Today I burnt myself twice, both times with a drill. The only danger I usually think of when using a drill is putting a hole in my hand, but today I managed to leave my left arm with two blisters. I think I'll live though. Go figure. Between the self-mutilatings, I actually managed to accomplish what I had set out to do. This week I've been building handrails and an artesón for the church that Alan pastors. An artesón is one of those flat paneled roofs that sticks straight out of a building and is supported by steel cables anchored back to the main structure. I seem to imagine one fitting in well at one of those modern-y type places like an architect's office in a remodeled downtown next door to a coffee shop named something like 'The Plaid Scarf' or 'The Rusty Button' where inside people drink fair-trade coffee out of big colorful mugs and read newspapers through black, thick-rimmed glasses with no lenses and stare at pictures of rusty tractors sitting in wheat fields at sunset. In Honduras, however, the artesón has a different feel. It works because it was cheap to build, simple in contents, and functional at its core. I learned quickly that though it is in a foreign country, it is not foreign to unfamiliarity. One Honduran working on the project said he'd never seen anything like it before. Until I actually attached it to the building, they must have thought I was crazy by my explanation of how it was going to work. Clearly they've never sipped fair trade coffee at The Plaid Scarf or eaten a $5.00 scone at The Rusty Button.
But what if they got the chance to? What if, instead picking the coffee, they were at The Plaid Scarf drinking it out of their own colorful mug? What if, instead of making $5.00 a day to feed their family rice and beans and tortillas, they spent $5.00 on a blueberry scone that would curb their hunger for half an hour? What if I was the one that had never been to The Plaid Scarf? What if I was the one that thought if Americans could afford a $5.00 piece of bread, then they must all be rich? The fact of the matter is, they won't and I'm not. But that's the beauty of culture, we're not the same. The owner of The Rusty Button knows how to make scones. José knows how to cut grass with a machete. If we were all the same, we'd live in a world either scone-less or overtaken by weeds. We are very different, and I'm only in Honduras. I can't begin comprehend the millions of cultural intricacies that exist among the thousands of tribes, villages, and people of Africa, Southeast Asia, and the South Pacific. The incredible thing about the world we live in today is that we don't have to live trapped inside our cultural walls. The owner of The Rusty Button can come to Honduras and teach a lady how to make scones after her husband teaches him how to cut grass with a machete. Our differences don't make us superior or inferior, they make us just as advertised…different. And different is so wonderfully unique.
Through the missing lenses of thick rimmed glasses we're pretty different. The never-leave-home-without-it item of the Honduran, the machete, is very different than that of the American, the iPhone. That doesn't even take into account the mindsets that go along with those things. However, through the lens of the gospel, we are all the same. Our differences quickly become an oxymoron, the same. Humans, regardless of culture, language, or homeland, can be described universally as ones among whom
"There is no one righteous, not even one; there is no one who understands, no one who seeks God. All have turned away, they have together become worthless; there is no one who does good, not even one. Their throats are open graves; their tongues practice deceit. The poison of vipers is on their lips. Their mouths are full of cursing and bitterness. Their feet are swift to shed blood; ruin and misery mark their ways, and the way of peace they do not know. There is no fear of God before their eyes." Romans 3:10-18
Our sinfulness reduces us all to an even playing field. On that field stands every person that has ever existed in the history of the world. It is a playing field colorful with language, dress, and customs yet teeming with the rancid tang of vile sin against an infinitely holy God. It is a playing field to which even the smallest slip-ups, the tiniest white lies, and the meager ounces of pride will damn us. And it is a playing field that leads to no place other than the depths of an eternal hell.
"But God" are the two single most important words in all of written history. Yes, there was a time when we gratified "the cravings of our sinful nature and followed its desires and thoughts. Like the rest, we were by nature objects of wrath. But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ." If there was no "but God," there would be no hope. But because he loved us even while we were still rotten to the core, there is hope. It came in the form of God in a man; his name was Jesus of Nazareth. The centerpiece of history, he was born of a virgin and lived a sinless life. During the 33 years he walked the earth, he was not on our playing field, but instead lived a life in perfect harmony with the Father, his Father. He walked, ate, slept, and urinated, but he also performed miracles, healed, cured, and liberated. His perfection, however, cost him his life, for false accusation and an imminent, painful, humiliating death was not enough to convince him to deviate from his purpose. He was spat upon, stripped naked, beaten, tortured, enticed, humiliated, and ultimately nailed to a cross to hang until he died. But even the physical torment the was put through was not the worst of it. That wasn't even the tip of the iceberg. The wrath that was pent up for justly damming each and every person on the playing field to the pit of hell, in a matter of hours, came charging down on his shoulders. The nails that went through the bones in his wrists and feet no longer supported only his body weight, but now bore the weight of wrath from his Holy Father that was due every single sin of every single person that had ever or would ever walk the face of the earth. The Father, couldn't even stand to look at his son anymore, but turned his face away because, you see, the Holy Father cannot be associated with anything unholy. After hours of suffering, agony, and torment, he declared it finished and died.
Satan rejoiced. Death won. The unconquerable God was conquered. The Father of Lies had taken reign over souls of those on the playing field once and for all. Until three days later. Satan didn't realize that death could not hold this Jesus of Nazareth. He did not realize that this Jesus could make himself live again and when he did, would break the chains of sin and death for evermore. The souls on the playing field no longer were bound to it. The Holy Father raised his son from the dead and, in doing so, shone an unmistakable light into the darkness that is death and roared to Satan that he shall not have the last word. Since sin and death had been defeated, all those who believe in the One who sacrificed himself to bear the wrath due them can now have eternal life, enjoying fellowship with the Father for eternity until eternity. The grave was not powerful enough to hold this Jesus, so he walked out and commanded, with all authority in heaven and earth, to those who would believe in Him, to "go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age."
The world may be full of different people from different cultures with different skills, traditions, and customs but one thing remains the same, we're all in desperate need of hearing that story. The Bible calls it the gospel and it is the cornerstone of Christianity. Its dispersion is the reason that millions of Christians have gladly died in the last two millennia and its proclamation to every tribe, nation, people, and tongue is indispensable, mandatory even.
I mentioned earlier that today I accomplished everything I had set out to do, but I don't think that's entirely the truth. It's not true because I don't live in Honduras so that I can build handrails and artesones. I don't live in Honduras to build churches or houses or put on roofs to make people more comfortable. I don't live in Honduras to help people have clean drinking water. That would be a terrible waste of time because after building said house, the occupants may still go to hell, they'll just now go with a roof over their head. Or, after providing clean drinking water, the beneficiaries may still go to hell, they'll just go without parasites. Roof or no roof, parasites or no parasites, it really doesn't matter all that much if you're on your way to an eternal torment. If you care about the eternal state of a person's soul, humanitarian aid is a deceiving end in itself. No matter how good it makes you feel, providing temporary comfort does not equal eternal security. It is, however, an effective means to an end. In my case, I build handrails and artesones and churches and houses and roofs because while I'm doing it, I get the chance to spend time with people who need to hear that gospel story. The construction is important as a means to the end of sharing the gospel. In the long run, the soul of the person I'm working with will last much longer than whatever it is we're building. For me, construction is only an excuse to spend time with local Honduran laborers who need to hear the story of the gospel.
Unfortunately, there exists a thing called 'mission creep' that plagues me and, I imagine, many missionaries. Mission creep is when you lose sight of your main focus and begin to focus on other, seemingly important, areas. In other words, mission creep is then the means becomes the end. The reason I can't truthfully say that I accomplished everything I set out to do today (and really all week) is because I selfishly neglected the souls of those working around me in favor of my own pride. "My work is important right now." "They'll still be here next week, I'll do it then." Sure, I've had many conversations with one or two of them in the past about the gospel how that should affect us, but my pride rears its ugly head every chance it gets. I ask you to pray with me that the means would remain the means and the end would remain supreme. I desperately want this because I do desire for my friends and fellow workers to see that Christ has broken their chains. They are not bound to the playing field any longer but have freedom in Christ, if they would submit to it.
As I type those lines, I feel immediately compelled to write that even if I were to keep the means where it belongs and evangelize my heart out every hour of every day, I myself am only a seed sower. If God would have it, I could be a waterer or harvester, but most likely I am only a seed sower. That means that I cannot measure my effectiveness based of the number of converts I make or the depth of faith I cultivate. I must do my part to share the story of the gospel, but it is completely and utterly up the power of the Holy Spirit to use that shared gospel and plant it firmly into a heart.
I have less than five months left in Honduras. I have five months left to keep the means the means and the end supreme. When I return to the States, my mission will be much the same. I may not be building handrails and artesones, but there will be a means, as there will always be people who need to hear the gospel, and the end never changes. It doesn't change for you and it doesn't change for me. It’s the same in Honduras, America, Africa, Southeast Asia, and the South Pacific. If you are a believer in the story of the gospel, and your 'end' is something other than to share that gospel with others and guide them in what it means for us, then you need a new end.
If you would like to talk to me about my time in Honduras when I return in January, or if you would like to talk about your own 'end', maybe we can meet up at The Rusty Button and talk about it over coffee.
I don't drink coffee, but I hear their scones are phenomenal.
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