We used our sabbatical to travel to Athens to help serve refugees. Perhaps the greatest surprise was the way we were shaped by being there. The purpose of our trip was not to have a particular experience or receive a benefit. The motivation was concern for those in crisis and a desire to do something. But service is never one way. When humans encounter each other in relationship we are all changed. Just because we went as volunteer helpers does not exclude the potential that we would benefit also. In God's economy we are all beggars helping other beggars to find bread. It is not surprising that service would be the place that he meets us and changes us.
Athens was different. It was different in ways that were hard and ways that were good. It offered a different perspective on life. Because of that, I think that I became more aware of the pitfalls of secular western life. The pitfall that I keep thinking about most is called control. One of the defining features of life in America is the expectation that we should be able to control things. This has some benefits, but it also has some toxic side effects, many of which are hard to see. Life in Athens was one big experiment in having no control over things. It was frustrating at first, but it was a climate in which healthy spirituality could flourish. I think that the crowning belief of all secular culture is that humans are the primary agents of control. With God out of the picture, we have no one to blame but ourselves and our political opponents when things go wrong. This has the benefit of stirring people to action, but without the boundary of divine authority the impulse to control can become all consuming. American culture chants the mantra of self determination with rhythmic regularity. "You can do it. Follow your dreams. Make it happen. You can do it..." When you live inside of it you seldom see it. As they say, "If you want to know what water is like, don't ask the fish." But life in Athens exposed all of my control impulses. A different rhythm played in my head and challenged me in a new way. Instead of the drumbeat of self determination, I felt the repeated blows of powerlessness. At the beginning of the trip I wrote about my experience of entering a "squat" (an unofficial refugee housing unit) and feeling the nagging sense of powerlessness. I wanted to do something. Fix something. Bring something. But there was nothing to do, or fix, or bring. I could only be there. And listen. And pray. And smile. And receive a cup of diluted tea in a small Styrofoam cup. Instead of control, God's purpose was for me to be present with someone in their suffering. Other aspects of life warred against my illusion of control. The entire Greek economy is out of control. They are a small nation who feels blown about on a stormy sea. Their resentment towards Germany probably stems from the feeling that Germany controls their destiny more than they do. Unemployment is high and domestic life is challenging. Life is spent waiting for subway trains to show up. And sometimes when the operators strike they don't show up at all. The refugee crisis as a whole is beyond control. The millions of displaced people who are living in terrible conditions around the world are the result of layer upon layer of sin and violence. There are no easy solutions. If you gave me a magic wand and told me to change any policy right now, I don't have confidence that I could make things better. On a small scale, most of our refugee friends are waiting for someone else to tell them what will happen in their life. Waiting to find out where they will go. If they will go somewhere. Waiting for a border to open. Waiting for the refugee service to answer the phone. Waiting for food to be served. Waiting for a seemingly endless war to end. Waiting. And there is nothing I can do to fix it. Our refugee friends usually mark each future hope with the Arabic saying, "If God wills", and each statement about their current condition by saying, "Thanks be to God." It is a verbal reminder that they do not control their lives. Greeks speak differently and, of course, have very different beliefs but they also are far more likely than we are to believe that life is uncontrollable. There are many negatives to this life outlook. It discourages activism and can lead people to be passive in the face of injustice. If my ministry was in a different place, I would probably need to think a lot about the ways that the Bible teaches the dignity of human responsibility and our call to act under God as responsible agents for change. But that is not my ministry. The American view of human dignity is no longer something that exists "under God" and as such our quest for control knows no constraint. Crawling outside of the water that I regularly swim in has helped me to see the ways in which our insistence on human control produces toxic side effects. Like all good things, when human power is pried loose from the framework of God it becomes distorted. When human agency exists in the cold bare universe of the secular West it grows and shifts. What is fundamentally good can become monstrous. To use religious language, it becomes idolatrous. Our desire for self determination shapes the way that we do life in this fallen world. It causes the focus of our vision to gravitate inward towards ourselves. For the Christian this leads us away from dependence on God, prayer and worship. This is disastrous for the life of faith. But it also has negative consequences that are not strictly spiritual. Obsessing over control invites the illusion that all problems are fixable. Or to be more specific, that all problems are easily fixable. We prefer easy solutions and we are inclined to think that the reason a problem has not been fixed is because of our political enemies. Stepping away from American politics for a little bit has helped me to see how easily people of all political persuasions do this. We assume a simple solution and then fortify our narrative by blaming our political opponents for what goes wrong. I think this has produced a shrill and vindictive political spirit. It is also a cheap substitute for real service. Sharing life with refugees was a wonderful antidote to simplistic thinking. There are no easy solutions. There are many hard problems. And there are people that we can know and relate to in the midst of it. Instead of blaming and ranting, each day offered the opportunity to enter into the mess and share life with people living in uncontrollable and uncomfortable circumstances. Obsessing over control also invites us to create lives that are controllable. We have the freedom and affluence in America to avoid uncomfortable people and uncomfortable problems. We can control who we live near, who we go to school with and who we work with. There are many, many Americans that live painful lives that are beyond easy fixes. They are surviving. Their reality challenges our illusion of control. But we can avoid them. Or blame their problems on our political opponents. Some days I didn't want to enter into the lives of suffering people in Athens. I don't want to make this blog post sound like I am trumpeting our heroism. I didn't feel like that at all. We worked with extraordinarily brave and committed people and followed them into service. Sometimes I followed begrudgingly. But what I am reflecting on most is the surprising realization that sharing life with refugees was beneficial for me spiritually. I prayed more regularly and more passionately. I looked with hope to God for the coming of his kingdom. I spent more time thinking about how to be with people faithfully. I was reminded that God is not asking us to control the universe. That job position is filled and applications are not being received. Instead, he is asking us to be faithful in the midst of what he is doing. As i look back on the summer, I think that there was a turning point for me. As the ancient Greek doctor Hippocrates said, there was a moment of crisis. Rereading my journal I am reminded of the time early in the summer when the adjustment was particularly challenging. The tone of the entries are full of despair. I wrote often of a lack of control and feeling powerless. Then, on July 2, I wrote, "I have no hope of being fruitful here unless God works." I believed that and I prayed with fervent desire for God to break in. And he did. Now, through the clear vision of hindsight, I can see that many blessings of God were waiting just around the corner. God is faithful and he is active. He works for those who wait for him (Is 64:4). Letting go of control, I began to move forward in faith. Most importantly, I came to love people who lived in uncontrollable life. That changes you. Yes, we are endowed with dignity and called to use our ability to fix the world around us. But, unless it is submitted to God's divine authority that ability can become monstrous. It will distort the way we relate to people and the way that we think about ourselves. The people I worked with did many things to help those who were suffering. Their approach was not fatalistic. But the starting point was relationship. The starting point was entering into a difficult situation and then looking up to our heavenly Father in dependent prayer. It is a very different approach to doing life. It is a life of faith. Many of my American friends know how to live this dependent life of faith. They are not as easily swayed by the chants of self reliance. But I needed the crisis in Greece to remind me. Now, back in the United States of America, I can already feel the toxic mist of self determination seeping into the windows of my bedroom. I can't fully describe it, but I can feel it. The temptation to say that I can do it on my own. I don't need God. That human flourishing lies just on the other side of our authentic self expression. This is a tempting myth for the affluent and the healthy and those fortunate to live in relatively stable countries. But for the vast majority of people in the world that lie is quickly exposed as a cruel joke. Life is hard and it is not easily controlled. World problems are massively complex. Our lives are altered by large scale events far beyond our control. The hope that we need lies outside of our own abilities. And that, I believe, is a tremendous benefit that comes from sharing life with refugees. We are safely home and recovering from our trip. It has been nice visiting with family and I look forward to being at Church on Sunday and seeing City Reformed!
We are sorting through our clean clothes and our dirty clothes. We are also sorting through our memories and trying to process what has happened over the past two months. I have already been asked some questions, and I know that many more will follow. Athens already feels like a world away, but a glance at photos and a story retold make the memories vivid again. The summer made an impact on our lives in a number of ways. Perhaps it was most surprising to feel how much we began to miss Greece as we were beginning to leave. I found myself marking every occasion with the adjective "last." Last swim in the Mediterranean Sea. Last walk up past the Acropolis. Last dinner with friends. Last time on the subway. Here is my attempt to gather some up some of the things that make our summer special. 1.) Regular ministry contact with friends and coworkers. Our daily life was lived in close proximity with other people - our refugee friends, our Greek coworkers and our overseas volunteers. My total daily contact with people was different, but I saw a smaller number of people more often. And we had a clearly defined ministry goal that helped to focus our energy in the same direction. It is a lot of fun to be part of a team. We worked with several amazing young women this summer and was honored to serve as part of Servant Group International. There was no complaining and minimal team conflict. On our last day we "handed the baton" off to 4 new SGI volunteers. Two young men and a family of four. I watched them take not just the metaphorical baton, but pick up the mop and the toilet scrub brush. I know that we left the SGI portion of the ministry in good hands. Eleni and Alex from the Greek church poured themselves out in sacrificial service without stop. They have opened their doors and opened their hearts. The cost has been high, but the fruitfulness is beautiful. Our translators from Egypt, Syria, and Afghanistan took logged long hours and took high risks. I feel special friendship with these folks, but due to the sensitive nature of their work, it is best not to name them online. They have my deepest respect. Jesus said, "The greatest among you will be those who serve." I worked with some truly great people this summer! 2.) Seeing God's Kingdom growing in surprising places. In the midst of a massive refugee crisis, an economic crisis, and political upheaval in Europe... God is working in powerful ways. Jesus summarizes this best: "The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls, who, on finding one pearl of great value, went and sold all that he had and bought it." (Matt 13:45-46) Nothing is better than seeing the Kingdom grow. 3.) Life was quite simple. This is not necessarily repeatable and all things get complicated over time. But we had no car, limited internet access, few bills and lots more free time than normal. I seldom had to multi-task. We did a lot of hard work, but when we were done... we were done. Of course there is a hard side to this same thing. Sometimes we felt trapped without a car, living in a small apartment. But on the whole, the simplicity of life was refreshing. 4.) Family Life. Again, there were challenges that came from spending so much family time together and in living in our small apartment. But the kids shared in our ministry more than normal and we had many great adventures together. I am sure that I will look back on those two months spent in a cramped apartment and in the hot streets of Athens as some of the best family memories of my life. 5.) Refugee Friends. We made many wonderful friends with people that we formally knew only as "refugees." What had formally been merely a statistic... has now become the faces and names of people that we love. We all share a common humanity. Many of us share friendship. Some of us share a common place in God's story of redemption. I will forever treasure these memories. 6.) Good food. This list combines both the profound and the mundane. But, the Greek food was general quite good and the Syrian food that we ate frequently was also delicious. We had fresh bread nearly every day from a bakery that was about 30 yards from our house. The produce was fresh and inexpensive. Gyros for 2 Euros could be found on nearly every corner. Our friends Eleni and Sezar are fabulous cooks! 7.) The Mediterranean Sea. It is really beautiful. Warm and clear. Mostly quite clean. (Except for after large storms.) Salty and bouyant. No sharks. No jelly fish where we were swimming. The beaches stretched for miles and many were accessible from public transportation. This was magical. 8.) Old Stuff. Ancient ruins were everywhere in Athens. We lived close to the Acropolis and the Areopagus. I love history and Greece has history by the shovelful. My morning jog would traverse the same streets walked by Socrates, Aristotle, Plato, the Apostle Paul, Pericles, etc. Greeks remember their place in world dominating empires (Alexander's and the Byzantine), and they remember what is is like to live as a conquered people (part of the Ottoman Empire for 400 years.) This gives you a different perspective on life. 9.) A vision of a broader world. Not only did Athens have a deep history, but it sits at the modern day crossroads of the world and its daily social interactions connect you to people who come from the far corners of the earth. Tourists the world over flock to Athens for their holiday. Low paying jobs still attract workers from Africa, Southeast Asia, and Easter Europe. Refugees from the Middle East and Afghanistan have fled there trying to make their way to a new life. In reality, the ligua franca of the region is English, so were able to talk to nearly everyone. 10.) A break from the social wars of America. It was refreshing to be away from the intensity of social and cultural upheaval in America. Greece was in many ways a bit more of a traditional culture and while they were wrestling with their own social change, much of it was hidden from non-Greek speakers. The problems are different, they don't feel so personal and honestly... as an outsider you can miss much of it. 11.) Perspective. Stepping outside of your own world allows you to see things more clearly. I hope to write in the near future about some reflections on the challenges that Christians face in my own country. But for now I happy to look back on a wonderful summer. I am deeply and profoundly thankful for God's grace and mercy on our family during this sabbatical. I am also deeply and profoundly thankful for a church that sent us out into an exciting and life changing sabbatical - and for my fellow staff at CRPC who covered for me in my absence. This was a very special gift to us! We arrived at Moscow at 4 am and had a 6 hr layover. Put down a blanket and slept on the floor. A tiny taste of life as a displaced person. Fitting ending to our trip. :)
We will be starting the return trip home in about four days. Our time is now filled with saying goodbye to new friends and taking a last look at favorite places. We will also welcome 8 new SGI team members over the next three days and will be working to help them get acclimated.
This all has brought on a season of reflection about home. We have been feeling waves of homesickness all summer which lead to an eagerness to return to our familiar life. But those waves are interspersed with a profound sadness to be leaving this ministry and the people that we have come to love. In the middle of our eagerness to re-enter life and ministry in Pittsburgh there is a growing awareness that we will now be homesick for Greece. Our own experience has been interwoven with the profound experience of sharing life with refugees and the simple joy of an extended Lord of the Rings/Hobbit marathon. Each day we have listened to stories of people who have fled their homes in fear. Their cars and houses have been flattened by bombs and family members have been killed. Most refugees that I have talked to would love to go home if they could, but the the cities that they love are deeply changed and in some cases they barely exist at all. We have also been shaped by movies. For the last 2-3 weeks many of our nights have been used to watch segments of the stories from Middle-earth. Of course it is all fantasy, but it is an excellent movie series based an extraordinary series of books. The heroes are admirable and the story telling is beautiful. Honor and bravery are celebrated. After watching several times, I still find the movies enjoyable. What I had not noticed before is the way themes of "home" are so central to each of the movies/books. It seems that the peculiar strength of Hobbits is linked to their willingness to be content with the simple joys of home. I could write an entire article exploring this theme, but I will draw out two memorable points. First, when Thorin Oakenshield is dragging his friends into a needless war in his lust for more treasure, Biblo is quietly longing to go home to his Hobbit hole and plant a tree. Second, when Frodo and Sam are at their lowest they find strength to continue their quest in memories of their home. Sam finds strength to push through the last boiling steps up Mt. Doom by remembering the Shire. "Do you remember the Shire, Mr. Frodo? It'll be spring soon and the orchards will be in blossom, and the birds will be nesting in the hazel thicket. And the whistle in the summer barley in the Lower fields. And eating the first of the strawberries with cream. Do you remember the taste of strawberries?' All of that is beautiful, but as much as Tolkien explores the theme of homecoming, the books (and the movies) don't end at the happy homecoming that you might expect. Sam, Pippin and Merry find peace and happiness in the Shire, but Frodo still bears the burden of the One Ring and Ring-Wraith's sword. Frodo cannot truly return to the Shire. "We have saved the Shire, Sam. But not for me." Frodo's home now lies in the West. Not in the Shire, but with the Elves in the Undying lands. Sometimes you can't go home. This is the case for many of my refugee friends. Their houses and cars have been destroyed by bombs. In some cases, their home city has been reduced to rubble. Family members were killed and the delicate social fabric of peaceful society was shredded by war. Recently, a Syrian friend told me that he didn't see how Syria could ever recover from this conflict. The indiscriminate killing and brutal tactics of both the regime and the rebellion have fanned ethnic tensions. Sunni and Shia Muslims look at each other with increased suspicion and the Christian minority is being scattered to the wind. Before the war, Syria was known for having a pretty tolerant Middle-eastern society with different religious and ethnic groups living in relative harmony. It is hard to see how that can be reconstructed in the near future. Even if the fighting stopped tomorrow, Syria will not be the same again. Sometimes you can't go home. I have been thinking of this in a more personal way. As I get older, I find myself increasingly homesick for the places that no longer exist and the people who no longer live. Being in a Mediterranean country has stirred memories of teenage visits to Spain. The food, the climate and the culture bear striking similarities. But, as I reflect on this longing I confront the reality that the Spain of my memories no longer exists. The society has changed and many of the people that I remember are no longer alive. In a way, this is also true of my own hometown. The vibrant little Appalachian community that my parents moved to in 1980 has encountered one economic downturn after another. Each year businesses close, class sizes shrink and fewer graduates stay in the community. The physical landmarks are the same, but the social fabric has shifted dramatically. The people are different. Sometimes you can't go home. It is now just over a year since my father died and memories of his life loom over all thoughts of home. I realize now that home was never really a place, but it was located in the people. The house of my youth is mostly the same. My mother's warm and welcoming presence still lights the home and embraces the wider community. But even this home feels profoundly different. As we prepare for a major transition back to Pittsburgh, I have found myself returning to memories of other homecomings. My father is part of all those memories. I remember his chuckle and his kind words. I remember the unique ways that he would talk. I know that I will not see those expressions or hear those words again in this life. He would have loved to hear all about out trip. I long to share with him the things we have learned on this adventure. But I can't. As we talked about some of these things at breakfast the other day, I thought about the way the Bible talks about homelessness and homecomings. From the beginning, when our first parents were cast out of the garden, humans have been looking for their true home. Moses was a stranger in a strange land. Daniel spent his entire prophetic career in the palace of a foreign king. The book of Hebrews tells us that the great heroes of faith were looking for a home that they would not find on this earth. When Jesus entered into our situation he embraced homelessness. He told one would-be-disciple that "the Son of Man has no place to lay his head." (Matthew 8;20) As Rich Mullins sang: "Birds have nests, foxes have dens; But the hope of the whole world rests; On the shoulders of a homeless man." Ultimately, he was rejected and cast out of the city, left to die alone on a cross for criminals. But the beauty of the story is that his rejection brings our inclusion. By paying the price for our rebellion, Jesus opens the door for our return to the heart of God. With sins forgiven we pass through the veil into the Holy of Holies, into the presence of our heavenly Father (Hebrews 10:19-22). And so we find home... not by looking back, but by looking forward. The book of Revelation ends with a prophetic picture of our great future homecoming. All who have trusted in Christ will enter into the New Jerusalem. "And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 'Behold the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God." (Rev 21:3) If we are looking back at what has been we cannot truly go home. Places change and people pass away. But, the great feeling of homesickness is a gift from God. It stirs us out of our present complacency and teaches us to long for completeness. We will find it, not by looking back, but by looking forward... and looking to the bloody sacrifice of "the homeless man." (Matt) The last week was the beginning of a transition. The rest of our SGI team has left Greece and we are awaiting 4 new team members this weekend, before we also end our "tour of duty" in Greece. Over the next 8 days we will begin to say goodbye and pass the baton to the new volunteers.
We are beginning to make the mental transition to thinking about our return to the U.S. Recently a friend asked me what I had learned during our time in Athens. I have been fortunate to travel quite a bit and I can't say that any one piece of the trip has offered something entirely new. However, our time in Athens has served to confirm my belief that the great tragedies of our time are massively complex and defy simplistic solutions. There is no "easy button" when it comes to the refugee crisis. But in the midst of the chaos and confusion we can look to the Lord in faith and we can choose to move towards other people in love. Here are a sample of the complicated things that swirl around the refugee situation in Athens: Refugees come mostly from Syria, but also from Iraq and Afghanistan. Currently, only Syrian refugees are guaranteed permanent asylum in the west. Their language and cultures are different. But they all come from dangerous war torn countries where there is no hope of a quick, peaceful resolution. Most have lost all of their material possessions. Many have lost family members. These are real people who dream of a better life, love their families and face the fears of an uncertain future. They are not merely numbers. They are human beings made in God's image, with eternal souls. In the conflict as a whole, there are lots of bad guys and few good guys. This is especially true in Syria, where it is pretty much impossible to tell which side of the civil war should be supported. (President Assad is a brutal dictator, but the rebel army split into multiple factions, include ISIS.) All of the sides use indiscriminate violence, and the stories of war atrocities that I hear first hand form the mouth of my refugee friends highlight the evil on all sides of the equation. Greece itself is in the midst of a prolonged fiscal crisis. The solutions to their mounting debt and chronic unemployment are not obvious. The majority of Greeks have been extraordinarily patient with the refugees swarming into their city. Perhaps it is because the economy is so bad, there is no risk that they will steal jobs. European countries are struggling to assimilate Muslim refugees and some are starting to reduce their intake. Recent violence in France was linked to a radicalized Muslim from North Africa. Some recent violence in Germany was linked to refugees from Syria and Afghanistan. My experience has confirmed my belief that the majority of refugees desire to live quiet and peaceful lives, but you cannot say that refugees offer zero risk. Multiculturalism is a wonderful dream, but a very difficult reality. Often forgotten in the midst of these challenges is the ongoing plight of the middle eastern Christians. Syrian Christians are often excluded from UN camps and can be targeted by aggressive Muslims. Even in Greece, Muslim converts to Christianity are at risk of physical violence. (And there are increasing numbers of converts.) Ethnic Christian groups from Syria and Iraq have been scattered and killed. Large percentages of the population of Egypt, Syria, and Iraq had passed their Christian faith from generation to generation. In Iraq only an estimated 500,000 Christians remain from the nearly 3 million that lived their prior to the U.S. invasion. Throughout the middle east Christians are often targeted for reprisal when America (or another "Christian" nation) does something offensive. Friends who were religious minorities in Muslim dominated countries have reminded me how difficult this position can be. The bitterness caused by vicious fighting will not be easily quelled. One Syrian friend told me recently, "I don't know how this war will ever end. There has been so much killing and the hate will go on and on. Before the war, Christians, Jews, Sunnis and Shia (Muslims) lived together in Syria in peace. I don't know how we can go back." In the midst of it all, I spend a lot of time listening. We serve food, and teach English, and try to help the church provide care in emergencies. But mostly we listen to people tell their stories and pray that God will intervene. I spend a lot of time praying for the Prince of Peace to show up and bring comfort and healing. I am a lot slower to speak about these complicated things. If anything has changed in me, I think that I am less inclined to dream about grand political solutions to our problems. The world leaders will continue to fumble along with a mixture of motives. Instead we have an opportunity to love actual people who are in the midst of crisis. We frequently speak about the amazing doors of opportunity that God has been opening in the midst of all the bad stuff that is happening. I have meditated often on Hebrews 12:27-28 - God is shaking the kingdoms of the world and establishing his eternal kingdom. Sometimes that is the only confident thing we can say about the current situation. God is at work in the midst of the horrors. Many people who previously had no access to the gospel message are being thrust outward into new and open lands. In the midst of chaos and uncertainty, doors of hope open for particular people. I don't know what will happen in the big picture, but right here, right now - God is shaking and building. I feel so privileged to be here in the midst of it all for two months this summer. "The words "once more" indicate the removing of what can be shaken-- that is, created things-- so that what cannot be shaken may remain. Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe," - Hebrews 12:27-28 Tonight we walked the entire circle around the Acropolis. Throughout its history the Acropolis marked the centered of Athens. It was a fortress, a kingly palace and a temple. Around its slopes stretched the marketplaces and the homes of town folk. During the last century Athens sprawled out across the plain in all directions. The administrative and economic activity is now centered elsewhere, but the slopes around the Acropolis remain the heart of the city. Tourist flock him from the far corners of the earth. Street vendors from Africa and Southeast Asia scratch out a living, joined by beggars from Eastern Europe. The native Greeks are here as well, enjoying the night air as the shadows lengthen.
Tonight we had set out after dinner to find ice cream and look for souvenirs. It was supposed to be a short walk, but our youngest child mutinied. After Chrissie escorted her back to the confines of our house the remaining four of us were set free to roam without constraint. We walked through the streets of Plaka, a high end tourist destination. The buildings here are some of the oldest still in use and the government subsidizes their renovation. Restaurants and souvenir shops line narrow cobblestone streets. (See picture above.) High end leather, silver, and pottery are displayed next to tacky t-shirt shops. Tables on the sidewalk and terracotta roofs make this look like a scene from the Discovery channel. A glance down a side street reveals the towering cliffs of the Acropolis and the soft hues of sunset. The kids have stopped in front of me, staring into a t-shirt shop. They were surprised to read a t-shirt that was display. Twenty five centuries prior Sophocles shocked theater audiences with a play about murder and incest. Today Oedipus and his mother are a coarse joke on a t-shirt for tourists. Worlds collide, the ancient and the modern, the timeless and the vulgar. I offered a brief word of explanation and we keep moving. The trendy shops of Plaka give way to the grittier buildings of Monastiraki Square. there are still tourists here, but the square is full of young Greeks out with their friends. We skirt the edge of an ancient ruins and walk past the entrance to a subway. We must stand out as tourists and the busy square is a place where the vendors are more agressive. An African man rushes to greet us and welcome us to Greece. "You must stay for the music", he says as he drops to a knee and shakes the hands of my kids. He is holding bracelets and it is clear that he wants to sell one. I smile and tell him that we are not interested. He ignores my completely and begins to attach a bracelet to Norah's hand. "We don't want one, thank you." "You are from America, that's great." (He begins to tie the bracelet on Norah's hand.) "We don't want one one, thank you." "But we have drums tonight, she will need a rasta bracelet." "We don't want one, thank you." "I love America, I am glad that you are here." I reach down and untie the bracelet on Norah's hand. "Oh no, I want her to have it." (He implies it is a gift, but I know that the price tag will follow if I leave it on her hand.) "We don't want one, thank you." (I have untied it now, and hand it back. I persist longer than he does and he takes the bracelet back and moves on.) I pull the kids a little tighter and we press on down a side street, past musicians who play the electric guitar through small amplifiers. This part of the walk feels more like Atlantic City. We buy slushies from Ben and Jerry's and eat them at cafe tables in the twilight. We are now half way around the Acropolis and we could take the subway home, but the kids vote to press onward and complete the loop. I have never walked through this section at night and don't know what to expect. We skirt the edge of an ancient temple and begin to climb the hill on the Western flank of the Acropolis. Between this main road and the cliffs of the Acropolis lies the ancient agora, the ruined foundations of a marketplace from the first century. It is now a public park and can be accessed for a small fee. The streets are now lined with small tables where tinkers and merchants sell their wares. Shoes from China are laid out on blankets. LED lights cast shadows on handcrafted trinkets. The street is wide and made of cobblestones. Young people and families with children stroll through the early evening enjoying a break from the oppressive heat. It seems to me that this section of the walk has more locals. I hear more Greek being spoken and few people seem interested in souvenirs. Music again permeates the air, this time from a trio of folks musicians playing classical Greek folk songs. The accordion, guitar and flute weave together sounds that have echoed in these hills for many years. The lead vocalist sings with conviction and I wish I knew what he was saying. A crowd has gathered to listen in respect. Dozens of people sit on a wall by the side of the street with their backs to the ancient marketplace. Between the audience and the performers the crowds lurch by. Motorcycles and bicycles occasionally meandering through the people. Two young women gather near them and start to dance. At the close of the song an old man limps over and begins to talk to them. I am too far to hear and I am sure I would not understand if they did. As the next song starts, the man begins to shift his feet from side and side, then he lifts his arms to dance. I think they are playing his request. A young boy rushes forward and jumps up and down. I imagine that this is a song the old man has been hearing since his the day his own young legs bounced along the hills of Greece. We continue to climb and the drums grow louder. Ten men are sitting in the middle of the street, drumming and chanting. The sound is repetitive, but invigorating. At the top of the hill we reach familiar terrain and begin a slight descent back towards our apartment. We are less then ten minutes from home and have been out for nearly two hours, but when the kids asked to detour to Mars Hill I agreed. It is nice to be outside and not roasting in the sun, so I don't want to hurry home. Also, they seldom ask to extend a walk, so I don't want to let the moment slip. And... no matter how often we go to the Areopagus (Mars Hill) it never gets old. It requires a short climb into the shadow of the Acropolis. As we walk up the ancient marble steps we pass by the Herodian Theater. This stone Ampitheater was built in the second century and is nearly as famous as the Parthenon. But unlike the Parthenon it is still functional. Tonight there is a live performance and I remember from the a subway poster that it is the classic opera "Carmen." I was hoping to hear the staccato notes of "Habanera" as we passed by, but a song had just finished and the applause rises above the ancient stone walls. In this historic Greek theater, opera singers belt out French lyrics, mourning the ill fated love affair of a naive Spanish soldier and a zesty Gypsy woman. Just as we reach the steps to the Areopagus a voice calls out a greeting. Under a nearby street lamp our friends have gathered. The other four members of our current SGI team and two young Syrian families are lounging around a park bench, drinking sodas and eating sunflower seeds. There is a festive note in the gathering, in part because our Syrian friends have received good news about job options. But there is a somber side to is as well. Two of the team members will return to America tomorrow evening, and the other two will follow next week. Although we still have two and a half weeks here, our time is drawing to an end. In this corner of the world the nations gather and the pulsating rhythms of modern life echo over the same stones walked by Pericles, Plato, and St. Paul. Near and far, new and old, our stories weave together for a for moments and we laugh and smile. And then our courses shift and we are launched back into our prior path of life. We hope and pray that the time we have spent has a lasting impact. (Matt) Today will be another hot day. After a brief respite in which the temperatures dropped into the low nineties with a few scattered clouds, we are expecting triple digit temperatures for the next couple of days. I am not used to this sort of weather. I don't actually hate it, but it requires adjustments that I am unfamiliar with. For one, it is really impossible to exercise during the midday heat. It is hard to do anything in the midday heat. As a result it makes sense to rest in the afternoon and shift your active hours to later at night. This is quite common among Greeks and friends from the middle East. Greece has a version of siesta from 3-5 pm which they call "Quiet Hours." It is considered quite rude to be loud during this time. I haven't fully embraced this lifestyle change, but I do go to bed later.
Another change in my life has been the way that I look at shade. When choosing a course on the street, shade is a factor. I will alter my path to find a few moments of shade. This morning, I was sitting on our rooftop reading the bible and I realized that I felt hot in the shade with a slight breeze blowing. I thought, "Dang, I can't imagine having to sit in the sun right now." This has given me new insight into some biblical passages. In my morning reading, (Hosea 4), God speaks of Israel's unfaithfulness and their desire to offer sacrifices under the shade of every spreading tree. This is turn caused me to think of one of my favorite psalms, Psalm 121. It reads in part, "The LORD is your keeper; the LORD is your shade on your right hand. The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night." The contrast between God's shade and the false refuge of idolatry is particularly vivid when I consider the importance of shade on a steaming day. The question is not shade or sun, but rather... in the sweltering heat, where do you find shade? The Lord is our keeper. Our Lord is a refuge. Omonia Church has become a place of refuge for the weary. (Side picture is from a nearby building.) Refugees from Syrian, Afghanistan, and Iraq find their way to this small second story floor for a few hours of food, conversation and air conditioning. They are met by members of the local Greek church and volunteers from a variety of American ministries. Some of their physical needs are met. The food is always good, and there are extra clothes given by Christian NGO's. During our time, the attendance has tripled and this part of our ministry takes nearly all of our time. Our numbers have grown because people bring their friends and neighbors. There are many places in Athens to get food, but we think that people come here because they find that an even greater need is met. Today our good friend from Syrian said, "Every time I come I bring new friends with me, because I want them to be part of the family."
Most often our Greek hostess offers a few words of welcome before we pray for lunch. She has poured out her life in selfless service, so when she talks... people listen. She does a great job balancing bottomless love and bold faithfulness to our Lord. Today seemed like a particularly good example. I have paraphrased some of her words below - words which we then translated into Farsi and Arabic. "We want you to know how much we care about you. We hope you believe that we love you and we have been praying for you. Not a moment goes by that you are not on our hearts. We want you to know that when you walk through that door the passport does not matter any more. Whether you are Syrian, Afghanistan or American we are all part of the human family. We have one blood. If I was hurt and my Syrian friend gave me a blood donation I could live. We have one blood. I want you also to know that Jesus said that he is the way, the truth and the life. If you are confused and lost and frightened, you can go to him and he can help you. If you don't believe me, you can read it for yourself in the book. We have copies of the Bible in Arabic and Farsi. Today we welcome our friends from the camp across town. This young woman is here (in her wheelchair) because he mother pushed her across the city so that she could be here. When they fled from Afghanistan her mother carried her on her back. These are people that we love and we want you know that we will never stop loving you. No matter what pictures we see on the news or no matter how many people ISIS blows up, we will never stop loving you. No one can convince us to stop believing that Jesus is the way, the truth and the life. And no one can convince us to stop loving you." Amen. In the last month since we have been in Athens it seems that the unraveling of American community life has picked up speed. The recent outrage over the deaths of two black men at the hands of the police and the attacks on police in Dallas and other cities seems to mark a frightening escalation of violence and distrust.
I spent several hours reading about the events yesterday. It is strange to observe them from the other side of the world. It's like watching the television without the sound. You can see what is happening, but the surrounding chatter is silenced. It is somewhat ironic that our family wrestled long and hard about the safety implications of coming to Athens to work with the refugee community. From my current vantage point, America looks far more dangerous at the moment. I know that everyone is writing their thoughts on social media, but I have a few observations to make from outside of the thought bubble of North America. Policy solutions will be necessary and complex. It seems clear that there need to be policy solutions that address the concerns of the black community. The website https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/series/counted-us-police-killingsshows that blacks are killed at roughly twice the rate as whites. It also would seem that these numbers correlate strongly with poverty rates. Blacks are much more likely to live in poverty than whites, and this is particularly true in the city of Pittsburgh, which has a comparatively small middle class. Black children are nearly three times as likely to grow up in poverty as white children. (See: http://www.npc.umich.edu/poverty/) At the same time, we cannot forget that police offers are real people who are struggling to do a very difficult job. They are regularly put in harms way and experience the cutting edge of all social tensions. Attacks on police have risen in the past year with nearly 25 officers being shot. The current crisis is not good for the black community, it is not good for the police, and it is not good for our country. The background for this crisis is complex and does not seem to lend itself to easy solutions. While it might make a good slogan to say that the police should "stop being racist" or that the black community should "stop making a big deal about the police" neither are realistic. There is a (near) complete breakdown of trust between the black community and the police. This is fueled by layers of historic problems. We can't ignore the past oppressive practices that leave a lasting legacy on the black community in America. There is no "easy button" to push. Careful and thoughtful analysis is required for necessary action. We must seek paths for personal action. I think that the big temptation is to focus on the things that other people need to do differently. As I outlined above, it is reasonable to call for policy changes, but those changes will not be simple or easy. I fear that what is lost in all of this is the call to personal action. It is much less costly to call others to make a change. It is more costly to seek change in yourself. Perhaps you are asking the question: What would it look like for me to pursue personal change? We have been wrestling with this question as a church for the last two years. As church leaders we have taken steps towards forming an action plan on a call for personal and congregational action. (This has not been finalized, but the bulk of it has been discussed publicly.) As a denomination we have taken steps to repent of our past racial sins and we are seriously seeking steps for active repentance. Let me boil all of this down to a simple Christian concept. There is one easily identifiable problem that lies squarely at the feet of the church. Addressing this problem is necessary for our obedience to Christ and it would make an impact on the world around us. The problem is the ongoing (and mostly unintentional) segregation of the American church. Black and white Americans still live relatively segregated lives. This is particularly true in churches. That means that when a crisis begins to boil, the American church cannot respond as a unified whole, but rather as two fairly separate entities. I believe that it necessary for us to address it. I believe that there are four areas in which we can address this problem. 1.) We can seek to make City Reformed a more accessible place for people of color. 2.) We can seek to build better relationships with black congregations. 3.) We can support black Christians who are called to leadership in our denomination. 4.) We can engage in ministry in underprivileged minority neighborhoods. Our church has taken small steps in all of these directions and we need to continue the process. All of these steps require energy and sacrifice. They cannot be pawned off on someone else and they cannot be mandated by the government. They require personal action. We must prayer together. For years otherwise secular Americans would respond to a crisis by saying, "Our thoughts and prayers and with you." But we knew what that meant. It was a solemn way of saying, we are thinking about you. But no one was really praying to a God who would answer prayer. Not in the public realm. Is it different in the church? I have noticed a growing cynicism about responding to tragedies with prayer. Some have begun to see prayer as a pious dismissal of a problem. "Oh, I will pray about it. Now let's stop talking about it." I fear that the church may have given the world reason to believe this. During this sabbatical I have come to the painful conclusion that my personal prayer life is woefully disobedient. I have been shaped by our modern secular culture to believe that God is not really present and that solutions to major problems are to be found in merely physical actions. I have surrendered my prayer life to modernity. That needs to change. It is changing. Let me ask the reader a personal question. If you are a Christian, then you believe that God calls us to prayer and answers prayers. Are you actually praying about this situation? Are you on your knees begging God for his mercy at a time of national crisis? Are you seeking ways to pray with others? Have you looked for opportunities to join your African American brothers and sisters in prayer? Why not? A met with Khaled* for English lessons today. He is a Syrian refugee stranded in Greece. His English is decent, but rusty. He says that he was more fluent five years ago when he was using it more often. Until the Syrian Civil War he had worked for a Petrochemical company in Syrian. It was a good job. He was married with a son, a car and two houses. After the war started his job ended. As he watched, his homes falling bombs swallowed his homes leaving nothing but smoke ash. As food shortages swept over the land he looked for an opportunity to flee. His wife and son had a passport, but Khaled had a problem. Administrative affairs in Syria were often quite unpredictable to begin with and there was additional red tape in his case. Apparently, several other men shared the exact same name and the the passport was not issued. Eight months ago a window for refuge opened and his pregnant wife and son took it. They haven't seen each other since. His wife delivered a healthy baby girl, but Khaled has only seen her on face time.
His wife flew with friends from a nearby country into Turkey. They were smuggled into Greece and at the time the borders between Greece and Western Europe were still open so they made their way into Germany where his wife had their baby. Khaled could not leave so easily. Without a passport he had to make his way there in a more circuitous path. He headed North from Damascus into the North Western part of Turkey which is control by the Syrian Free Army (non-ISIS rebels.) He paid smugglers to take him and city officials to let him pass. After slipping hundreds of dollars worth of bribes and fees into the hands of drivers and faction leaders he was dropped off at the mountainous border with Turkey. From there he had to cross on foot, scurrying past armed guards and dodging bullets. Turkey doesn't want border traffic with Syria because of the threats from ISIS and so the no-mans land between Syria and Turkey is particularly ruthless. Once he was into Turkey he had relatively free travel. He went first to Istanbul to try a land entry into Greece, but by then the borders were closing. The terrorist attacks in Paris had tightened the borders and narrowed the immigration policies of European countries just and they induced American fears. The only option was a sea option. He paid a smuggler 700 Euros to take him by boat to the Greek Island of Mytilini. Interestingly, the price was 300 Euros cheaper for him than when he wife went because the borders between Greece and Western Europe are now closed. Supply and demand dictates smuggler prices and the demand for Greece has fallen now that it no longer offers access into Western Europe. Once at sea, their small overloaded ship bobbed along the waves as they crossed into Greek controlled waters. The Greek navy picked them up and shipped them to Athens on a Ferry. Several attempts to cross into Western Europe illegally have not only failed, but have been met with stiff resistance. Without proper identification he cannot go forward and he cannot go back. He pays 300 Euros a month for rent, which his wife wires to him from Germany. I don't know how she gets the money. The land route that he took getting here would be just as treacherous to use for a return to Syria and with added risk. If he tries to cross from rebel controlled territory back into the lands occupied by the Syrian army he would risk being shot as a traitor or a spy. He is effectively locked out of his homeland with fewer prospects than he had envisioned when he first fled. He can't go forward and he can't go back. He is a man without a country. I wrote this blog post in my head as a rode the subway home this evening. After dinner I met some other Syrian friends to play soccer in the park. It was a moment of laughs and playfulness for them. Like Khaled, they don't have immediate options for moving forward, but their prospects are not so dim. Still, they are waiting with no control over their future. Waiting and hoping next to gates that are currently closed. As dusk was falling we walked to another section of the National Gardens. There are several animals and birds on display in a small public zoo. If was fun to show this little treasure to a young Syrian boy who was with us. He told us the name of each bird and animal in Arabic. I noticed two types of birds. Some were caged on the side and the top. Others, like them were effectively caged (peacocks), because they were too heavy to fly over the fences. But there were other birds like the pigeons and the morning doves which fly back and forth into and out of the zoo. They are not bound by the fences and are free to move as they wish. The image struck me as a picture of my current situation. As we kick the ball on the grass, we are not so different - my Syrian friends and me. And yet our futures are vastly different. Armed with my American passport, I can freely pass through nearly any border checkpoint in the world. Like the morning dove at the zoo, I can fly into the cage anytime I please. And in one more month, I will fly home. The fences don't keep me in. My friends cannot leave. The border stops them. In their own ways, striking as the peacock - and yet just as caged. At the border we are vastly different. The roots of the refugee crisis are complex and the solutions are equally challenging. We offer to pray and we offer our friendship now, while we are here. We offer the hope of an eternal King who transcends national boundaries. Our prayers can cross over the gates, even when we are gone. But as I contemplate my eventual return to the United States I am reminded of the people we will leave behind. Real people like you and me. Waiting and hoping. And pacing. Like a bird in a cage. * I share this story with his explicit permission, so I have done less to mask the details of his life. I am living in the midst of a community that has fled war over mountains and across oceans on the small little inflatable boats you’ve seen all over the news. My new friends have family in Belguim, Finland and Sweden. The “lucky” ones are assigned apartments (flats donated to the Greek Orthodox church and then handed over to the UN) where they share toilets and kitchens sometimes with 3 other families. The rest sit in over-crowded camps (managed by the UN) or in squats (managed by anarchists) sharing rooms, yes, ROOMS with another family or two. Each of these families are on a 2-6 month time line to be assigned to a random country of the top 3 choices on the checklist IF they are registered – more than half of the refugees here are not yet registered. Our sweet little church, every Tuesday and Thursday, is filled with a random, eclectic mix of families each in a different place in this process, each in a different living situation. Just this past Saturday, one of our families got their call. Even though we know that this stop is temporary, it is still hard to say goodbye…. There were a lot of tears.
Eleni Melirrytou is the pastor’s wife of the Church of Christ: Omonia Square. She is who I want to be when I grow up. She welcomes every single person into their little church building 3 days a week, cooks for 60+ each of those 3 days, cries when she hears stories, organizes and juggles 3 different ministries working to assist her, falls in love with every new person she meets: Syrians, Iraqis, Afghanis, Ukrainians, Romanians, Nigerians and even us silly Americans. She doesn’t have the luxury of having and caring for these souls for YEARS. She mostly gets those months. And heavens, she loves fiercely and falls hard for every single person through those doors. Through her tears, she hugs and sends folks on their way praying and gifts of fine meals. I think this is the bigger part of the lesson the Lord has for me in all of this: The hardest part of being Matthew Koerber’s wife is being placed in an academic setting in the city. Urban centers see loads of change – people moving in, people moving out. I have often lamented my church family is so much more transient than many other churches in our Presbytery. I’ve been a somersault of emotions throughout our 11 years in Pittsburgh: celebrating the fact that I am an ENFP who loves to meet new people; cynically raising my hand to agree to come alongside parents helping them raise their children when baptized,until they leave ME. I meet each summer with both loads of grief having to say goodbye to folks that have meant so much to me and my family and also with joyful expectations of what beautiful families/people the Lord is looking forward to bringing into our community. It’s such a strange tension! THIS summer in particular not being there has made me feel heart-achy. We started our sabbatical with conversations with some our best friends thinking about leaving, hearing a week into of our dear Chappell’s moving on and now, wow, the Sawyer family. These folks have been an intimate part of our lives the past 10 years. This sabbatical is encouraging me to view this summer of transition with new lenses. Eleni and the transience of place of my sweet refugee friends put things in to perspective for me. They help me feel grateful for the opportunity that I have to share years with people instead of months. And yes, I am teary writing this – but as I say goodbye to very dear friends this summer (from afar) I praise God that our season together wasn’t just months, but life-forming years. Years of having children together and parenting alongside. Years of conversations that lifted my heart towards our Savior. Church, I love that we have the opportunity to settle into very transformative years with one another and be shaped by one another. Nothing is guaranteed to last on this side of eternity. Isn’t that what makes us long for the other side? I thank you Lord, that you have used this piece of my summer experience to shape and help me see joy in every summer of transition. I am tearfully joyful ….. Over the past couple of days we have had several people attending our lunch and language program who are from the Syrian city of Aleppo. Some are Kurdish and some are Arabic. Aleppo is in Northern Syria, close to the border with Turkey and the fighting has been particularly strong there. One man encouraged me to watch videos on you-tube which showed the before and after footage. It is a remarkable contrast. (See picture above.) What had been one of the largest cities in the middle east and one of the oldest continuously occupied cities in the world was been reduced to a smoldering rubble. Hundreds of thousands of civilians have fled for refuge elsewhere.
Pre-war Aleppo had a thriving Christian community. Although I have not yet met a Christian from Aleppo, I understand that the Christians have been particularly hard hit. It is hard for me to imagine the extent of their suffering. Aleppo is a prime example for not only the devastation of war, but also the confusion of war. Currently the city is occupied partly by government forces and partly by the Syrian Free army - a rebel force that is also in conflict with ISIS. Internet reports indicate that the rebel forces have fought with each other there. It is not easy for the Syrian refugees to understand the source of the conflict in their country. I recently spoke with a man from Aleppo who has good English. He had a good job and a promising future. The war took everything away. His wife and 8 month-old daughter are still in Syria and he is trying to be relocated into a European country so that he can bring them to a new place. He told me, "Sometimes I think to myself: who has done this to my country? I do not understand why it has happened. Some days I wake up in the morning and I hope that all of this has been a bad dream. But it is not." He told me that he named his daughter "Salem", which means "peace" in Arabic. He hopes that her name points to a better and brighter future for his country. Pray for peace in Syria and pray that the Prince of Peace would extend his rule into this troubled land. (Matt) The past week was a fairly rough week. We realized that we were no longer tourists here, but we are also painfully aware that we are not locals. Everything from hailing a taxi to bagging groceries can provide an opportunity for miscommunication. Most significantly we are spending time with a lot of refugee friends who are in desperate circumstances, but we feel like there is not much we can do to help. We are uncertain of our roles and of how to care for our kids in a small apartment in a foreign city.
The entire team has been pretty fatigued. One of the young women we work with (Courtney) finished her time and returned to the states. Her absence is felt. We were joined by a new member from Alaska, but the other three girls are nearing the end of a month of hard core service. They were weary last week. Even our local church partnership has been stressed. Eleni (pastors wife and refugee ministry coordinator) has an injured foot and responds to desperate phone calls nearly 24-7. The ministry is flourishing, but it takes a toll on her. We tried to escape last week, but found a trip to the Mall resulted in more family frustrations. A trip to the beach on Friday ended with a swim in sewage from a recent storm. But friends were praying for us and a few encouraging notes lifted our spirits. Dreariness has driven us to the Lord in more serious ways. I wrote in my journal recently, "I am convinced that nothing good can come of our time here unless God does something supernatural." I didn't write that our of despair, but just as a matter-of-fact observation. I have no human abilities which can bring easy answers to the problems that we witness. This morning, I had a very refreshing time of prayer and Bible study. I found new confidence to walk through the day with hope. There were beautiful things to witness at church today as we bade tearful farewells to Syrian friends who will relocate to Belgium. One thankful man said through an interpreter; "We have been welcomed here like family. I want to know Jesus more." God is good and he is clearly at work here. We are dependent upon your prayers and hopeful for renewing power of the Spirit. The ministry is not easy, but when you catch a glimpse of God working it is breathtaking. (Matt) When Chrissie and I were in seminary we went on a summer missions trip to Zimbabwe. It was a challenging and wonderful experience. One of the things that was stipulated by Gordon Conwell is that the Overseas Missions Practicum (OMP) be at least 6 weeks long. The reasoning was that a shorter term trip would fail to adequately prepare students for the realities of missions. A short term trip can offer helpful ministry assistance in "the field" and it can be great exposure to new lands and exciting ministry frontiers. But a shorter trip can often feel like a whirlwind of activity. It is one long adrenaline rush that you don't come down from until you return home. A shorter trip fails to replicate the real challenges of living overseas and struggling to adapt to a foreign culture and context. A shorter trip is all honeymoon. The OMP needed to be long enough for the honeymoon to end and the real challenges and joys of overseas living to begin.
Today was a day in which Chrissie and I looked at each other and said, "The honeymoon in Greece has ended." I thought about using that as a title of the post, but I feared it sounded too negative. I don't mean it that way. Nothing is wrong. Things are still beautiful and there are still very encouraging and fruitful things happening in ministry. But the newness has worn off. This past week we were in Corinth helping with a conference. It was a lot of demanding work, but also quite beautiful. We stayed near a pool with a constant view of the Mediterranean Sea. I had a better than expected time as a youth group leader (which brought back memories) and was delighted to see God at work in the midst of our time. We visited ancient Corinth and walked through the streets where Paul spent 18 months of ministry. And then we returned from what felt like a retreat only to arrive at our "old apartment" in Athens. It is everything that we prayed for, and in many ways a perfect fit... but the reality of our situation is less fresh and a bit more gritty. There is still fresh bread at the bakery around the corner and still a view of the Acropolis from our rooftop and still daily interactions with people from all over the world. There are still daily glimpses of God at work. But... the national language is still Greek and my ability to engage with modern Greek is developing more slowly than I would have hoped. My mind still churns when I read every sign. Most people speak English well enough for us to get around, but there is still the ever present humiliation of needing to ask someone to accommodate to your language. We have made new friends, but the support network that develops over a long period of time spent living with others is not here. The complexity of current relationships has begun to emerge, once you get past the initial newness. The apartment is adequate, but it is still small, with no yard and the kids are still restless quite often. (See picture.) The temperature has cooled from last week's heat wave, but it is still quite hot and hard to exercise except for the early morning hours. There are still new things to see, but it is hard to know how to find quiet time in the morning to read and pray. I wrote to my brother-in-law and told him that the honeymoon was over. He lived in Kurdistan for 4 years so I knew he would understand. He did, but also reminded me that the honeymoon (in general) is fun, but real life is where the action is at. And so, here we are... real life in Athens. Life on life with people. Praying and longing for God's fresh work in our circumstances. And developing a bit of a wistful feeling for a certain little city nestled into the mountains and rivers of western Pennsylvania. And all of our friends there. And perhaps that is, after all, one of the things that a sabbatical is intended to do. Love you all. Keep us in your prayers. Worship on Sunday has been a highlight of our trip. We attended both the morning and evening service at the Omonia Square Church. The morning service was in Greek with some translation and the evening service was in English. Each service was filled with people from all over the world. We were introduced to missionaries who were passing through Athens are their way to furlough from Tanzania. There were Greeks, Americans, Egyptians, Philippinos and Ukrainians. Prayers were offered in many languages. Were were joined for parts of the service by Muslim background friends.
Please pray that the gospel would be clearly heard and understood. Chrissie quickly made friends with a couple of women from the Philippines. They have been members of the church for years and work as live-in domestic help for Greek families. It is not an uncommon arrangement for many southern European countries. Though we come from very different backgrounds we find common ground at the foot of the cross. We have relished the space to worship with people who live out their faith in very different walks of life. On Wednesday we go to Corinth to help the local church with a church conference that they have been doing annually for several years. We are going to help with childcare and I may be getting slotted in with the youth group. It has been awhile since I have done youth group programming and they will likely be speaking about five different languages - but I am looking forward to it! Please pray for us! And well... yes. We will be in Corinth. Pretty cool. This year, there will also be several refugee families that will be joining us for the conference. It is an amazing opportunity and represents the fruit of faithful care and relational investment on the part of the local church. Please pray that Christ would be known, glorified and embraced! Matt: Theo, tell me about your time in Athens.
Theo: It is great. And, the metro (subway) is very close. Matt: Do you like riding on the metro? Theo: Yeah. I goes really fast. Matt: What have you enjoyed seeing? Theo: Looking at the acropolis from the roof of our apartment. Also, we went to Mars Hill. The rock was all marble. It was somewhere that Paul preached at. Matt: What has the weather been like? Theo: It has been hot the whole time. It has gotten up to 106! It is exhausting. Matt: Have you learned anything about the refugees that we are serving? Theo: Most of them have lost families members in their home country, but not all of them. Some of them know a little bit of English. Matt: Have you been able to remember any Greek words? Theo: Yeah... "Efharisto, parakalo, yasas, kailmera, kalispera." Matt: Have you used any of your Greek words in conversation? Theo: Yeah. Yasas (hello) ... that is about all. Matt: Anything else that is notable about Greece? Theo: A lot of things. The food is really good. There are a lot of restaurants by us. Matt: What do you enjoy eating here? Theo: The gyros, and ... pretty much everything else. (Matt) There are three types of places that refugees are staying in Athens. Some (a few) are placed in hotel rooms or apartments paid for by UN agencies. Many are in official refugee camps. Others are living unofficially in abandoned buildings in Athens. These are called "Squats." I think the term relates the idea of a "squatter" as someone who lives in a building that they don't own. The structure of the squats is a bit confusing, because there is some order there and they have electricity and running water, but they are not run by a particular government or NGO. Their presence is tolerated and perhaps even appreciated by the Greeks, because their simply isn't enough room in the official camps.
The two squats that I have visited are abandoned schools. Each classroom typically has multiple families living in it. The other members of our SGI term have been here a bit longer and visit two of the squats regularly. These four young women do an amazing job of building bridges with the refugees who are living there in pretty desperate circumstances. I admire their courage and compassion. Over the last few days I have tagged along and tried to be helpful. Last Friday I visited a Squat with my two boys. We were recruited to help organize and re-box donated clothing. After entering the front door, the children usually are the first to greet you. It was too hot to play outside, but our teammates will typically bring pages to color and some crayons. That we descended into the basement of the old school. The walls were graffitited and there was some trash on the floor, but it was generally organized. We worked under the direction of a Syrian man who is himself a volunteer. He had worked as a veterinarian before the war broke out. He mentioned in passing that he misses the animals and that after the fighting he has seen he prefers them to people. He asked me to explain the American dream. I told him that it meant that all people had opportunity to advance if they had were willing to work. He responded by telling me his version of the Syrian dream: "All you need is to gather a small army and you can be as rich as you want - by taking things from other people." No one thought twice about smoking in that small un-ventilated basement room. Unfiltered cigarettes. I'm not too squeemish about those things. I figure it won't hurt us for short exposure and lung cancer is probably the least of their concerns. The large bold print reading, "Tobacco leads to a shortened life span" caught my eye. Tobacco is nothing compared to civil war. The boys joined another missions family who had joined us for the day. We matched hundreds of shoes and boxed up winter clothing. Other members of the team cleaned rooms so that the boxes could be stores away from prying hands. I admire their willingness to serve. (See picture below.) Today I visited a second squat. Apparently it is one of the older ones and seems to be forgotten as new camps and squats emerge. Generally speaking, there are many other teams of volunteers that visit the camps and squats. Some from other missions groups and others from various NGO's. I don't know who is who, but I admire the willingness of so many people to give their time and energy to reach out to those in need. Again, we pass through the gate that used to control the flow of traffic for a school. The courtyard has the familiar smell that comes from too many people in too small of a place. Is it the latrines, or the gray water, or the waste containers? My teammates are greeted by enthusiastic hugs from little arms. As we sit in the courtyard some of the mothers come out and join their children. Its really hot and many people are staying in their rooms, close to their fans. (See picture above.) I pondered the easy manner in which the women connect. It seems to be always harder for men to meet as strangers. I am thankful to ride the coattails of these young women. Soon we are invited upstairs to someone's home. There are three families living inside of an older classroom. They average 4-5 people each family. The classroom that we enter has two families are living in a tent (each) and a newly arrived family is behind a screen. We remove our shoes and sit on a blanket that is spread on the floor. Tea is boiled in a hotpot and offered to us. The restless young boy brings in plates of sweet cereal. I am touched by the generosity and wish that we had something to give in return. I think about the call to incarnational ministry. It is an honor to share this food with people who have so little right now. Another part of my brain calculates whether the water is hot enough to sterilize the glasses that we are given. Internally, I reflect on Philippians chapter 2. Jesus left the glories of heaven to enter the poverty and squalor of a middle-eastern village. "He took on the form of a servant." I wish I could love more freely and serve more willingly. (Matt) I have been thinking about a couple of blog posts that I intend to write about some very interesting things that we have been doing. But, this morning I woke up and had a very typical day. It was the first time since arriving here that everything didn't feel new. I thought that this would be a good way to give a picture of the ordinary parts of our life in Greece that we could easily take for granted.
I slept in this morning a little bit. I had been getting up early to jog the last 4 or 5 days, but it is so blistering hot here now that if you don't start exercising by 8:00 am you will dissolve in a puddle of sweat. It has been a long, demanding week and full of so many new experiences that it would good to finally have a morning to rest a little. Isaac made eggs for breakfast. That was not typical, but a welcome surprise. I walked to the bakery around the corner to buy fresh bread. It only cost .80 euros and was still fresh when we picked it up. I read a bit after breakfast and left the house at 10:30 to head to the church office. We live in a residential neighborhood, but it is very close to the acropolis and full of tourists. The walk to the subway proceeds along a cobblestone street full of nice restaurants with outdoor seating. Each restaurant has a worker who stands on the sidewalk and attempts to convince the tourists to come in and eat. One of the men knows us now and smiles when he sees us. We have promised to stop in before we return to the states - but not today. The subway offers a welcome relief from stifling heat. I have already bought a 5 day pass and I know which way to go and how to get there. It is a good place to practice my Greek, because the words are written in Greek and phonetic English. The electronic voice on the car speaks in both English and Greek so I can practice sounding out a few phrases. I have a head start in Greek because I am familiar with ancient, Biblical Greek, but the modern language is pronounced differently and has a much different vocabulary range. I know how to tell people that "I am the bread of life"or that they should "put off the deeds of the flesh", but neither have come up in casual conversation. As I exit the subway into Omonia square, the heat hits me again. This past weekend, the temperature rose to 105 degrees. It won't be as hot today but it is close to 100 already. Omonia Square is a very different place from where we live. Refugees are more common than tourists here. Although this was once an important commercial hub, it was subsumed by darker elements and a few years ago had the reputation as the center of drug trafficking. Locals say that it is improving again and hope that better days are ahead. It is fine during the day time, but the women have been warned against walking alone at night. Beggars are more common here and as I ride the escalator up out of the darkness, street vendors offer Greek sim cards for cell phones. The food is less expensive here and cheap foreign goods fill the streets side markets. I walk a few blocks to the church and wait outside as other members from the SGI team arrive with the keys. After they arrive we talked a little about our upcoming trip to Corinth and what we will be doing to help. We are going to manage the child care as a team and Chrissie and I want help as much as possible. My first class is with a Kurdish man who volunteers with the church. He speaks Syrian, Greek and Kurdish and is a helpful resource for the church. He has lived in Greece for over two decades so his Greek is good, but his English is still at a rudimentary level. After working through a level one workbook for most of the hour, I ask to use the last 5 mins getting help on my Greek. I want to do a better job asking for things at the store in Greek and he helps me to ask for the price. The second class is with a young girl from Syria. Her English is better than I first thought, but it is still level one. (In the books that we use.) She is a bit shy, but this is our third time meeting and she is beginning to warm up. Sometimes the biggest step is just finding out what she does not understand. Google translator is immensely helpful with words that we do not know. The third class is with a young Palestinian man who is married with a child. His English vocabulary is very good, but he wants help with his grammar. We spent most of our time talking about the various way to say things in the past tense and the way that we use the subjunctive tense to describe thoughts that are potential. For instance, the difference between saying: "I would like to meet you tomorrow" and "I will meet you tomorrow." In the midst of doing this I am painfully reminded that my own knowledge of the official rules of the English language is a bit spotty. Like most native speakers I learned the language by ear and forget the name of various tenses. The day ends a little earlier that normal and I spend a few minutes trying to locate a music store to buy a cheap guitar for Chrissie. The church hopes she can acquire one before the retreat in two days. She debated bringing her own, but didn't have a good travel case. If we can find one here we will buy it and let the church keep it. It is hard to locate a Greek music store on the internet, so I decide to walk part of the way home and pass by a place where someone remembered seeing one the other day. The backstreets around Omonia Square are even dirtier than the main streets. I see Asian immigrants who are unloading produce and imported goods. The dirty jobs in Greece are done by immigrants from Asia and Africa. A delivery truck is stopped in the middle of street completely blocking traffic. A motorcycle slows down then ramps up onto the side walk in front of me and dodges the street vendors as he circles around the truck. The rules of the road are fairly flexible here. The heat is bearing down on me and I try to find the shady side of the street. Something that looks like a pawnshop has a used guitar hanging from the roof. I tried to recall the Greek words for "How much?", but in-between Arabic and Farsi and English grammar pushed it right out of my head. I bartered a little in English and took a picture of it for Chrissie to see. On my way to the music shop I stop into two supermarkets. I am looking for two items that we can't find near us - raisins and peanut butter. Again, Google translator helps me pull up the words and I asked for them in broken Greek. No luck. And no luck at the music store when I finally find it. It is closed today because of some Greek Holiday. I will try again tomorrow. My shirt is soaked through by now and I am happy to retreat back into the subway. The day finishes a bit earlier than normal, but we have a meeting planned for the morning, ESL lessons tomorrow afternoon and the schedule will likely be demanding at the retreat in Corinth this week. I am happy to get home a bit earlier than usual and spend some time writing. I have completely sweated through my shirt and no one wants to hug me when I return. (See picture.) I guess it turned out to be a fairly typical day. We are all not of this world. We are all people who belong to another Kingdom. This is the welcome that EVERY person hears as they come through the doors of this sweet little church in Omonia Square. Eleni does not speak of these beautiful people from Syria, Afghanistan, and the Ukraine as “refugees.” They are friends: friends that need a safe place to rest, to learn English, to meet people who love and follow Jesus and are there because He has called us to care.
D is 11. Only months older than my Isaac (my 1st born son.) D is also a 1st born son, the only son to his mother, following by three sisters. Only one year ago, D lost his father to a bombing in Kabul. His mother (and her family) mostly walked from Afghanistan to Greece … taking a route that included walking through a treacherous mountain range into Pakistan and involved snow and horrid weather and then that boat ride: “I am the man of the family now. Many times I had to carry my sisters. I dropped M once and hurt her. I do not like the responsibility that is on me now.” This family is currently at one of the camps that is infested with lice, rats and is about to be shut down (they are building newer ones and they will have to move – praise God!) Would you pray for this sweet family? Pray that my boys will connect with D and just be friends to him. This past week there were a lot of kids from the US (there is another group of missionaries that have a lot of kids) and mine were distracted by other kids that weren’t much different than them. I watched D watch them. My heart ached watching what I felt was him aching to “fit in,” and be with those boys. By the end of the week, I made my boys (and the other American kids) include him and sit with him and ask him about his school and family and what he loved. I sat at the table of kids and asked him questions and related the answers to the crew of “missionary” kids and arm wrestled them into sharing life. THIS has been the hardest part of my time this week. I ache to see my kids SEE THESE KIDS. I ache to see them move from the “comfortable” of others LIKE them and move towards what I know feels hard for them. I know, because it feels hard for me too. Stella has thrived hanging out with the refugee kids. Playing. Singing. Dancing. Coloring. It has been so fun to watch her easily make friends, indifferent to the “otherness.” I spent the afternoon with a new Middle Eastern friend. We had an hour long English class scheduled and after the class we had some free time so we ate a Gyro together and he told me his story. For reasons of security, I am not writing his real name or including a picture. The story will be an example of the types of people that we are spending time with.
Abbas was a university student in Syria when the Arab spring washed over that nation. Many students were joining in the protests and he was swept along with the tide. His father had a good job in Syria and he had a bright future. When the government began to crack down on protesters and Abbas was identified his entire family were put in danger. As fighting broken out, he was hit with shrapnel from a bomb. Since then it has been hard for him to do stairs - and impossible to play soccer. The Syria government didn't play games with protesters. Abbas knew people who had their finger nails pulled out with pliers. Others didn't survive the interrogation. Abbas speaks good English, but he didn't know the word for torture. When he described his fears of being arrested he described what would happen to prisoners this way: "You will beg for the death, but you will not be able to find it." (In other words, the torture is so bad that you beg to die, but the torture will be prolonged.) From Syria he fled with his family into Lebanon and from Lebanon he returned to his native country of Palestine to be with his college girlfriend. They were married in Gaza but it was hard to find a job that paid the bills. When Abbas and a small group complained to the Hamas controlled government, the police responded with brutal repression. Abbas was beaten with a night stick and had his teeth kicked in. He was given refuge in Egypt and then journeyed to Turkey and later to Greece. He now has a daughter and hopes that his small family can relocate to a European country where he can find work. "I have been unable to find peace for five years," he told me today. "Every night I go to sleep and I cannot rest. My mind is turning over about the things that I need to do. I long for the day when I can find peace. I long to finish my degree (in Civil Engineering) and find a job. I just want to have a house where I can keep my things and come home to see my family after work." I asked Abbas what went wrong with the Arab spring. He reflected on it for a while, then summarized his comments by saying. "When the government began to shoot the protesters we asked the world for help. At first no one came. Then foreign fighters came and began to fight the government." (The resistance group was first called AL Nusra. After it split in two, the radical jihadist segment started to be called "ISIS" or "DAESH.") He concluded by saying, "We asked the world for help, and the wrong people came to help us." Pray for Abbas and his family. One of the boys that I tutored in English is a refugee from Afghanistan. He is only a few months older than my son Isaac. After his father was killed by a bomb recently he fled from Afghanistan with his extended family. In the words of his uncle, "The Taliban, they mess everything up."
Over lunch he told me about the trip. It was quite harrowing. The border from Afghanistan into Iran was closed, so they had to go into Pakistan first and then into Iran. At one point they had twelve people crammed into a small car. At another point in the journey they walked twelve hours in one day. From Iran they made their way into Turkey and from Turkey they hired a smuggler to ship them to Greece. The unscrupulous boat captain took a high price from each member of his cargo and then proceeded to load over seventy people into a boat that was only 9 meters long. It must have been riding low in the water. The waves rolled in quite high. As he told the story his eyes grew very wide. "The waves were two meters high!" They survived the passage and are hoping to start a better life in a more stable place. He speaks good English and has a winning smile. Like many children in Greece, the U.S. and the MIddle-East he loves watching sports on T.V. and he follows pop music. In many ways he is like many 12-year old's that I know in the states. We are starting our third full day in Athens. Life has been a whirlwind and it has been a little hard to sit down and write. We survived our trip across the Atlantic and things generally went pretty well. Our apartment has been a real blessing. It is located in a seemingly safe area which is fairly "touristy". That means that most of the shops have English speakers and we tend to not stand out as much as foreigners. It also means that there is a fairly visible police presence, which is a comfort for us. We are also very close to a subway stop and have only 3 stops (about a 10 min ride) to get to the church where we are serving. By contrast the location of the church is in a much rougher area and we would not likely feel as safe there after dark. We have been to the church each of the last two days and I am going again (by myself) to teach one-on-one language classes. We'll write more about the refugee ministry later, but for now I will just say that it is going quite well and has been very encouraging.
Let me tell you a little bit more about our apartment and neighborhood. We are about 2 blocks away from the Acropolis and have a great view of that historic section of the city from a rough top deck of our apartment building. (Above is a picture of me and Stella celebrating the Penguins victory.) On Monday night we did family devotions on the roof top and I read from Acts chapter 17 and Paul's address to the Areopagus. The Areopagus is a section of the larger Acropolis and it was a place for regular philosophical discussion in ancient Athens. The entire acropolis is a section of the ancient city which was located on top of a large rocky outcropping. It made for a great defensive position and was a fortified stronghold that the Athenians could retreat to in times of trouble. It was the home to the temple to Athena which was (as the name says) a very important goddess for the Ancient Athenians. Reading Paul's address to the Athenians while the Acropolis was in sight was a pretty powerful experience for me. I have been blessed to travel a fair amount in my life, but this is the first time that I know for sure that I was in the same location as a biblical character. I can say, for sure, that Paul walked these same streets. Perhaps sat on some of the same stones. It is one way that the biblical stories come to life. But there are other ways that stories are coming to life. Many groups of people that had previously existed for me as vague characters in the events of our modern world have also become more personal. We have spent the last two days eating lunch with refugees from Afghanistan, Palestine and Syria. We will need to write much more about that, but for now my simple observation is that it is always a powerful experience to meet - in person - the people that you had only read about. Suddenly the refugee crisis becomes more real and personal. Real people with stories and hopes and dream. Real experiences of suffering and loss. We are thankful to be hear and ask for your continued prayers to make Christ known in a hurting place. I am still plugging away reading and writing about William King. It is slow going, but the story is so good and relevant for our own time that someone needs to try write about it. Right now, no one else is lining up to do it.
I have also reading Sinclair Ferguson's new book, "The Whole Christ" over the last six weeks and found it to be helpful. The book discusses the age old challenge of legalism and antinomianism, but sets it in the context of a 18th c. Scottish Presbyterian debate. That may seem a little too technical or a little too historically distant for some of you, but trust me... it is relevant. You may or may not know the terms "legalism" and "antinomianism", but if you have been around Christianity for any significant amount of time you know the concepts. The term "legalism" has the obvious root "legal" and relates to a misuse of the law, or using the law to achieve salvation through our own religious efforts. By contrast, the term "antinomianism" has the root "nomos" which also means law and with the prefix "anti" it means against the law, or a rejection of the law of God in the Christian life. The stereotypes can help us get introduced to the problem. The legalist says, "If I want to be a good Christian, then I need to work harder to keep the rules. Then God will love me." The antinomian says, "Jesus died for my sins, it doesn't matter if I keep the rules." Now both of those stereotypes are a little off, but they do represent two trends in Christian thought. Sometime we approach the matter by thinking in terms of law and grace on a spectrum. That is, we think that a legalist has too much law or too much Old Testament... but the antinomian has too much grace and not enough law. If we approach it that way we tend to think that the antidote for one is a little more of the other. As if a legalist has just swung too far to one end of the spectrum and needs more grace to lighten up. In actual practice, people do often swing from one mistake to the other. That is a person who grows up in a legalistic church setting regularly swings the other way. They end up saying, "Now that I know grace, what is the point trying to be more spiritual. God just takes me as I am." But the goal of the Christian life is not merely to get a proper balance of grace and law and land right in the middle of the spectrum. Instead, the goal of the Christian life is to deepen our spiritual life by becoming more like Jesus. Here are two quick references: 2 Corinthians 3:18 Beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image. Romans 8:29 For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, Here is where Sinclair Ferguson's book comes in. Through the lens of this historical controversy, Ferguson puts his finger on the solution to this important problem. His premise is by no means new - in fact, it is probably the most obvious thing that one might say about Christianity. That is, the solution to our struggles with law and grace is not to focus on "law" or "grace" as abstract qualities. Rather, the goal is to focus on the way both law and grace are expressions of God's character. And since Jesus is the manifestation of God's character (Heb 1:3), we can say that our goal is to look at the way grace and law are expressed through Jesus Christ. Viewed through this lens, the problem with legalism is not that someone is too serious about rules. God's commands are good and meant to be a blessing. If only more Christians agonized over the commands that God has given to his people. After all Jesus said, "If you love me, you will keep my commandments" (John 14:15). Instead, the problem with legalism is that a legalist has separated the law of God from the person of God. As a result, the experience of law is no longer viewed as coming from the same loving father who has saved us and dealt graciously with us. Instead, the law becomes an enemy. (Now some of you may be thinking: "Doesn't Paul say that the law has a ministry of death." Ferguson deals with this is detail, and I won't rehearse all of the arguments there. His main point is that the context of this passage shows that Paul is referring to a misuse of the law. Or, the same sort of abstraction of law that Ferguson is warning against. Simply put - if all you have are a bunch of religious rules and you lose sight of God's gracious character, then your experience of the law will bring spiritual death to you. If that drives you to Christ, then it is a good kind of death. If you don't go to Jesus then it will not be.) On the other hand, the antinomian makes a similar mistake with both grace and law. They detach grace from the person of Christ. Grace is not a substance that floats around in the air. It is not something that we can store up. It is not something that we access outside of our relationship with Jesus. Grace is not an abstract quality. It is a quality that a person possesses. God is a personal being and he is gracious. He is gracious to us in Jesus. That doesn't mean that we can never use "grace" as a noun, but conceptually it must be linked to a person. Here is Ferguson's summary: "Practical antinomianism has many forms today. One of them is the secular gospel of self-acceptance masquerading as Christianity. 'Since God accepts me the way I am, I ought to not get straight-jacketed by the law of God - what God wants is that I be myself.' This has very concrete expressions in what are euphemistically described as "lifestyle choices": "This is how I am, God is gracious... and he accepts me as I am, and therefore I will remain as I am. "... But it is misleading to say that God accepts us the way we are. Rather he accepts us despite the way we are. He receives us only in Christ and for Christ's sake. Nor does he mean to leave us the way he found us, but to transform us into the likeness of his Son. "...There is only one genuine cure for legalism. It is the same medicine the gospel prescribes for antinomianism: understanding and tasting union with Jesus Christ himself." Here are a few very practical applications: 1.) This means that the goal of the Christian life is to draw closer to Jesus a truth found on nearly every page of the NT. 2.) It also means that relationships are a great way to learn about salvation. Real relationships impose demands on our life, and also provide opportunities to experience grace. This is why the church is so important - a truth found on nearly every page of the NT. 3.) It means that my ability to produce good spiritual fruit is directly related to cultivating a relationship of dependence upon Jesus. See - John 15. 4.) It means that even though I am growing in the grace of Jesus, I am still capable for falling into sin when I stop leaning on him. That is a truth that I know all too well. 5.) It means that our goal as a church is not to focus on either "grace" or "truth" in abstract ways. Doing that obscures the gospel. Instead, we must focus on both grace and truth as they are expressed in Christ. Salvation is relational from beginning to end. 6.) It means that a person doesn't get saved by simply saying a prayer or raising their hand. Saving faith is always personal - it connects us to Jesus. If you said a prayer of "accepting Jesus", but have no relationships with Jesus, then you really do not have saving faith. (see picture) It has been over week since our last post. That is due to the fact that we have been at the cabin without internet access.
This past week I feel like I was finally able to focus my energy on writing a little bit. Currently, I am at my mom's house in Clearfield. Chrissie is at Ligonier with the three oldest for a school overnight trip. I am here in Clfd with Stella at "Grandma Camp." Yesterday was full of business and stress of dealing with some aspects of my fathers estate (which I had put on the back burner for quite some time.) I got nothing else done. It highlighted the beauty of sabbatical. It really does help you to focus on a particular task when you are able to set aside the regular responsibilities. One of my prayer requests is to consider how I can build time for reading and writing more into my schedule on a regular basis when I return to full time ministry. Today I am holed away in a back room of my mom's house reading the autobiography of William King. He is a remarkable man, and the text that I am reading is apparently unpublished. His handwritten manuscript was typed by someone and made available on a website from the Canadian national library. It is surprisingly well written, but the text is difficult to read. I would guess that only a handful of people have ever read through this. That is a shame and something that I hope will eventually change. Today I was reading the section in his autobiography in which he writes about the death of his wife and daughter. (His son had died less than two years earlier.) It was particularly moving, and I thought I should post the text here. I don't understand the medical terminology, but I was touched by the faith of a man who wrestled with profound loss and yet found hope in the resurrection. Here we have the voice of a human being who experienced enormous grief, and dealt honestly with his sorrows. And yet, he saw hope in the gospel and pressed on to do the work that God had for him. I also noticed the supportive role that the community in his grief - something that I have personally experienced in the past year. "Towards the end of the first year after we arrived in Edinburgh [for Seminary], my wife gave birth to a daughter. After the birth of the child my wife showed some signs of consumption. She went out one night in November to hear Dr. Chalmers, who was to preach in West Fort and Baptize our child. The evening was damp and chilly. I brought her home from the church in a cab. The next day she complained of being unwell and coughed a little. I sent for Doctor Simpson who came at once to see her. On examining her case, he told me that she had consumption and that she would not live. Both lungs were affected, and she might probably live until spring. I asked if a change of climate would not do her good. He informed me it would be of no use because she was too far advanced in the disease to recover. The only thing that could be done was to nurse her well and keep her warm. I got a wet nurse to take care of her and the child. Sir James Simpson visited her regularly, giving her such medicine as would alleviate pain. It was a great comfort for me to know that she was a decided Christian and had a saving interest in Christ. During her long painful illness she fully sustained the Christian character, while a lingering consumption wasted away her frame. Each succeeding day witnessed the gradual waning of life. Her mind continued to be calm and her faith was firm in her Redeemer. The triumph of her faith was clear in the last dark hour, enabling her in a peculiar manner to exemplify the Christian life by the Christian death. On the 25th of February 1846 she fell asleep in Jesus. ...The death of my wife was a severe trail to me, as I was finishing my theological studies in the college and preparing for my final examination, but I was greatly comforted by the sympathy and Christian kindness of the Professors and students of the college. They attended the funeral in a body and Dr. Chalmers conducted the funeral service. After the death of my wife my whole affection was placed on the child now left. She was the last of my family and the very image of her mother. Her playful innocence had drawn my affection strongly towards her. On my return from class she would stretch out her arms as soon as she saw me enter the door. She would leave her nurse and come to me and was quite contented when she got on my knee. But God, who had given her to me as a pledge of our mutual love, was soon to take her to Himself forever to be with her mother in heaven. My work was not yet done - I was to remain a while longer on earth to finish the work that he had given me to do. My family had all gone before me. I will follow in the appointed time when we shall meet again in a land where death never comes, and where there is no sorrow, and where there is no separation. My child who had been growing well with her wet nurse was take suddenly with "Hydrocephalus" or "water in the head" and died on the ninth day of May. All that the best medical skill could do for her was done, but it was of no avail. From the time that the child was taken from me she had one convulsive fit after another until she expired. Dr. Chalmers again performed the funeral service and went with me to Leist cemetery where the child was laid in the same grave with her mother - to lie until the morning of the resurrection when they shall both rise together. After the death of my child - the last of my family - I was left alone. Dr. Chalmers kindly invited me to call upon him frequently without any ceremony and breakfast with him..." - From the autobiography of Rev. William King, p58-60, sections 193-199. |
AuthorMatt Koerber is the senior pastor at City Reformed Presbyterian church. This is his personal blog that he also asks guest writers to participate on. Archives
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