No Such Thing

About 14 years ago, when I was still a single man, I had the opportunity to preach the Gospel as an evangelist at our churches in Guatemala City. While I was there, my backpack, along with my passport, my Bible and all my sermon notes, was stolen. I had been foolish enough to leave it in the vehicle of my tour guide (one of the brothers from the church there). I thought it'd be alright since I had seen him leave his things in his car. After spending many years living in Boston, I knew better than to leave anything in my car that I might actually want to keep. My father's words were something like, "If you don't want it stolen, don't leave it in the car." (Actually, his pronunciation of 'car' was more like 'caaah'. ) But like I was saying-- what a fool I was to leave it anywhere and I was kicking myself for it. My trip got extended another nine days as I had to go through the whole process of getting another passport and while I was there, the pastor took full advantage of my availability-- having me preach nearly everyday and sometimes twice a day at the school, the church and the surrounding baby churches some of which met in corrugated metal garages as hot as a sauna. In the end, it was a tremendous opportunity for me and a wonderful privilege to minister to people and since I didn't (and still don't) speak Spanish, I spent a lot of time in between by myself just hanging out with God. My relationship with Him deepened to say the least.
I didn't get off to such a great start, however. By the time I landed at the airport in Guatemala, I had a splitting headache. I was somewhat concerned because my flight was a little late and I was supposed to preach at service that night. I thought I was going to be able to kick back for a while, take a shower, shave, and head off to church. No such thing would occur. As a matter of fact, after going through customs, I spent the next hour and a half standing on the terminal curb wondering who was going to pick me up. I had no directions. No church address. No pastor's address. I didn't even have his phone number. And back then, hardly anyone (almost no one) had cell phones, including me. I was stuck, stranded, and after 90 minutes of inhaling diesel bus fumes, I was nauseous and battling a migraine with no chance of relief.
I was finally approached by a older brother in the church who spoke almost no English who indicated that he was my ride to the church. He wasn't a limo driver, he wasn't wearing a suit and his means of transportation was a beat up Toyota pick-up from the 80's with the holes in the floor covered up by pieces of anything. Unfortunately, the holes weren't fully patched and exhaust fumes seemed to be seeping directly through the floor to my nose. As we sat gridlocked in traffic, surrounded by even more diesel belching trucks and buses (talk about EPA violations-- welcome to the third world, you pampered preacher from Southern California) with no conversation whatsoever coming from my companion, a particular thought pounded at me in waves along with my headache: What the heck was I doing here?
At some point, we arrived at the church where service was about to start and after greeting the pastor who probably asked me if I was good to go, I headed directly to the bathroom. I scraped a shirt and tie out of my luggage and looked around at the bathroom which looked like something I'd been in at some filthy gas station I'd stopped at in the States. I needed a shave. Not happening. I needed about four Advil. No such luck. I needed to get it together because some folks were counting on me to deliver.
I emerged from the bathroom and took a seat as the song service was starting. Of course, it was all in Spanish and it didn't sound like what I was used to. At all. I looked at the plastic chairs. The dirty and cracked concrete floor, the stained walls and began to wonder, "I guess this is where I find out if I'm really saved."
It's easy to be saved and serve God in the U.S. where we have nice carpet and freshly sealed parking lots. Where the bathrooms are marbled and hands are blown dry. Where there's a program for every need and available at convenient hours. And if you don't like the church you're at, then you can go down the street and find another. It's easy to be saved where all your friends are Christian and you have a job and a nice car which takes you to church once a week. It's easy. And if that wasn't enough we bend over backwards here in the states to make visitors as welcome as possible and try not to preach anything that might offend anyone. We want everyone to be included. And happy. And comfortable. This is what some have called "Easy Believism". In the Bible, you will find no such thing.

As they were walking along the road, a man said to him, 

“I will follow you wherever you go.”

Jesus replied, “Foxes have dens and birds have nests,

but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.”

He said to another man, “Follow me.”

But he replied, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.”

Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead, 

but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God.”

Still another said, “I will follow you, Lord; 

but first let me go back and say goodbye to my family.”

Jesus replied, “No one who puts a hand to the plow 

and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.”

-- Luke 9:57-62 

The real question is whether or not such a form of Christianity will really help a believer stay 'saved' and make it to heaven. Imagine the persecution and hardship, the first century church overcame. Imagine the power it possessed. Imagine what the church would be like today, if it truly followed Jesus.

The photo above is a brother from our church preaching this week in the Guatemala City church. Notice the floor. We are especially proud of all that he's accomplished.