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:

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.

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:

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:

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… ☺

I was in process & in conflict – & knew that I didn’t want to take another mission to Mexico like we’d done with the “Johnsons”… knew that I didn’t want to go & ‘serve’ American missionaries, people that were seemingly working the system for their own financial gain…

I remember trying to explain to others what I was feeling, & being frustrated by it… knowing that the person listening to me was frustrated too. Felt misunderstood, seen as a hard-hearted person who didn’t care for those less fortunate that me… I was a youth pastor, after all, a person who’s job it is to go on missions. And to take others with him. It seems that I was asking questions that others hadn’t considered, or worse, considered to be meaningless, asinine, stupid, irrelevant. Looking back, I recognize it as God doing something creative in me – birthing something – at the time, though, I felt conflicted & frustrated in a way that I couldn’t explain.

The more I thought about it, the more I wondered: if we were going to do a mission trip somewhere, what would we do? (vs. just knowing the “not do’s”. ) This thinking was a little too abstract or hypotheticalfor me – an idea hit me – personalize it. What would I want someone coming to my town to know/ask/be:

SIDE NOTES: How much damage occurs to the local context when a group comes with no vested interest to do their thing – leaving WHAT in the wake of their visit? Why would a group come to a place & expect to be shuttled around & doted on while there – at the expense of the local staff’s own work & vacation?

After the fiasco with the “Johnson Family”, Big Brick #2 in the foundation & development of my own ‘missions’ philosophy is the infamous (so famous its IN-famous) trip to Romania.

The district youth director for our area wanted to lead a district wide youth trip to Eastern Europe – & his boss, the district supervisor asked me to be a part of the planning & preparation – & also to go as a support for the district: I said yes. Some pertinent info:

So the day finally came – I left my wife home with 3 kids, all under the age of 5, with theWeez as a baby less than 4 months old. I also left her no itinerary, no contact information, no nothing. Except a leaky roof. Ooops. Got on our plane & flew from SF to… London? Isn’t that in the UK? Umm. I thought we were going to Romania.

We are – but we’re going to be in England for a couple of days first…

Turns out there may have been a plan or an itinerary after all – but only our leader knew it. We went from connection to connection in a manner that seemed completely random to me – but that may have been the jetlag… Day 1 we rented a car & drove a couple of hours to Birmingham… & stopped by to meet with a couple of guys from a church we may or may not have had an appointment at. Ate Indian food. Went to a youth/college meeting where we sat on the floor in the dark with about 25 Brits – & worshipped to the sound of a keyboard… it was the first time I’d ever heard/sang “I Could Sing of Your Love Forever” & Deliriou5? Amazing – as was our time with our new friends.

Spent the night at the house of the youth pastor, Pip. It’d make you laugh to say “Pip,” if he wasn’t such a burly dude… I was surprised to see him wearing the same clothes he’d had on the day before. I truly was learning something new everyday – like the cost of showering & washing clothes was high, so high that people were economical with the use of water. Hmm.

We were leaving for the next leg of our trip, (finally to Romania!) & left some of our bags at Pip’s house- as we were on our way out, he asked if he could pray for me. He prayed a couple of things that still linger in my consciousness:

First off, I never wanted to be a pastor – & secondly, this guy didn’t know me at all… which is why it bugged me that he prayed it – not that he was putting a trip over on me, but because… I didn’t want to be a pastor. And had no desire to ever become one. I knew too many of them, & they didn’t look like they were having that much fun. I didn’t ‘fit’ the mold… & really didn’t want to try to cram myself into the mold, to become something different than I felt that I was.

We left Birmingham & drove to… Newcastle. So much for our trip to Romania. Turns out our fearless leader had a contact through his former church & a ministry called CI & there was a CI meeting happening that night in Newcastle. And we were going.

The meeting was based out of a college lecture room – the worship was raucous & the people were mostly of college age, & were all over the place. Literally bouncing up & down, rolling on the floor. One of the more exuberant mid-renewal meetings I’d been a part of. What stood out to me the most were two things:

By this time, I was pretty amazed, blown away even. 2 strangers on 2 different days telling me the same thing – maybe this part of the trip, chaotic & seemingly unplanned, a challenge to me on my most basic levels of preparation, was actually being used by God for another, different, formative purpose for me.

We drove back down to Birmingham to take a flight for… Frankfurt? Turns out, there was a Foursquare Europe event taking place at a camp ‘somewhere’ outside of Frankfurt, & seeings as we were this close, we should probably go & check it out, to see if there were any people we could connect with.

At this time, we’d been in the UK for 3 or 4 days – I hadn’t communicated with theBean at all – didn’t know how to make a call, didn’t know where I was, really, & knew nothing of where we were going, or where we’d be tomorrow.

This ‘scouting trip’ both birthed & confirmed something in me about missions:

Next – to Frankfurt…

The next place I really remember being shaped in what missions is to me happened shortly after getting into volunteering at our church to work with Jr & Sr High youth. One of the guys that helped us with the youth group was an OB/GYN (aka “The Good Doctor”), & had a history of being a part of of a mission to Baja. So, we ended up backing into an opportunity that sounded really good – & was an opportunity to get our feet wet in cross-cultural missions.

The mission was to a little town on the coast of Baja, below Ensenada about 90 minutes, called San Quintin. The place was actually a combo of a church, hospital, & home base for the pastor & doctors at the hospital. The Good Doctor volunteered his time & skills for a week a year to help the hospital out with mass numbers of cases in a short period of time – cases beyond the experience of the local docs, & also non-emergency cases that just didn’t have time to get done otherwise. This environment allowed any students/others on the trip that wanted to check out working in a hospital to do so, often in a very hands on way (baby delivery, stitches, etc. Yes.)

The rest of us did work projects around the home base every morning – for the local church, helping out with clean up of the grounds, & some very amateur (yet very skillfully designed by the locals) building projects. In the afternoons, the majority of us would go to a nearby “migrant workers” camp – a fenced in collection of housing units, made up of row after row of shacks, made of corrugated metal, each sharing a common roof & dirt floor. The only plumbing available was a pump handled water spout in the middle of the camp, & the primitive latrines were often a trench at the edge of the camp.

Most of the people staying in the camps came from Oaxaca & Chiapas, the southern tip of Mexico, in the Yucatan peninsula. Most, if not all, came from an indigenous-Indian heritage, meaning indigenous dialect/language, very few spoke some rudimentary Spanish, & none spoke English. They lived a poverty that was poorer than poor… poor to a level that I’d never seen. I can remember as clear as yesterday thinking about what Jesus said, “The poor we’ll have with us always…” & crying out inside “dear God, the injustice…”.

It wasn’t uncommon for both parents to be working in the fields, chasing the harvest of whatever happened to be ripe at the moment – (hence the name “Migrant” ) – leaving the camps full of kids taking care of kids – 3 year olds taking care of babies, & the occasional nursing mom caring for the rest.

We did a VBS (vacation Bible school,) meaning we attempted to contextualize the gospel using hand motions, & acts of kindness; knowing all the while that we weren’t understood – but that the clothes & shoes we provided went to good use. Made me wonder if Jesus comes through in situations like this… the images are burned into my memory… the poverty & our helplessness… what could we do? Provide free labor, meet felt needs, & try to help in a seemingly hopeless situation?

One of the clearest pictures of the love of Jesus I’ve ever seen happened in a migrant camp. A teenager, a beautiful young lady from our church, (AP) came upon a little one that couldn’t have been older than my niece (13 months) – the baby was wearing a diaper that she had to have been wearing for several days due to the state of the diaper, the duct tape that had been used to secure it to the baby, & the very obvious overflow of dried excrement & urine all over the baby & her clothes.

AP gathered 3 or 4 other girls to help her, & they spent the better part of an hour soothing the baby’s tears, then cleaning the baby up, putting on a new diaper, fresh clothes, socks & shoes. Finding a sibling of the baby to give more diapers to, more clothes. Wipes. I watched & wept. They didn’t care about the mess, getting dirty. They jumped into a hopeless situation & didn’t ask, “where are the NEXT diapers going to come from?” They just did what they could – & loved that baby. I believe that we will have a reunion in heaven with that baby, & that AP & the others will see her again, & they will know each other, & rejoice.

Over the next years, we took several trips to San Quintin, & saw great relationships built within our team. Each time, we came away with a sense of gratitude for what we have at home; having been confronted with an incomprehensible poverty & how others live; questioning what we call necessities for our Christianity to be lived out, personally & corporately.

I always found myself comparing the message of the gospel as preached in my American context, to what is preached where we were – would the gospel message of the USA be understood or even relevant? It seemed to me that outside of our local, 1st world context, a lot of it just slipped through the cracks… If that was the case, that was not ok… wasn’t the gospel something that is applicable & real to everyone on the planet – regardless of background, education, culture, country of origin etc? & shouldn’t the stuff that was ‘important’ cross-cultural barriers?

Interesting to look back on my own thinking – missions clearly in that context had a felt-needs application. Often it seemed that there was no real connecting with those that we were ministering to/with… part of it was due to the language barrier, but to me it seems that it may have been more of a ‘great white hope brings their stuff, $, & resources” relationship… an unequal relationship based on superior/inferior economic status; a dependent relationship.

Made me think & wonder: How do the locals think about us after we’re gone? What sort of things do we ‘help’ them to learn in order to get our $/resources, to have a team come & visit? How often have we downloaded our ministry methods, (aka “the right way”) that people do things in the States that they should be doing too – stuff that is 100% method based, not about message?

I am eternally indebted to the “Johnson” family for a quantum leap in my formative missions thinking process. They were an American missionary family that had relocated to the Baja. From my observation, it seemed that they’d found a good life – one where they could minister to the locals by serving as a liaison for teams (& $) from the US to the local churches & pastors;to get missions support from the US, from those that couldn’t/didn’t come to save the locals. All the while living a very comfortable life in the Baja – satellite dish, fishing & skiing boat, & nice cars. At the same time, hosting the occasional American team (at a cost of $50/head,) so that the team could do some VBS work… & also be a part of the beautification, landscaping, & clean-up of their property, affectionately dubbed the “Johnson Family Compound.”

BTW: Lest you think I’m treating this too harshly – a couple of our days of VBS work in the migrant camps were cancelled because our guide, Mr. Johnson, decided to take the boat out for some fishing instead. And to watch game 7 of the NBA Finals. Truly. And in place of going to VBS, we got to listen to Mrs. Johnson talk to us for 3 hours about “putting on Christ.”

I know that I saw through this – & that the students on the trip did too. Made me feel sick – people working a system of inequity, for personal gain (didn’t Paul write something about that.?)

I determined that I wasn’t going to be a part of something like this in the future – & therefore, needed a clearer guiding philosophy to be able to know what to say Yes & No too.

Here’s some things that came up:
• Every trip needs a ‘scouting trip’ – where the details of the time in-country would be checked, double-checked & worked out, leaving as little to interpretation as possible.
• Coming as equals, not as financial saviours
• Has to be giving & receiving – from both sides.
• Based on relationship – not a one hit wonder (going 1 place, 1 time, then looking for another place to go “next time’)
• And what else???

Coming up:
• Adventures at Street Church in Vancouver, Canadia
• The Russian mob in Romania
• A chance meeting in Germany

Rather than type the whole title out every time, I think I’ll just call it the ‘Missions Development’ series… Also, this isn’t going to be a blow by blow of every “missions experience” I’ve had – more like the Kodak moments that have been most instrumental in crystallizing my ‘philosophy’, values, & manner of living it out – so I’ll spend some good time in some places, & completely ignore other stuff. But that’s ok, because really, blogging is for me & my processing. If others read it & get some sort of insight into me, life, &/or other things of significance or minutiae, so be it. English-language dictators beware: there is a lot of tense & person jumping ahead…

I was there in June ’86, very shortly after the big E earthquake that happened on my (& Jeni’s!) birthday, 1985. Mass destruction, buildings in rubble everywhere. And a bustling city, full of life, all around it. I’d never seen “modern Mexico” before… I was used to the 3rd world-type portrayal of the country/people seen in pop-culture, Zorro, & the Tostitos/Doritos commercials. Which existed, usually right alongside a 1st-world city. What blew me away was the seeming absence of any sort of middle-class at all. People seemed to either be filthy rich (marble garage floors? Yes. I kid you not.) or filthy & poor, without access even to life’s basics, & I’m not talking about cable. Gross generalities to be sure, but this is seen through the lens of memory.

What sort of gospel is applicable to both extremes? The rich & the poor? My preconceived ideas failed me. The largely cultural, method, & technology based gospel of the “world inside my head” was exposed for what it was – a little of Jesus, & a lot of personal preference. A Christ, & a Christianity created in my own image. I am lost. Inadequate. Exposed. Finally seen in a mirror that shows all the details, excruciating though it may be.

I don’t remember how many people were on the mission trip, but I know that I was in a bit of a fog – confronted with my small Jesus, knowing that I needed a completely different world-view, & more importantly, to see Jesus as He really is, not just captured on the pages of my Bible as a series of anecdotes & historical events. In retrospect, I think one of the main things that I struggled with was how impersonal our ‘relationship’ was shaping up to be – with the people we had come to ‘minister’ to, let alone minister with.

We stood in a group & handed out tracts outside the soccer stadium where the semi-finals & finals of the Copa Mundial were held. I watched many of the people, people from all over the world, throw away what they’d been given, often without even looking at it. I thought about what we were doing, in the 3rd person, & wondered: if a group came to Reno to do what we were doing, what would I do? I’d probably ignore them & if I took their material, I’d throw it away too. Because the message, separated from knowing the messengers, was really, really hard to hear, esp. when it was spoken/delivered in a culture & language irrelevant to the receivers…

We did a couple of work projects in a ‘small’ (150K) suburb of La Ciudad. Did a few open air presentations, meaning we sang some songs in Spanish, did some skits (which I remember as both painful & awesome somehow), & then a fluent Spanish speaker would give a short message & an altar call. And then we’d pray with any people that wanted it. In the poorer areas, people hung out for ‘prayer,’ which meant that they were looking for a handout – something to meet their very real physical needs.

One thing that really was truly awesome was the soccer games. They started in one barrio when my cousin John & I were hiding in the neighborhood around our whole teams ‘home base.’ We were hiding so we didn’t have to do the manual labor at the main house (latrine duty) – & came across about 10 guys playing soccer on a ‘field’ strewn with rocks – but with two very real “soccer goals.” We played, sometimes well, sometimes not so well – & ended up attracting a massive crowd of locals that wanted to see the two ‘gabachos’ playing their national sport. The noise from the game ended up drawing a large chunk of people from our team, people that had been sent out to find the two lost Americans. Our team leaders frustration turned to joy when he saw that in the soccer game, more people had gathered than we’d seen in our previous week of ministry ops. Interesting…

In my rear-view, it looked a lot like American Christian Imperialism, where a brand of little “c” christianity was exported, message, style, & methods, to a less-fortunate (read: poorer) group of people who needed to have our good news brought to them. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it looks or sounds – I know that the motives of our team weren’t evil or bad – more ignorant, or naive. Definitely self-serving, without realizing it. Like a baby is self-serving because she wants pastries all the time & will use what/whomever to get to where the pastries are. I see/saw our mission as a way of serving ourselves, to have an experience, stories to tell. Knowing that what we were doing would ‘play well’ in the context of the christian world. Because we were helping those less fortunate, & bringing christianity to the natives. Whew.

I had, & maybe others did too, feelings of fruitlessness – where were the masses flocking to Jesus? We were doing it “right,” right? I had lots of questionings: is this what missions is? And what happens to the people who HAVE responded while we’re here when we go home? Is there any people or place that they could be connected to, church-wise? Hmm.

On that note, fortunately for me, the “Reno team” was staying with the brother of a dear friend that had relocated from Mexico to Reno… having 10-15 Americans staying at their house was a major opportunity for hospitality for them, & they absolutely relished it. We’d have breakfast together, us & about 4-10 members of their family, all of whom took time off of work at their very real, just as important as we had at home, jobs. To be with us, spend time together, & to shuttle us around the biggest city in the world. Then, late at night, we’d get home (after they picked us up from the mission site, of course,) & it was snack time – talking around the living room, getting to know each other in a way that only happens when you’re cooped up together in the same house/place for an extended period of time.

Our last night together, we even put on a cross-cultural talent show & spent the evening cracking each other up. How surprised was I to find that two family members ended up giving their hearts to Jesus as a part of the evening – not from our presentation, but because of the relationship (one that still exists,) & tangible love of Christ that had somehow leaked out over our two weeks there.

At the time, I didn’t see the stark contrast between the two ways of life – maybe because the hanging out with the Mexican family was too normal – & fun. Definitely not the kind of thing that people in the US would give you money to sponsor a “mission trip” for.