.
  • Finding out that I would be staying on the 11th floor, (albeit with Chum!) & that the elevator didn’t work. And on Day 3 finding out by default that the water in the building didn’t quite make it up to our floor anymore. Meaning we had to use the facilities (showers, toilets, sinks) of our friends on the 3rd floor on down.
  • Cockroaches – initially it was repulsive, & Chum & I would count the ones we could see, & then try to squish them. It was tough because there were so many, it was impossible to keep them out of the bed – which made it tough to sleep for the first couple of days. However, the combination of familiarity & exhaustion soon made it so that we just either ignored the creepy-crawlers on the floor, walls, & bed, or we named them. Weird to think about the fact that we got “used” to having cockroaches in our beds.
  • Discovering that for all 125 of us, there was no firm plan for what we would do each day – & that any plans would be made on the fly by Stefan & our hosts from the Romanian Pentecostal Church. Which meant that things (plans, organization, scheduling, in every area) were worse than anticipated.
  • On that note – the food situation was rough – the area of Romania where we were & the state of the economy being what it was – our hotel had very little in the way of food. So, the breakfasts that we were to eat at the hotel usually consisted of a rotting tomato, a slice of moldy cheese, & stale bread, accompanied by boxed water.
  • The water was mineral (bubbly) water, which I like. However, there was a group-wide insurrection at having to drink “that”. So I & Fearless Leader spent 1 full day trying to find a place that had still water. Finally did, but it blew me away that our group (& the leaders were the BEST at this) would complain about the situation the way we did.
  • One day we found a McDonalds on our route to the hotel – & ended up finding a way to take our bus by it every day – we bribed the driver & would buy as much food as we could carry to stash for later, & to feed the driver & his family too. McDonalds never tasted so good.
  • Fearless Leader & Stefan kept disappearing for hours at a time, every day. Turns out, while we were waiting for our hosts to come up with a plan on the spot, something for 125 people to ‘do” on this mission trip, they were at a tennis club playing tennis together. That one still rankles me.
  • My group ended up getting set to the same place to do work for several days – even when there was no more work to be done. And, the 1 thing that we’d really wanted to do, & had been promised that we’d be able to, to go to one of the Romanian orphanages, didn’t happen. Dealing with that disappointment was crushing. As was the problem of an ever-decreasing group-wide morale.
  • There was 1 phone in the hotel that could be used to call the States – & only during a 2 hour period of the day, & only if the operator & owner of the phone was bribed $10 US by every person, every time, that wanted to use it. After the fiasco of the scouting trip, I decided that if I couldn’t call theBean, at least I would use a tape recorder to communicate with her during the trip – & then give her the cassette tape when I got back.
  • There was an undercurrent of personality conflicts, leaders having issues with each other, & out & out insurrection against Fearless Leader. Which of course modeled our Christianity up close & personal for all who were exposed to it.
  • From my perspective, our hosts made sure that the outreaches were tailored just for us – so we could have our missions experience, give an altar call, & pray for the people that came forward… And the focus was definitely on the “numbers of people saved” (e.g those that came forward) without any thought given to what happened to them after we went home…
  • One night, we found our way to a pseudo-restaurant near our hotel – turns out it was a restaurant (good!) & a dance club (bad!) It didn’t take long for the majority of our group to get onto the dance floor to bust a move. After a couple days of this, we found out that dance clubs were one of the things that Romanian Christians looked at as ‘the devil’s playground,’ & a place that was as distasteful & ‘sinful’ as a house of prostitution… meaning that in their view, the only people who went there were the unredeemed pagans, & loose living hedonists. And of course, the American missions team. Had a hard time talking through that with the whole team, as several of the American team leaders from different places wanted our Romanian hosts to just “lighten up,” & didn’t seem to care much that it bothered them so bad. So much for cultural sensitivity.

    • The crowning moment of the trip was the return of the mob – just down the hallway from my & Chum’s room, there was a collection of rough-looking characters (reminiscent of the Hotel Dacia, but without guns.) They were fairly rowdy, & had women in & out of the room – but mostly they kept to themselves. Except for this time.

    We had just gone to sleep, when there was a commotion. By commotion, I mean screaming, crying, & loud voices yelling. And a siren. Then there were what sounded like fireworks popping, but what must have been a gun being fired. I was mortified. Chum & I were praying under our blankets with the roaches. I grabbed my tape recorder, & dictated my last words to theBean, & a modified last will & testament. No exaggeration, it sounded like WW3 outside our door, & I was sure that we were going to die. Then, someone started banging on OUR door. To the room we were staying in. And yelling in Romanian for us to open it. We didn’t. We prayed more, & finally they went away. We looked out the window to the ground below & saw a ‘paddy wagon’ that was being loaded with a few people.

    Turns out, the Romanian cops had showed up & busted our mob friends from down the hall. Hmm.

    Its not that everything that happened was bad – its just that SO MUCH of it was. A few people came to know Jesus, & the group from our city had grown closer in the midst of adversity. At the same time, it felt like we’d wasted our money in going on the mission. Worse, we hadn’t been prepared for, & many of us felt like we’d wasted our time, been ineffectual, & had nothing really to show for our time there. Worse still, the majority of the bad could have been avoided by simply making sure that the questions that we’d had on the scouting trip got answered before we would go on the trip.

    What I took from this experience was the fact that I needed a missions philosophy – some clear, concrete guidelines based on values & relationship… something that would provide a screening process for what we would/wouldn’t do in the future for missions.

    In the weeks after the trip, I put my thoughts on paper… & wondered if going to Germany was still as good an idea as I’d thought the previous May…

    Missions Development…#9, or "Just a few minor details is all…"

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    We left Budapest (& Romania) in our rear-view mirror – I was thankful to have survived our trip & all the drama, sex, & danger of the Hotel Dacia… we were picked up at the Frankfurt Airport (Fraport) & taken to lunch with Johannes for bratwurst, handkäse mit music (a vinegar hardened stinky cheese covered with onions,) & apfelwein (a wine made out of apples, which is a Frankfurt specialty.)

    Keep in mind that this is happening in May ’97 – & that the purpose of this scouting trip was to prepare for a missions trip to Romania in August ’97. I was introduced to the “German way” – when Johannes told us what he’d been doing in the few days we’d been in Hungary/Romania – evidently, Germans like to plan, & to have little things like “a few minor details” together well in advance… Johannes had a ‘mock up’ itinerary of what we could be doing if we were to return to Germany for a mission in August ’98… as the German Foursquare National Youth Movement was already preparing for an outreach in several cities at that time. Johannes, Fearless Leader, Nate, & myself talked for a couple of hours about the possibility of about coming to Germany in 1998 to provide support for their outreach & to build relationship with the youth & leaders that would be participating.

    Here’s what was proposed, discussed, & pseudo-planned:

  • There will be a team of Germans, made up of students & leaders from the Foursquare churches within Germany, making it a ‘national event’ for the Movement.
  • We would bring a team of Americans, made up from our church in Carson City, & some others from our District.
  • For Phase 1, the first 3 days, all the Germans & Americans would gather at a campground just outside of Frankfurt – to spend time together, get to know each other – eat – worship – & prepare. This meant that the German/American teams would be split up into 3 mini-teams for specific teaching & preparation for where each of the mini-teams would be going in the next phase of the mission.
  • Phase 2, the next 7 days, the 3 mini-teams would head to the places that they would be going – 1 group going to Berlin, 1 to Mainz, & 1 to Kiensburg (a small ‘city/village’ of about 1500 in the south-eastern part of the country.) Then, each of the teams in the 3 cities would work together under the coordination of the local German church… believing that the local congregation would know best what they would like to do for outreach. The German/American teams would function in support for the local church outreach, providing man & woman power.
  • Phase 3, then, for the next 7 days: all 3 teams would come back together in Frankfurt – to do outreach with the local Frankfurt congregation (where Johannes was the youth pastor) in Frankfurt’s downtown – using what the local church usually used to connect with their city – random acts of kindness; drama; music; sharing of personal testimonies, & a open-air presentation of the gospel.
  • And, of course, all of these things would be confirmed by a ‘scouting’ trip – one where we’d come to Germany & visit each of the potential venues, meet with the local pastors, & plot out the specifics for each day (hour even?) of our time in-country.

    • Just a few minor details? I don’t think so – I had the sense that I was already more prepared for Germany ’98 than I was for Romania ’97… & by the end of our discussion, I was FEELING it. This resonated with me, in my guts. This was the kind of thing that I’d hope to be able to be a part of – something that would seemingly be beneficial to the local church(es), the kind of initial connection that would facilitate (or at least make available) a longer term connection for the building of relationships – I couldn’t wait…

    Johannes took us back to the airport so that we could catch our flight back to the UK … when he dropped us off, he prayed for each of us (a story in itself.) When he prayed over me, I remember him saying, “God has given you a pastor’s heart. You can embrace it. It’s good, & it fits you.” (Reference this POST for more on this.)

    This made 3x in the space of 2 weeks that 3 strangers had said basically the same thing to me – & I believe that it was 3x in order to remind me that this wasn’t something of my own creation – it had nothing to do with my dad being a pastor – it was a gentle hint, a nudge really, towards something that God would open up for me in the appropriate time, in the right place, as I would keep saying, “Yes” to Him & to what He’d put in front of me.

    And we flew home – London to San Francisco. The 3 of us talked briefly about what had stood out to us about our trip, & made some tentative plans for what would be happening over the next 3 months as we got ready for Romania… but mostly we slept, or tried to sleep…I discovered that the end of a trip is not the best time to strategize, as by that time, you just want it to be over, to be home, to shower, & to sleep in your own bed…

    Coming up:
    Final preparations for Romania ’97.
    A few signs that there was trouble ahead.
    And the trip to end all trips.

    Once again…

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    …I’m a-messing with my template. I really liked my last one, but had a hard time with the attempted modifications I wanted to make to said template. Esp. difficult was the ‘commenting.’

    Brint’s last comment pushed me to make the changes necessary.

    So here I am, Huckleberry.

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    Francisco Aranda

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    Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints. Psalm 116:15

    This afternoon at about 2p.m. Francisco Aranda died.

    He was a hero to me – & was one of the key people that God used in my early days here in Reno to keep me standing, living on task, & what it meant to be faithful to the call of Christ.

    I’ll never forget his answer any time he was thanked for one of the myriad helpful things he had done, for the people he fed weekly, for the odd-jobs he did to keep the physical building of the church looking good, & the prayers from the church flowing. He always responded:

    …unto the LORD.

    Heaven rejoices today.

    Mirror, mirror…

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    When I looked in the mirror, what I saw reflected back at me was unacceptable. Fat. Ugly. Distorted. Off. But to me, that was normal – it was how I saw myself, & to me, it was reality. It didn’t matter if there was someone there with me who told me “how nice” I looked, I knew it was probably just someone exercising their ‘social graces” & not acknowledging what I (& probably everyone else) knew to be true.

    Looking back on it, I think it was that my perception, my reality, my lens for looking at me & my life situations was skewed, like a carnival mirror. Where the image that is reflected is distorted, inaccurate, yet just as painful to observe. And remember.

    So I stopped looking the mirror… but I could still remember what I “looked” like – the distorted images of me, the twisted outlook on life. My reality. Which remained, until my mirror was replaced…

    And I looked into it again.

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    Missions Development…#8, or "Welcome to the Hotel Dacia…"

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    We left the church, drove the YUGO, & attempted to follow Moises, who didn’t seem to know where he was going – we hadn’t gotten around to eating dinner, & I was as hungry & tired as I’d been so far on the trip.

    Finally got to our hotel around 11:30 p.m. – the Hotel Dacia… I wasn’t sure if it was because of my cloudy eyes, the moonless night, or what… it was dark… even inside the Hotel… as though the lightbulbs were all 30watters that emitted only a yellowish light, making it hard to see any depth or details…

    As we headed into the poorly lit lobby towards the check-in desk…something grabbed my eye… at the side of the lobby, seated in a faux-living room set up, were about 5 guys, surrounded by several scandalously dressed women… obviously prostitutes or ‘call girls,’ higher end than what I’d seen on the road to Oradea… BTW: it wasn’t the women that caught my eyes… it was the guys standing next to the couch holding Tommy Guns. Yes. Real, ‘20’s style Tommy-Guns, like you’d have expected to see Al Capone’s guys using in The Untouchables

    What the heck? Who’d these guys think they were, mobsters?

    Then it hit me – from the time that the Berlin Wall fell in 1989, the communist & communist supported governments had been toppling… Romania’s own dictator, Ceaucescu had been executed in 1989, & with him, the Communist government & economy tumbled into chaos… over the succeeding years, one of the organizations most successful at filling the economic void & paving a road out of communism was the Russian mafia… & here they were, with business flourishing, in the lobby of the hotel I was staying in.

    My brain clicked into high gear as I realized what was happening in front of my eyes. A local arm of the Russian mafia was running a pseudo-brothel at the largest hotel, (esp. for tourists) in all of Oradea… & though I was tired, it didn’t take a genius to figure that there MAY have been other illegal activities going on… the kind that would need a couple of conspicuously placed Tommy Guns for protection & muscle. I prayed, silently & fervently. The fear I felt was tangible & ominous.

    Upon arriving in the room, I told everyone what I’d seen, & asked Moises WHAT we were doing in the same hotel as the MOB… … he explained:

  • Yes, it is the mob. Romanian local bad guys supplied by a larger, Russian based family.
  • And, they’re all over the city, in just about every hotel, business, etc…
  • If you avoid them, don’t be disrespectful, & don’t flash cash, they usually leave you alone.

    • It was such a common thing to him – how he described it was like I would describe the existence of blackjack tables in a casino back home…

    At midnight, Moises helped us call for pizza – Fearless Leader ordered the biggest one they had, with “everything.” (NOTE: we were in Romania. What does EVERYTHING mean in Romania? I didn’t even know what EVERYTHING meant at home…) Within about ½ hour (Domino’s Pizza would have been proud,) our delivery guy showed up with the pizza. He spoke some English, & asked where we wanted him to put the pizza. Fearless Leader pointed to the dresser… so Pizza guy opens up the box, & dumps the pizza onto its crust on the dresser… & takes the box with him, presumably so that it could live to fight another day… & be re-used. We sat with no napkins, plates, utensils of any kind, looking at the pizza sitting on the dresser.

    I took a look to see what EVERYTHING meant in Romania – turns out I couldn’t identify many of the objects on the pizza… but there were a couple of creatures with eyes – I think they were fish of some sort… smelled fishy. A couple of fried eggs. Onions. Peppers. Olives. Various meat-type products. Hmm. I could pick off what I didn’t want.

    Went into the bathroom to find something we could use in place of napkins… & found that the toilet paper was… less processed than I was used to… it had what looked like toothpick-sized pieces of wood in the paper… NOTE: be very, very careful when using…

    There wasn’t anything to drink to wash down our EVERYTHING pizza… & we needed something to drink. Moises had told us that we should avoid tap water, as it would wreak havoc on our intestinal systems… So, Nate (the guy traveling with me & Fearless Leader,) decided that he was going to go down to the lobby & see if there was a Coke machine or something.. I voiced my objections, after all, the Mob was downstairs, but the guys were thirsty, & Nate was going. I couldn’t stand the thought of letting him go downstairs alone, so over my better judgment I went with him.

    We took the elevator down to the lobby & headed to the front desk. No luck – there were no soda machines anywhere nearby, & all the stores in the neighborhood were closed, (like you could have gotten me to head outside anyway,) He pointed us towards the bar – & thought that we might be able to find something there. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the Mob, the women & the guys with guns were nowhere to be found…

    We walked into the room where the bar was… It turns out that it wasn’t a bar, per se. It was a strip club. And the reason we hadn’t seen the mob in the lobby was that they had relocated to this room. Great.

    I asked the bartender if he had any sodas… Fanta Orange was all they had. Whatever. I paid for it, & we headed for the elevator. About halfway across the lobby, I heard somebody yelling, “Hey! Hey!.”

    We were being followed by two of the mob guys, & they each had a girl with them. I rushed to the elevator (didn’t run) & pressed the button, waiting for the elevator doors to open. By that time the guys had caught up with us. I pretended that I didn’t see them, & faced the elevator doors – one of the guys said, “You will take women.”

    Nate had positioned himself safely on the other side of me, so I was between the guys, the women, & Nate. I said something smart like, “Oh, no thank you. We don’t need women.”

    That evidently wasn’t the right response… the first guy stepped closer to me & repeated, louder & with more intensity, “You WILL take women!” Again, I answered him, saying something like, “Thanks anyway, guys. But we’re both married, so we don’t need women.”

    Open door. Open door. Open door. And nothing.

    By this time, I was facing the two guys, the women were hanging out all over & one of the guys with a gun was looking at us from across the lobby.

    Once again, he repeated, “You WILL TAKE WOMEN.” I sighed. And prayed. And looked at the guy, trying not to look threatening, thinking that he was going to take me out, & whack me (or do some other Mob stuff,). I said, ‘Guys, I’m tired. No offense, but I don’t want to take any of your women; I just want to go upstairs & go to sleep.” The guy looked at us long & hard, & said… “Ok,” & turned away, & with the other guy & the ladies, headed back into the ‘bar.’

    The doors picked that time to open up, so Nate & I jumped in & pressed the button to head to our room, Fanta in tow. Whew! I can remember going in the bathroom, shaking & crying. I prayed & thanked God for protecting me. I collapsed on the bed & slept like a log.

    Moises arrived in the a.m. to take us around to the nearby sites where we’d be working with the local church that summer. He took us to Felix, where we met with Stefan, the guy from the American parachurch organization, the same guy that Fearless Leader had worked with at some point in the past. Stefan spent about an hour with us – took us to the hotel we’d be staying at, showed us a field where we’d be able to do our ministry stuff… as far as the other things we’d be doing, like visiting orphanages &/or doing work projects… we were told that those things weren’t ready yet, but that everything would be ready upon our arrival in August. Really? I asked a couple of questions, & was told, “It will all come together BUH-dee. This is what I do for a living…”

    And then we were done. We’d spent less than 18 hours in country & now were headed back across the border. – & were on day 8 of our trip. I couldn’t believe it. (Well, by this time, I could. But I was incredulous.) Most of the questions that we’d had about that summer’s trip remained unanswered. Stefan was more interested in setting up tennis matches with Fearless Leader than with talking through details, & no one seemed to have a problem with any of the nebulous details except for me. At some point, it made me wonder if I was the one with the issue, the only guy that didn’t GET it. Why wasn’t anyone else bothered by the lack of details? And why would we go forward with the trip with so many unknowns? Esp. to a place that was so potentially wrought with danger?

    Nate & Fearless Leader chatted away the trip back to Hungary in the YUGO while I sat in the back & stewed. Tried to figure out what I could do, should do about the trip I said I would help out with – & struggled through my own insecurities & lack of surety about my own identity… & wrestled with how I could not NOT go on the trip – & explained away the alarms going off in my head, things that I would now recognize as ‘red flags…’

    I missed theBean. I missed my kids. I was tired, emotionally drained, & confused. I took solace that our trip back to Budapest would be a quick one, & that we’d be flying back to Frankfurt to meet with Johannes for a day.

    Missions Development…#7

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    We did talk more, & some of the things that we dreamed about (mostly through asking questions,) provided a big part of the skeleton for what has morphed into my own (& Hillside’s) ‘missions philosophy…’ A few of the highlights:

  • What if a (the?) stated purpose of the mission trip was to cultivate the development of a long-term committed relationship with a people & place in a spot different than our own? And that the activities, ministry, & time spent were tailored to foster the support, encouragement, & strengthening of the local church?
  • What if a stated purpose of missions wasn’t solely to try to gain converts/decisions/statistics? What if any/all ‘ministry’ stuff would happen with the leadership & direction of the people who live there, & work within the context of their own culture, city, & place?
  • What if each church/people/group made a commitment to each other – to have a mutual relationship, as defined by a willingness to give/receive people – that people from both places would/could go back & forth?
  • What if instead of trying to go to as many different locales/missions destinations as possible, we were willing to commit to invest in the same spot, with the same people, over an extended period of time?
  • And what if we let the places we would go & commit to be made evident by God “opening doors,” revealing people bridges (relationship-based,) God’s making a way, & establishing “divine appointments?”… which are revealed/discovered by applying a ‘litmus test’ made up of questions, like those listed above…(as I was writing this, I noticed the word COMMIT show up in various forms, all over the place. Interesting.)

    • The German/Euro conference drew to a close, but we made some tentative plans to get back together to discuss some mission possibilities for the next year – Johannes & ICHTHYS, as a part of the German national ministry, were going to do an ‘all-country” outreach to at least 4 cities in Germany… & maybe we could be a part of it, a plan that included my two traveling companions too…

    Through some juggling of our itinerary, our fearless leader told us that we’d be coming back to Frankfurt in a couple of days, after doing our scouting trip to Romania – scouting out the land, seeing where we’d be, who we’d be with, etc…

    We made our way to the airport, & boarded a plane to… Budapest. As in Hungary. So here we were, 7 days into a 10 day trip, where the set purpose was to go to Romania in preparation for a mission we would be leading there just 3 short months away, & we still hadn’t quite arrived…

    But, we’d been to London. Birmingham. Newcastle. To Frankfurt. To Fulda. And now Budapest.

    We arrived in Budapest, one of Europe’s most beautiful cities, & took a taxi to the hotel where we’d be staying. Our stuff was unloaded, & “we” decided to do some site-seeing, which involved driving across the bridge between Buda & Pest, as well as seeing some of the things that the Romans had done to Hungary. Most of my memories about this revolve around frustration, inaction, & attempts to endure… without losing it, if possible.

    Next morning around 9, we rented a car (something the size of a YUGO if my memory serves me right,) & began the 220km (140 mile) voyage to Oradea, a city about 8 km inside the Romanian border. What should have taken us 2 ½ hours to drive ended up taking 9… we got lost on some Hungarian back roads; found a ‘restaurant’ based in someone’s home, at which we ordered… wait for it… wait for it… Hungarian goulash. By the grace of God, we came across an English speaker that directed us to the road we needed to cross into Romania – (NOTE: Hungarian is like no other language I’ve ever seen or studied… And there is no way to ‘fake’ one’s way through social situations like we’d been doing in England & Germany… it really was a harbinger of what was to come in Romania…)

    The two things that I remember the most about the road to Romania were:

  • The scores of naked/nearly naked women walking the ‘highway,’ selling their bodies to passersby… and the ever-present, always visible pimps that dominated their reality. It breaks my heart to think of it today.
  • The miles & miles of trucks lined up at the border, waiting to cross into Romania from Hungary… a line that we were fortunate to be able to avoid due to the lack of size of our car.

    • Somehow, again by the grace of God, we navigated our way to the main landmark in Oradea around 6 p.m., at which point we were met by our guide, Moises – a Romanian about 25, who took us to his church, the one we would be doing the outreach ‘with.’ A church service was beginning, but the 3 of us were ushered into the pastor’s office to meet him.

    I could hear the music playing in the sanctuary, signaling that worship had begun – I was irritated at the ongoing snafu that was our traveling situation; I was bothered with my traveling companions in the way that happens when you’re with someone 24/7. I was tired, & my mind was drifting… all the while, Moises was translating for the three of us & the pastor. I wanted to go to wherever it was we were staying & go to sleep, so I wasn’t paying attention to the conversation… what I remember was our Fearless Leader saying, “Sure he’ll do it! It’s all good!” I thought, “this can’t be good…”

    Fearless Leader said, “They’re going to introduce us to the congregation – & you’re going to play a song on the guitar. Isn’t that great?”

    Great was the last word that would have come to my mind to describe how I was feeling at that moment – I couldn’t believe that I’d been volunteered to play the guitar – this was only about 1 year after I’d started playing, & maybe 3 months from the time that I could make it through a song without stopping. Playing AND singing… well, that was always an adventure, & one that I’d only attempted within the safe confines of youth group with a bunch of students that loved me, no matter what. And now I was going to play a song, without any chord sheets, singing in English, in a place where I’d never been, didn’t know the language or customs, & felt absolutely zero confidence in my ability to pull it off.

    At that point, Moises told us, “It’s time,” & led us down a hallway to a door, which he opened… & we found that it opened up directly onto the stage. We were led to the back of the stage where there were several chairs waiting for us.

    It was a big church, with 3 levels or floors; it seated probably 1200 people, & was about ¾ full. I started to hyperventilate – I had never felt so naked before, & while Fearless Leader spoke to the crowd, through Moises, about who we were & what we were doing, I prayed hard. I prayed quick. I asked for deliverance, for rapture, for anything that would get me out of the situation.

    When I found I wasn’t going anywhere, I prayed that God would give me a song to sing – preferably one of those that I knew by heart… at that moment, I could barely remember my own name, let alone the chords & WORDS to a song… the worship guy brought his guitar over & gave it to me. I stood up, legs quaking, & put it on… the strap was too small, making me feel (look) like a mariachi band guitar player with my guitar all up in my face. He gave me a pick & pointed me to the front of the stage. It had to be the longest 10 feet I’d ever walked. The microphone was too high for me. To be heard through it, I had to point my head to the ceiling & sing up to it. Deep breath.

    Peace. Waves of peace. I started to strum… the lyrics & chords to In The Secret came to the front of my head. And I sang from my guts.

    At some point the song ended, & I handed off the guitar to someone, & made my way back to my chair, relieved. My knees were still shaking, & I was famished. And exhausted. And thankful that it was over… our host told us that shortly after the service, he’d take us to our hotel where we could rest/sleep, & get ready for the next day’s happenings… & the purpose of our entire trip, the scouting out of Oradea.

    Turns out the service lasted another 3 hours. 3 hours. 3 hours. And by the time we left, it was 10 p.m. By that point, I was almost delirious with exhaustion & hunger, & thought as we pulled up to the “Hotel Dacia” that at least our day was over. Little did I know that the fun was just beginning… ☺

    Missions Development…#6

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    I woke up the next morning feeling really ‘light’ in my spirit – rested too, but mostly light because I was feeling thankful that the heavy weight had been lifted off of my shoulders… a weight that I hadn’t even known I could be ‘done’ with. It was especially cool because I hadn’t even known that we’d be coming to Germany…

    My two American traveling companions & I went down to the ‘eating room’ & found an open table… after the ‘interesting’ foods (read: stuff I wouldn’t want to eat again even it was based on a dare,) I’d experienced during our time in England, I was overjoyed to have my 1st real experience with the German breakfast: dark, hearty, whole grain breads & rolls, baked that morning; what appeared to be salami, along with quite the variety of smoked meats & cheeses; Nutella. German coffee. Ahhh.

    In between stuffing my face, I ended up in conversation with the guy sitting on my left – turned out that he was a youth pastor as well – at ICHTHYS church – & his name was Johannes. Fortunately for me, he spoke great English, with a touch of American thrown in from a 7-month stint/internship at a church in the greater-Seattle area. We had a great time swapping stories, talking about life, fussball (soccer) & church stuff. From the first conversation, we connected at a deep level, & I really enjoyed his outlook on life, sense of humor, & ever-present laugh, which, when I close my eyes & concentrate, I can still hear in the recesses of my brain…

    We ended up skipping a couple of meetings (one of my favorite conference activities, by the way,) to hang out, talk, & visit the bistro for brats & Hefeweizen… by this time, I felt like we were getting to know each other fairly well, & that we could trust each other enough to speak openly & straightforwardly… So, I asked Johannes if he (& ICHTHYS) would consider the possibility of us coming on a mission to Frankfurt. He said “NO!” without even blinking – & then qualified his answer with an explanation & a few stories about teams from the US that he & ICHTHYS had hosted in previous years. The bottom line was that the aftermath of the teams was anything BUT life-giving & beneficial to the host church…

    Too many times they had been left holding the bag financially for some unforeseen & unplanned shortfall. The name/reputation of the local church had been dragged through the mud by some short-sighted & inconsiderate actions by someone on the mission team; the insistence of the team at doing their own program/method/ministry came at the expense of the long-term relationship & respect the hosts had attempted to cultivate with their friends, neighbors, & people of their city, people who the team didn’t see as “people” but as potential notches on the proverbial missions statistics belt; the hosts had often their hospitality criticized/belittled as “not being up to standard” (aka different) than what the ethnocentric Americans were used to at home… as though the ‘foreign country’’ should have been blessed & overjoyed just to receive the Americans, & like a good restaurant/hotel, should have done everything they could to accommodate their ‘guests.’ And there was no offer of continued relationship beyond the cursory (& known to be meaningless) “I’ll write.” So, rather than “do” missions in that manner, they didn’t host American (or Canadian) teams anymore…

    Curiosity must have gotten the best of him, because he asked, “What would you do if you came?” So I asked, “It depends – what would you like us to do? Is there something that you’re already doing that we could help with?”

    He smiled & said, “Hmm. Perhaps we can talk about this some more.”

    Missions Development… #5

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    I decided that if I wanted to know what was going on, I needed to ask more questions & ‘put myself’ in the know on what was happening – not leaving it up to chance that I would find out, which meant taking on a more active (vs. passive) role in our travels – something that was uncomfortable for me to do, esp. as I saw myself as a ‘sidekick’ on the trip, not as the leader, coordinator, or planner. But, I was nervous, & being out of my culture/context in the UK had been tough enough – now we were headed to a place where the primary language spoken wasn’t English; it was German. I had known that we’d be able to stagger through just about any situation in the UK with a modicum of difficulty (which we’d proved by surviving a little ‘run-in’ we had with a policeman at a roundabout.)

    I had no idea or assurance that we’d be able to do the same in Germany. None of us spoke German, & I/we had very little idea of what was coming. A few questions helped me discover that our plans for Frankfurt & the Foursquare Europe conference had been made ‘tentatively,’ which meant:

  • Somebody should be there at the airport to pick us up & make sure we get to where we’re going.
  • We don’t know the identity of that somebody, or have any phone numbers or contact information in case the ‘somebody’ doesn’t show.
  • We know that there will be Foursquare pastors & leaders from several countries in Europe, so there should be plenty of good opportunities for connecting.
  • We’ll be there for a couple of days.
  • That’s it.

    • Ouch. I should have known this might be the case, esp. because I knew that our leader’s life motto was “it’s all good.” (Truly, which is really funny looking back on the situation. In the middle of it, not so much ☺ …) It would have been prudent to have insisted on getting some details in advance of going; but now we were in it, so rather than get aggro, start accusing & assigning blame for the situation we were in, it was time to communicate – to get on the same page – to do what we could to prepare for the unknown. So we talked – & all took responsibility for helping us to navigate through the remainder of the trip until the point where we got home, me to my wife & 3 kids, all of whom I was missing more & more every second.

    Our arrival in Frankfurt, traveling through customs, & getting our bags were all uneventful… it also brought us to the point of no return, the unknown. We headed into the main section of the terminal, which borders the baggage carousel room, & started walking. With no known destination. Just looking for somebody. I prayed. Hard.

    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guy holding a sign with 1 word on it: ICHTHYS. From a missions video about Foursquare Germany that I’d seen in 1989, I knew that there was a American who’d planted a church in Germany, & that it was called ICHTHYS. I also knew that the word ICHTHYS was one that all kinds of churches & groups used – but I didn’t care. I grabbed my 2 traveling companions (as the other 2 mysterious travelers were… somewhere. No idea where they were for the entirety of our time in Germany,) & went over to the guy with the sign & asked: “Are you looking for some Americans to take to a Foursquare conference?” He was. YES! The elation I felt at that moment was indescribable. There was a tangible sense of encouragement that swept over me, a reminder from God that He was with us. That He was answering our prayers. And through all of the messed up, nebulous travel plans & snafu, He was in the middle of it, with us. With me. Yay. I hugged the guy, which I’m sure must have freaked him out.

    He took us on a series of trains. We changed 3 or 4 times, & then he told us we’d have about an hour to get to our destination: Fulda. A-ha. While my other traveling companions talked happily amongst themselves, I pumped our guide for info, & asked him everything that I could think of. It turned out that the guy was just going to be our guide to the conference; he wasn’t staying, & knew nothing about what was happening, other than he was to deliver us to the conference center, & that the only people at the conference center (aka: a hostel) would be people who were attending the conference. Ahhh. Nice. I allowed myself to let down, & noticed that I’d been on edge for as long as I could remember. For the first time in days, I knew rest & a bit of peace.

    The train station in Fulda was only a short walk (translation: a mile or 2) from the hostel – I can remember walking up the hill towards the hostel, just as twilight was settling in. It was beautiful… & there were small groups of people hanging around outside. And they were smoking. Chain-smoking. Almost all of them had a beer or a drink in their hand. As I made my way inside, I saw the main meeting room, & it was full of people, many of them speaking English (because of the multitude of nations represented, the main language used between people of other nations was English. Yes!)

    All around the room, the clusters of people were engaged in deep talks. And many of them were drinking too. I can remember thinking, “I thought that everyone here was here for the conference… hmm. Guess not.” In retrospect, it cracks me up, not because I was mortified at being around people who were drinking, or because I had something personally against drinking; its just that my experience with Christians & the church was that no one drank even the smallest amount of alcohol or smoked in public… esp. not pastors.

    After we found somebody to help us get registered, & I found the room where I’d be sleeping, I went down to the main meeting room to mingle. And to see if I could find some of the other attendees for the conference. I found the lady who registered us & asked her if she could tell me where the rest of the people for the Foursquare Europe conference were? She looked at me, puzzled, & waved her hand around as if to say, “they’re all here, all around. You’re in it.”

    I laughed, the kind of laugh that comes deep from within. It was my response to the very real ‘culture shock’ that I was experiencing firsthand. I laughed because I was being confronted with a situation so different from my past ‘church’ experiences… different from everything I’d been taught & everything I’d learned by observation about what real holiness & righteousness was… here were men & women that obviously loved God & were giving their lives in the context of pastoring… & they were also drinking beer & wine, in public even. I laughed because in that moment, I was hit with the realization that much of my experience with God/Christianity in the US had had an American cultural basis & bias… which was something that I’d sensed & been wrestling through for years.

    Over the years, I’d observed that a large chunk of the American Christian world believed that drinking of any sort was the kind of thing that people needed to be delivered from… for many, 1 beer was at the very least a gateway to all sorts of bondage & trouble for the ‘drinker,’ & at most was a stumbling block being placed in the way of others, tripping them up with a ‘false sense of freedom.’ I knew of people on staff at churches & attending Bible colleges, that had to sign pledges saying they wouldn’t drink even a little.

    I’d read the Bible & knew, deep down, that drinking beer, wine, etc. wasn’t the real issue & didn’t make someone more or less holy – & that the real issue was with a lifestyle of drunkenness. (If you’re brave &/or a glutton for punishment, you can read a series of blogs I wrote on the topic of Christians & alcohol HERE.) I also knew that, at home, in my city, I felt it was ok for me to drink beer (didn’t like wine at that point,) but also ‘knew’ that I was supposed to keep it quiet, & that many, many were against it. I wasn’t supposed to talk about it, or drink where people might see me doing it, & ‘be caused to stumble.’

    But in a moment, I felt a freedom, I felt a burden lift – & knew that if I was going to be authentic, be real, then I would be the same person all the time. Contending for freedom (NOTE: not being ‘pro-alcohol’, which I have been accused of, but that’s for another story,) & also not submitting to a yoke of slavery hidden by self-righteous religiousness.

    I laughed because I felt the presence of the LORD. And a joy. And a renewed perspective on me, my life, & the journey I was on. And I knew that I was glad that I was in Germany. And that God, & the kingdom of God were bigger & ‘more real’ than I’d ever imagined.