Dear David and Cathie, You've done it again! Book 6! And soon Book 7 on Ephesus!

Congratulations on persevering to the end. We have greatly been blessed by Miriam's, Anthony's, and Grace's stories. How wonderful to imagine how early Christians developed their faith while reaching out to people around them.

You have given us the lens of this story to see the historical setting and detail that makes it so poignant. Thank you for all the hours and hours of work to produce these amazing books. Thank you for so generously sending us "Hot off the press" copies with their artistic covers. 

You have blessed us. We are grateful! Joyfully, (signed J and R)

Valentine's Passion, Choices, and Sacrifices

For Valentine's Day, 2022, a new book is launched, exploring, among other things, two stories to set a person's heart beating faster. 

Book Six - Fortress Shadows: A Chronicle of Smyrna is a story about passionate love. We have heard it said that true love requires sacrifice. But it’s incredible how passionate love leads to intense conflicts of every kind. Everyone in this book has a singular focus. (This is the sixth historical novel in the saga Heartbeats of Courage.)

People of all ages express their love, but it comes out differently. This historical novel, placed in the ancient city of Smyrna, Izmir, (see the front cover), on the Turkish coast, is set in the last years of the First Century. 

 The story explores many kinds of passion. Anthony, an imprisoned Roman legionary on trial for crimes against the state, faces the most difficult decision of his life. By simply declaring, “Caesar is lord and god,” he can walk free with a new lease on life. But if he loves his Lord more than life, he faces certain execution. At his court-martial, Anthony faces five military commanders. Antipas, who we met in Book One of this saga, became Anthony’s mentor. 

Antipas loved his Lord so much that he could not declare, “Caesar is lord and god.” And that led to a terrible death. From experience, Anthony knows military men love and respect the Roman Empire. Their commitment permits them to understand politics and religion from only Rome’s viewpoint. 

Other people are passionate in their search for wealth, prestige, popularity, possessions, and power. Why is their commitment so focused that they will sacrifice everything to fulfill their ambitions? Some are judges, lawyers, landowners, shipbuilders, sailors, and even criminals in the illegal slave business.

 Unknown to Anthony, Miriam, married for seven years, faces a painful choice. She can either choose to receive an enormous inheritance with certain conditions, which will make her a fabulously wealthy woman. Or she might have to spend the rest of her life with her husband, Anthony, experiencing abject poverty. Does Miriam love her husband enough to become impoverished, living at the lowest economic levels? 

 Grace is Anthony and Miriam’s adopted daughter. She will soon learn how much sacrifice is called for as she lives with her mother’s decision. Young Grace, only seven years old, gradually answers many questions: What does it take to keep a home a loving place? What choices and sacrifices must be made to keep bread on the table? Why is the teaching of Jesus, the Nazarene, a challenge for both the Roman and Greek-speaking authorities? Why won’t they believe in the Kingdom of God? How do corruption and greed continue to outsmart the cleverest governmental authorities? Around Grace are various married couples and those who don’t believe in a wedding. One of her most significant discoveries is the answer to a question: “What character traits are necessary to overcome the obstacles that love places in their way?” 

 And for ourselves, we find an answer to an oft-repeated question: “Were people 2000 years ago that different from what we find in the world today?”

Unwelcome change at age five

 

With Wilson

I was five years old when the first pains began to twist and turn in my tummy. Earlier that morning, I was playing with my African friend, Wilson. He and I were inseparable, and we went everywhere together every morning and afternoon. Wilson's father was an African evangelist, teaching in the Bible School. We often strolled across the football - soccer - field. It was used every day by the young men who studied with Wilson's father, and by children at the nearby elementary school.

The fresh mound of red-brown dirt at the far end of the sports field marked a new grave. The sight would not leave me. In my mind, I kept walking toward the place where Rosalie was buried a week before. She died before reaching twenty. The word used by my parents,  "consumption," either in English or Tugen, meant little to me. 

 I kept going back to the previous days when I was at Rosalie's bedside as we sang her favorite songs. The last song she wanted to be sung was "On Christ, the solid rock I stand." This lovely young African woman had been my best friend. She had been taking care of me since I was a toddler. Every morning,  my mother, a nurse, attended to the long line of sick people who lined up early every day at the medical clinic, so Rosalie watched over me.

Many people sat around her bed. The scene came back. I knelt beside the African pastor who was on one side, and my father on the other side. We held hands around Rosalie's bed as she breathed her last. "My hope is built on nothing less, than Jesus' blood and righteousness." The words were in Tugen, the language of the people in Kabartonjo. 

The day after she died, shortly after the noon meal, Rosalie's body was lowered into a newly-dug grave. Close by was an enormous shade tree. 

Then, only a few days later, my father held my little hand in his big, steady hand. We walked across

With Rosalie

the sports field and I looked up at him. "Squeeze my hand harder, Daddy." When he squeezed my hand, I felt secure. "Squeeze harder!" It was easy, at age five, to feel safe when he held my hand so tightly. 

That night I first heard my parents talking about the worrying political situation in Kenya. They thought I was asleep in bed, but I was still awake, thinking about how Rosalie had died. One thing wouldn't leave me. When her relatives came for the funeral, more than fifty members of her family decided to follow Jesus. 

Earlier, in the afternoon, I felt safe. My dad's firm grip hand gripped my mine, but the pleasure of that afternoon was spoiled that night. My father explained to my mother his anxiety about the dangerous times ahead. I lay in bed and heard him say, "The chief is against me for my speaking out about the things we object to." As a five-year-old, I didn't know anything about FGM, female genital mutilation.

 All I knew was that my mother looked after twenty teenage girls in a girls' school and dormitory. They came from families who didn't want their daughters to go through "customs." This was the other work my mother carried out.

"And outside this area, quite far away," my father continued, "Mau Mau soldiers are demanding that white settlers leave Kenya." It was the first time I heard all these strange words, and I didn't know what they meant, but I knew it meant trouble was ahead. A strange sensation hit me. Pain gripped my stomach.

(This is a passage from a forthcoming autobiography, "Stay On Track: Colony Ending Insights.")

 Mercy and Grace in Prison

For three years, I lived in a desert area. When the rains came, the thorn trees burst out with fresh leaves. Overnight, it seemed a transformation took place. Butterflies appeared and songbirds flew about.

In that hot, dry area, another transformation took place. My father was a full-time chaplain ministering to thousands of Kenyan men who had been apprehended by the British colonial administration. Some were sentenced to one year in prison, other men in the uprising against Great Britain had to serve two years.

With a strong British accent, it might have been dangerous for my father to spend hours each day in the cells. In some of them, upward of 100 men were housed in what had been former airport hangers. Theoretically, he could have been physically hurt in one way or another.

Instead, hundreds of one-time rebels against the Kenyan government were saved as they trusted in the Savior. One man said, “Before the Gospel was preached to us, everyone here was talking about rebellion; now, everyone is talking about the Lord Jesus.”

Another stated, “We get food and water and medical care, but it isn’t those things that made us different. Only the Word of God could have done that.”

A Christmas thought: “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God… to all who believe in his name, he gave the right to become children of God…grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.” John 1:1,12,17

The Health Hidden in Laments

 

The Seige and Destruction of Jerusalem, a painting by Roberts

A lament comes from the depth of one's soul. It reaches down into the common memories of a group of people, and there comes a painful cry. Mourning, with multiple levels and reflecting hundreds of memories, rises to the surface. 

I think of the lament at the death of King Saul and David's best friend, Jonathan. Both Saul and Jonathan were defeated in a battle. That terrible event marked the end of King Saul's life and the beginning of David's rule.

More poignantly, Jeremiah's lament comes to mind. I never get tired of reading the majestic poetry, among the best in the Bible. The lament has endless depth, gripping pictures of destruction, and the collective moan of loss.

Two comments about laments come to mind. First, a lament combines both a personal situation as well as one's entire society.

Burning the Temple, a painting by Fransico Hayiz

When Jeremiah witnessed the destruction of Jerusalem's walls and the temple being burned, he recalled his frequent trips to pray inside those walls, to offer a sacrifice at the temple. But it wasn't only his loss. His entire society had been laid to waste. Personal and societal loss were bound up in the same expression of grief. 

Secondly, within a lament, within the awareness that the end of something precious has been lost, there is a new beginning. For David, the kingdom was now going to be his to govern. For Jeremiah, the awesome nature of God's judgment because of idolatry led him to an eternal confession, one we still sing about frequently. His words became our words. 

Monument of General Titus Capturing Jews in Jerusalem, Rome 

Because of the Lord's great love, we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning. Great is thy faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22,23

Looking around at our world right now, I wonder if we as Christians could agree on a lamentation. How ready we are to hoard more stuff, especially on Black Friday or Boxing Day. And how slow we are to think of the poor. How quickly do we approve of the third vaccination against Covid-19, when more than 50% of the world's population doesn't have access to even a first dose? How easy it is to buy even larger vehicles, store extra stuff in our garages and storage units outside our homes. At the same time, people south of the USA border and in at least 65 of the poorest nations in Africa and Asia have suffered through decades of inadequate governance. The list of ills seems endless. Not only that, the list seems to be growing ever longer. 

We need to reflect on this time of global crisis. Each of us has an image of something we have lost in these past years, perhaps a sense of security, perhaps a job, even a lost loved one. Our combined grief is deserving of a healthy lament.

Why "healthy"? Because it is in the moment that we accept our loss that we have to return, as Jeremiah did, to the everlasting faithfulness of the Lord. Jeremiah didn't ditch his people. They kept on sinning. They simply would not leave their idolatry. He loved his people and even followed them to Egypt, dying there. In the same way, we will love our neighbors, our friends, and our beloved family members, many of whom we might consider a lost cause. Why do we stick with our people when there seems to be no hope? 

It's because of the Lord. It's his faithfulness that holds us firm through the storms of life. 

Rebuilding after a Rotten Foundation

Rebuilding after a Rotten Foundation crumbles. That was the challenge my father faced when I was four years old.

We were living in the western Kenyan village of Kabatronjo, about five hours drive from the urban center of Eldoret. Travel is quicker and more accessible now, but in those days, the steep drop down the Elgeo escarpment, the perilous trip over the deep, rushing waters of the Kario River, and the agonizing climb back up the other side of the Rift Valley took longer. Paved roads and safer curves mean it's easier to find materials these days. But in that year, my day needed to rebuild a house being destroyed from the ground up by termites.

A few days before, I was playing with my toy cars beside the living room wall. I pressed the wheels of my toy against the wall, and a hole instantly appeared behind the yellow paint. Calling my father, I went running to where he was typing out lessons for the young men studying in the school. He came in to see what was the matter, and then he called out, "Hazel, you'll have to come and see this!"

Termites had taken most of the wood, finding a better place, I suppose, deep in the ground to chew things over. Support that the two-by-fours and the planks attached to them were supposed to give to that wall had been eaten away by tiny creatures looking for nourishment. Soon, the fundi, the carpenter on the mission station, was beside my parents, poking his fingers into the wall here and there. He went to other rooms in the house, and then his verdict came as he sadly shook his head. "Mr. Phillips, you are going to have to rebuild the entire house."

And that is what happened. Our house was torn down, as you can see in the photographs. A team of four carpenters came from the nearby, larger town of Kabarnet, ten miles to the south. Those strong young men took down the walls, first having moved all the furniture out. The old house, built by Stuart Bryson, the remarkable Australian who translated the entire Bible into the Tugen language, had not thought about the considerable damage termites could bring about.

Within a few weeks, the new timbers were erected on treated wood, the new foundation, and that house was our home for another two years before we moved away. At that time, polio attacked the muscles in our bodies. 

Sometimes I think about the invisible damage done to our lives. Yes, there is an unseen but very real eating-away at our foundations. Greed for money, prestige, and grasping for precious objects can eat away at our souls, even if it's not observable to others. Course language, pornography, casual relationships do the same thing, working quietly and insidiously.

I admire teachers and counselors who can help young men and women detect the rot that sets in. I found the damage to our walls when I poked around, not suspecting to find anything wrong. Let's pray for families, moms and dads, who work with teens and young adults, helping them build a foundation that will not rot and decay and bring the house down around their ears in later life.

It's Thanksgiving time in the USA and Canada. Let's give thanks for moms and dads who lay good, solid foundations for their families.  

Five Conditions for Prevailing Prayer

 Five Conditions for Prevailing Prayer:

1 Entire dependence on the merits and mediation of our Lord Jesus Christ.

2 Keep separated from all known sin.

3 Have faith in God's word of promise as confirmed by his oath.

4 Ask in accordance with his will.

5 Be willing to wait for the right time, even as you are constant in supplications.

The Four Ways God Answers Prayer

 1 If the timing is wrong, God says, "Go slow!" Wait. See John 11, the story of Lazarus.

2 If the request is immature, God says, "Grow!" The reason is to develop our character, not to provide comfort or convenience. Is. 59:1-2

3 If the request is out of God's will, he says, "No!" Jesus prayed for the cup to be taken from him while he was in the Garden of Gethsemene, but he still was willing to obey the Father.

4. When the request is right, God says, "Let's Go!" 

James 4:14-17 Keep our motives pure, believe, don't doubt, focus on possibilities, not limitations, and never stop praying!

Reconciliation in an "Almost-failed" church

 

My first visit to the rural city of Coxim in Mato Grosso do Sul in Western Brazil confirmed every negative opinion I had heard about this place.

 Close by, the expansive Pantanal spreads all the way to the Paraguay River. The Pantanal is one of the largest swampy places in the world. I had heard about the flies zooming down around the food in Coxim, but not the other challenges I would meet. 

Once a flourishing church with a private Baptist school, the church had fallen headlong into a miserable state. The school closed following the abrupt departure of most church members from worship services. The three-hour direct bus service from Campo Grande to Coxim was extended an extra hour, or more if it was a "pinga-pinga" service. Pinga was a kind of beer. Pinga-pinga meant the bus stopped at each and any dirt entrance to the fazendas. Cattle raising is the chief occupation there. An extra hour was well worth the investment of time if you wanted to meet rural people in the northern part of the state. 

A new military man had come as a trainer of army recruits, and he asked me to be there at 2:00 pm sharp at the military base. I had never spoken to a room full of 60 new recruits. The topic given to me was unique: "Christian Beliefs!" The memory of dozens of flies circling the rice and beans on my lunch plate quickly left as I spoke to those young men. If I made dozens of mistakes in Portuguese, they didn't show it in facial gestures. Amos, the wonderful Black Brazilian, also had me go on the radio each time I went. He carried on the 15 minutes, daily programs. What happened there next was mostly because of him.

The church services had been canceled, so I simply visited every home I could find that was associated with Coxim Baptist Church. 

Two weeks later, I arrived early on Saturday morning and went to visit one of the two elderly women still faithful to the Lord in that congregation. She lived in a spread-out, beautifully decorated, ranch-style house with gorgeous flowering plants inside and outside. I prayed with her and asked about her ten children, unable to fix each name with the current family status, numerous grandchildren, and where they all lived. 

Leaving her home, I almost bumped into a man about my age. The entranceway into her home was kind of dark since flowering shrubs grew all around. "Are you walking in the light?" were the words I uttered. I left, confused as to the reason those words came out when I was kind of making a joke with someone I had never met. 

That weekend, we had a prayer meeting instead of a worship service. But six weeks after I first arrived,

I was met with a request to open the doors of the church building. Coxim gets sweltering hot temperatures on a regular basis, and this was the middle of Brazilian summer. Every window was wide open to catch a bit of the breeze. And there, sitting with his mother, was the man I encountered two weeks before. 

"I had a vision the night before I visited my mother," he said after the service. "I heard strange words, 'Are you walking in the light?' and I saw someone like you at my mother's home. Distressed, I went there as soon as I could because I didn't want a foreigner coming to our family home." He went on to say, "I repented of my sins, which are many, and I want to see this church flourishing again."

Many such stories happened in the following three months. I spent much time visiting homes. Each Sunday evening, I barely made it to the bus station, usually as the bus was already backing away from the platform. And since it was a "pinga-pinga," letting men off as they went back for the Monday rounds on horseback, I usually arrived at our home in Campo Grande about 1:00 am. I left aside the petty differences that had coalesced into internal divisions. The beauty of the Lord Jesus Christ took over. 

Three months later, I led a baptism with 21 young people confessing their faith in the Coxim River. Two months after that, we witnessed a powerful moment with people confessing their bad feelings and bad words to each other. Seven months after I first visited, we had a graduate from the Seminary in Rio de Janeiro come to assume the pastorate. That service saw benches lined up outside the building, all the way to the street with over 300 in attendance. 

Reconciliation had taken place in an amazing way. The Spirit of the Lord had come upon us. Those humble believers, many with less than nine years of schooling, were willing to put away their differences. An "almost-failed" church came back to life in the most amazing way.

Oh! I don't dwell on flies and piranha fish when I remember Coxim these days. It's something else, something heavenly. "I appeal to you, brothers, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree with one another so that there may be no divisions among you and that you may be perfectly united in mind and thought." I Corinthians 1:10. 

A Family Reconciliation

Living anywhere in the world, one finds conflicts embedded in family relationships. This was true in Brazil, where we lived for many years. 

One of the families took us in with our weak Portuguese skills. The Monteiro extended family numbered in the hundreds, although I didn't know it when we first moved to Campo Grande in western Brazil. For the first year, I'm sure we gave them oodles of hilarious phrases, hundreds, probably, things they had never been taught about in school, but which were a more than serious attempt to murder the wonderful linguistic cadence inherited from Portugal.

Over the years, we had dozens, perhaps scores of pleasant encounters with various family members. I remember the day when I came home and told my wife, "Do you know that so and so is related to the person we had a meal with yesterday?" I was only beginning to understand the complexities of family extensions in South America. Oh, how much I had to learn! And how many mistakes I made!

Time passed and we moved to Brasilia. I received an invitation to be a speaker at a family gathering. To my surprise, 219 out of 263 persons in the extended family arrived for the five-day event over Carnaval. I spoke on family relationships in the book of Genesis: the first generation - "Abraham: How faith comes into a family"; the second generation - "Isaac and Esau: how conflicts come between brothers"; the third generation - "Jacob: how long-term patterns separate people"; and the fourth generation - "Joseph: how reconciliation brings relatives together." 

I did an exceptionally un-Brazilian thing the last morning of the retreat. It was still early morning when I asked people not to come to the front; instead, they would stand and make a prayer request, and people around that person would pray in a low voice while we sang choruses. I expected this to take about 15 minutes. Then the next person would make a request for prayer. 

I looked up at the end of the first chorus, opening my eyes, and there were several people standing at the front of the massive lean-to that had been built on the ranch/farm for the event.

What followed was amazing. For several hours, the Holy Spirit fell upon that wonderful extended family. Broken marriages were healed, distant relatives brought together, commitments made to live in harmony, fathers reconciled to their children, and children repented of wrong-doing. I didn't know any of the family secrets. Thank God, I didn't need to know. It was the third time I witnessed such a blowing away of the cob-webs from the dark places of the soul. Those people did not quench the Holy Spirit. 

Oh, how I came to love those dear people! The family made a commitment to go back to the fifth generation, 957 persons, and it was discovered that with the sixth generation, a total of 5,005 persons were descended or married into that family! Each of twelve children of the fourth generation gave enough through the donation of cattle each month over the course of a year to provide for a "family missionary" to travel throughout Central Brazil, locating each of those persons and bringing the message of God's grace, forgiveness, reconciliation, healthy relationships, and light in the face of Jesus Christ. Having been reconciled, they simply could not stop telling the good news of Christ's grace.

Thirty-four years later, I'm sure the family is well into the eighth generation of this family. Originally, the first man and wife came from elsewhere in Brazil. And now, they are scattered, usually because of work opportunities. Yes, I continue to hear precious things from family members through social media. Churches continue to multiply in Campo Grande one of the largest patterns of church growth I've ever heard of. May the name of the Lord be praised and uplifted for what those dear, humble people did in letting the Holy Spirit do his everlasting work.

Confession followed by Reconciliation - 4

 What is it about the power of confession?

That's something I wondered as I got on the airplane in Cochabamba, Bolivia, returning to Brasilia, Brazil. I had shared two weeks with Bolivian brothers and sisters. We studied the book of Acts for one week, and during that time, I learned an unforgettable lesson in October 1989. 

It came through Bolivian pastors and leaders, not from me as a visiting speaker. 

The topic being discussed was the power of the Holy Spirit to witness. I asked for their opinions on the Bible passage we had been reading during the previous 45 minutes. The complete silence that followed left me feeling uncomfortable, and I wondered if I should step into the conversation to keep that silence from getting unbearable. 

One of the pastors, Emigidio Veizaga, shifted in his seat as if he wanted to say something but couldn't. When he spoke, his comments seemed to have nothing to do with the topic! 

"I didn't want to come to this meeting," he began, "and almost didn't buy the bus ticket." His next words explained the reasons for his discomfort. I learned that stress existed between the various departmentos, or provinces/states, of the country. I can't remember how long he spoke, but his sincerity in desiring unity among the leaders was matched by his distress caused by a few recent occurrences. He wanted to love others but was finding it difficult to do so.

When he stopped speaking, another silence! Wow! Then, first one man and then another came to him, speaking gentle words. They thanked him for his honesty. Expressions of love were given with joy, forgiveness, and not a few tears. Hard feelings began to break down. One man went across the circle to give Emigidio a warm hug. Then another did the same thing. People waited patiently to publically ask for forgiveness. For a while, I felt the power of God. We were in the presence of the Lord. Past hurts were put aside. An atmosphere of genuine love and caring fell over the group. No one wanted to take a coffee break. Just being together in the Lord's work, sitting in the seminary chapel, and basking in the warmth of the Holy Spirit was enough.

Some unplanned events took place in the next few evenings. We had amazing breakthroughs, positive experiences that bound everyone together, men and women, urban pastors and Campesinos, rural pastors. 

That smaller meeting folded into an even larger one during which young people demonstrated their love for the Lord through their beautiful combinations using guitars, Andean flutes, and drums. 

What is it about the power of confession? How can ordinary people know the love of Christ if small problems in churches become big ones? 

Reconciliation between leaders in that experience, and in subsequent encounters, taught me how wonderful are the words of Jesus, "Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand." 

Oh, that we, here in our nation of Canada, might repent before the Lord and one another of the attitudes we have sometimes held towards one another, judging without knowing all the facts, being jealous without reason, or putting one region of the country before another. 

Thank you, my dear brother, Emidgio Veizaga. The day you humbled yourself for a few moments taught me more than I could ever teach you. Praise God for the revival that followed. 

A Shameful Act followed by Reconciliation - 3

Many people talk about the beginning of a revival, saying, "It all started when so-and-so confessed a sin publically," or something similarly dramatic.

A great movement towards the Lord Jesus Christ took place in Bolivia. I don't know how many others call it a revival, but I certainly do. I will explore the reason for my deep conviction in various blog posts. 

This revival in Bolivia did not begin with a confession of sin. It happened after the forgiveness of sin!

In 1948, there were only a few thousand evangelical believers in Bolivia, a landlocked nation in the heart of South America. For half a millennium, the Roman Catholic Church dominated all aspects of life, economically, legally, and certainly spiritually. 

"Bolivians celebrate the sixth of August as the date of the emancipation from Spanish colonialism and the birth as a nation, taking the name of their liberator, Simon Bolivar (1783-1830). They enjoy the three days of August 5, 6, and 7 to affirm their national identity with the family of nations." Jaime Goytia R in Bridging Cultures and Hemispheres: The Legacy of Archibald Reekie and Canadian Baptists in Bolivia. 

Those three days in 1949 were chosen by missionary Norman Dabbs and the congregations in Oruro for dynamic, special meetings. On Monday, August 8th, Norman Dabbs and several church members went in an open truck to preach in Merk'Amaya, a mining center high up in the mountains. Unknown to them, a meeting had been held to plan a violent clash. 

In the raid that evening, stones rained down from all sides. Among the bodies were those of Norman Dabbs and Pastor Meneses. Luis Guerrero was pulled from the mission truck, pleading, "Don't kill me! I have six children!" Four members of the Merk'Amaya community were killed. Six were driven to nearby Catavi, three of them women. In all, eight were stoned to death and six badly wounded. 

Time magazine picked up the story and published it on August 22, 1949, reporting that "300 drunken Indians used stones in their attack on a home where Baptist Missionary Dabbs was conducting a Bible Study for some 40 believers."

Walter S. Ridgeway, in the well-known publication Redemption, wrote: "What attitude did the evangelical Christians of Oruro take when they learned about the untimely death of their pastor and their other spiritual leaders? Was it a reaction of hate and vengeance? No, but "Father, forgive them for they know not what they ." This was the biblical text most frequently cited through the whole funeral service." Lorna Dabbs expressed her forgiveness towards the men who took her husband's life. She said she was not there to condemn but to love them and show them the way to a loving, forgiving God.

 This forgiving spirit moved many Bolivians. The flicker of forgiveness and reconciliation grew and spread throughout the land from a cold, distant mining center few had ever heard about. This movement gradually ushered in a growing wave of redemption and reconciliation. The work of the Holy Spirit was evident as numerous lives were changed. Churches were planted, and many came to know the power of salvation. Instead of vengeance and resentment, humble brothers and sisters became bold to speak of their relationship with the Lord. 

On August 8th, 1998, I was one of a delegation of 110 Canadians who met with the nation's highest authorities. The Bolivian Baptist Union leaders were present, too. The event was held to celebrate 100 years of evangelical witness in Bolivia. The nation's highest authorities represented the Judicial, Legislative and Administrative arms of the nation.  Amazingly, these politicians would normally not be with each other on the same platform. In some ways, they promoted opposing ideologies. But during their two-hour presentation that day, they put aside their differences. Each distinguished authority, speaking in their most erudite Spanish, publically recognized the effectiveness of humble, forgiving Christians living honest, productive lives. It was an event I will never forget. The list of social changes and improvements they commented upon deserves a blog post of its own.

From a few solitary evangelical believers in 1898 until today, when about 25% of the nation confesses "Jesus is Lord" within one of a variety of church groups, I positively affirm: revival is at work in Bolivia. It sometimes appears openly in special meetings or events. But most of all, revival in Bolivia, as in the rest of Latin America, is lived out in the ordinary rituals of daily life. Revival in Bolivia takes place through the gradual ingathering of people who repent because the Kingdom of God is at hand. 

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation: the old has gone, the new has come! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men's sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation." II Corinthians 5:17-19

 

Blame, Shame, and Reconciliation - 2

Over several decades, I have been privileged to witness seven small revivals. The first one took place in Kenya. I was a child there and then as a teenager, so I didn't have the tools to really understand what was happening in the East African Revival. Many other events were going on at the same time, something like countercurrents. 

Basically, European powers controlled African colonies, and African leaders were seeking their independence. Political comments were usually topics for adults to chew over after we children went to bed, not talking about around the meal table. 

At the time, I couldn't stand back and observe things analytically as I could later on. But Holy Spirit-led movements honoring Jesus Christ were a topic of profound interest at home. I wondered if I would ever see a real revival, and if so, what brought it about?

In the mid-1970s, a short-lived revival broke out on the Western Canadian Prairies. The topic of revival was important since my parents had an entire collection of books about the subject in their bookcases. Was it because of distrust among pastors and leaders that this movement faded away? Spontaneous meetings began, some lasting until late in the evening. Were church leaders uncomfortable with laypeople standing up, giving their testimonies, and with some confessing their sins?

Shortly after arriving in Brazil, and before I was entirely fluent in the Portuguese language, I was one of about 80 pastors attending the annual Pastor's Conference at Piraputanga, the beautiful Baptist camp not far from Campo Grande, in the western state of Mato Grosso do Sul. After a morning session, Pastor Jonathan de Oliveira, pastor of First Baptist Church, stood up unexpectedly. He called a deacon to the front. The surprised layman and all of us, too, heard this pastor say, "I'm sorry for what I said several years ago. Please forgive me. I was wrong." As they hugged each other, I could not control the tears flowing into my eyes. There was something about the sincerity of public repentance, forgiveness asked for, and reconciliation born that moved me deeply. 

Out of that event came the concept of forming a local seminary, away from the major cities of Sao Paulo and Rio de Janeiro. Where leaders had lived with a defeatist attitude, harboring past wrongs, a tiny flame was sparked. Several other events had recently taken place in Dourados, a nearby city.

Leadership formation of an extraordinary kind was born. What happened over the following years is a story too long to repeat here. Some people like numbers to use as a measurement. In Campo Grande, where there were eleven churches in 1978, there are 110 Baptist churches today, according to one of my former students. The city tripled in population while the number of disciples grew tenfold. Truth be told, many other evangelical churches were also planted in that city and all over that western Brazilian state. God was glorified and is being glorified in thousands of lives. 

"Repent, for the Kingdom of God is at hand," said Jesus. 

I have given much thought to that single event in 1978. There was a public shame, a gentle, godly, courageous, and humble spirit of humility breaking down emotional separation. Would the same growth have come without that confession of sin? Confession, looking back on it, was such a simple act. For Pastor Jonathan, it must have been like dying to a whole part of his former self.

Arriving in Campo Grande, significant emotional turmoil existed between people. 

And I didn't know a thing about it. Things are usually that way. We can't come into a room, a school, a church, a business, or an institution and instantly be aware of past shaming or contemporary blaming. The same thing happens in family life, congregational life, sports teams, within businesses, across political lines, and even among entire ethnic groups. 

Whenever I think about that pastor's conference in 1978 (which is often), I think of these wonderful words: "Do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Get rid of all bitterness, rage, and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other just as in Christ God forgave you." Ephesians 4:4-32