Public Floggings, Stabbings, Baptisims and Saying Goodbye!

It is just a day in my life as a missionary. I woke had coffee and a milk yoghurt drink from the shop next door.  All packed up with bibles and some other books I set off to walk to this mornings scheduled baptisms in Kayole. I have recently moved to an African neighborhood that is very centrally located so I can travel cheap.  My rent is less than my transportation cost in the city used to be. On my way I see crowds running towards a fense.

Now when I see them running in East Leigh I run with them.  It means something has happend and you need to get away.  Last month a bus was blown up and another day there was some gun fire.  Folks ran my way, I turned and ran with them till they felt safe.  Just some gunfire.  No one ever new why. The police were there shortly and they could find nothing.  All is well.

In Kayole people were running to look at something.  I walked over and peaked around the long blue fense.  I was just in time to see some mean beating another with a rubber hose.  I saw the crowd smiling and knew what was going on.  I confirmed a theif had been run down and caught and locals were beating him with a rubber hose.  He started crying and they slowed and every now and then whacked him when he stopped crying just to please the crowd. They were also calling the police.  I was glad of that.  In Kenya in the villages a theif can be caught beaten and then burned to death by a mob depending on the value of the property or perhaps his repeated behavior of stealing.  With the police coming I knew he was safe from death.  I moved on.

I arrived and greeted my dear brother Fred and later brother Wilson showed up and we visited and fellowshipped.  My baptismal candidates were a mere  three hours late.  Yes three hours.  That is even late for Africans.  Honestly, I gave up on them and we had turned our waiting into productive time reviewing ministry fruit and challenges.  I learned long ago, rather than just get frustrated to use these times to study swahili, read the word, intercede, teach or even better, learn. We divided up some raw Uji I had just bought in a far away village.  A porridge made with 12 different grains, lengums and nuts it is extremly healthy but most locals consider it peasant food for the poor.  I love it.  Then my baptism people come in.

I am a bit dissappointed to learn that I am only baptising one as one of the two have sick children and the other seems to be vacillating.  She was baptised as a child but thought she was saved, but admitted that she did not really walk with God till she came to us.  That is something the brothers will deal with.  She is a precious sister and we need this resolved right away.  She is a widow with a humble spirit.  I honestly think she is terrified of the water.  But that is just something I sense, though brother Fred agrees.

We get to the baptismal pool.  What a place, a half finished hotel with two big swimming pools. Not something that is a nomal addition at a hotel in Africa for Africans.  To top it off it is owned by Muslims.  The last time I was hear we baptised several and the Muslims and Africans alike gathered to listen.  I preached the Gospel as I baptised and we lay hands of the new believers and pray for them concerning the Holy Spirit. The Muslims charge me 100 bob for this use and that is about a buck twenty.  I get to baptise and inadvertently share with about 50 Muslims sometimes.  What a deal.  The last time I was there the water was crystal clear.  Today bright green.  I had to change and since little girls were wandering in the mens area I had to get in a toilet stall to change.  Nudity here in this society under these situations is not the taboo it is in most of the world.  In the dry season  a quick  rain that yealds a pond or flowing river, even if it is right near town may soon populated with many women right on the road side bathing in full view.  Men might be in another pool just a hundred meters away.  People just politely divert their eyes and move on.  The toilet stall is horrific.  I do my best to stay out of the feces. On to the baptism.   David  has come to Jesus from alcoholism and great issues of anger.  He is a construction worker and a good provider.  We led  him to renounce drinking again and make a public profession of his faith and determination to obey Jesus.  He renounces sin, self, satan and the world and under he goes, Father, Son and Holy Ghost.  We all rejoice loudly.

As we leave the building I walk with the new brother David. He takes my hand and we walk quite a ways holding hands.  This is done among close friends here and perfectly normal.  For them.  Not for me.  I do it regularly now but must say it is still something I am never comfortable with. But everyone views my participation in this practice, done only among close friends, as a sign I am with them. It does not mean I am one of them yet.  But it does mean we are together.  It matters. No body thinks you are gay. If they thought that you would be in grave danger in some parts. Let me just day that President Obamas speeches here seeking tolerance for homosexuality were not received.

I board a bus and head downtown.  A disciple from the Muslim community that has come to Jesus and walked with us the last year was granted asylum in Canada.  This is his last full day in Kenya. It is a happy and a sad day. I am writing this at 12 noon.  He left at 7 AM.  I no longer have to hide his identity nor change his story. It was hard for me and Abraham to say good bye to Kamaal. I was sad to see him go because there was so much I wanted to share.  Poor Abraham has lost his father figure \ friend\ Pastor, Imam, a couple of months ago, and now another friend from his own area in Ethiopia.  He is left with an old Mzungu and a handful of new friends.  Abraham tells me I am all he has left.  We all three hug.  I assure him that is not true, we have the Father and many new friends and brothers.  But I understand.  You see Kamal and me  in the picture at the top. This was a great day. I enrolled the young men in English school.  Kamal never got to start since the UN called soon after.

Here is another picture, not so happy.

Kamal was beaten and stabbed leaving a house church meeting. The sisters with him escaped with a few blows I was told, but Kamal got a broken nose a very painful bruising on arms and torso from being kicked and of course the stab wounds. This was taken in the hospital. It happened about 7 months ago. I prayed for Kamal standing on a street corner. Gave him some money to buy a cheap bag for his things, some food for the trip and got his email address and gave him my card. I will most likely never see him again.

Later at home, my neighbor Dennis and friend Davy came to the door. Hodi! Karibu! Hodi is the request to enter a place and karibu  means welcome and so much more. Dennis commented it was nice to meet an Mzungu that could speak some proper Swahili. Later in the conversation Dennis pointed out to me that I referred to myself and Africans as us, and Wazungus, white people,  as them.  He smiled. I did too. That is the way I see it here.  I live here. Now this is my home as is my little clay house in Tanzania. I dearly miss my people in America. My family is precious to me. But I am here. I am with the Africans in every way I can figure out to be.  I am not one of them, yet. Don’t know that I will be.  But I was adopted by the Wameru in Tanzania.  But I am with them, and they know it.  It is my prayer and my hope to stand on Judgement day surrounded by Africans and Americans, former Muslims and Animist, all together. As one, we will worship our King. Till then? Karibu, Thy Kingdom come Thy will be done.

Part Three: The End of My First Year

I landed in Dar es Salaam ready to get started, but things did not go as planned.  I am reluctant in this last post in this series.  There is so much that I simply cannot relate to you.  I would like to, but I am still working with many of the people that were part of my learning experience and some of that information causes me concern over relationships I value.  Perhaps it is better in a book published years from now.  But not too many details here.

Marc Carrier, my recently visited mentor in Kenya, was running at light speed when I left.  His model at that time included seminars teaching the Gospel of the Kingdom, Luke 10 evangelism, the church in the house and discipleship.  Basically, applying the methods of our King Jesus Himself.  Jesus selected disciples whom He poured His life into.  He taught them the Kingdom Ways, Kingdom entrance and then He sent them out training them to go out in twos sharing the Good News.  Jesus sent out the 12 then He sent out the 70.  We have no reason to believe these were the only times He sent them out with clear instructions to preach the Kingdom Gospel, baptize, heal the sick and proclaim the Good News.

Marc was being hosted in churches and by leaders all over Kenya and had a team of brothers and sisters that went with him on these trips to do these teachings.  After the first day and a half they took out people and went two by two and demonstrated these methods in person, practically modeling the evangelical part.  He did this every week and literally lead hundreds to the Lord and into repentance and baptism in a pretty short time span.  Many Kenyans spoke English and he was surrounded by potential translators and disciples ready to assist him in just a few months.

I hit the ground, not only inexperienced, but in a culture that spoke Swahili and tribal languages and were very traditional in their Christianity and their tribalism.  I had no translator and indeed had no idea where they would come from.  My model of taking a disciple, or man of peace that would become my translator, into the field on one on one evangelism was quickly smashed.  I interviewed Christians and learned right away that NO ONE wanted to jump on a bicycle with me and take a tent and head out into the bush.  That is just not something a new disciple, translator nor newly met brother wants to do.  I had people that loved what I shared but were NOT going to leave their families and go off with me.  Tanzanians are a very traditional people and everything in their tradition screams for them to fit in and cooperate with existing systems in society and in traditional church.

I hired a translator and started doing seminars like Marc.  After three or four I decided to go back to those churches and follow up and examine their progress.  There was none.  Tanzanians love to invite Muzungus in to speak and teach them.  They love rallies and tent meetings, big events and big productions.  That is what the Western church has taught them.  Frankly, they were a bit disappointed I did not come to do crusades.  That is what they wanted. So even when the listened to me teach and clapped and praised the seminar, the gains were short term.  They were amazed as we went out door to door sharing the gospel.  One brother in particular was astounded.  He had never seen anything like it.  We went out and lead a group to Jesus in repentance.  I taught we DON’T then invite them to church but rather we then go to them lead them in repentance, baptize them and get them to invite their friends, family and neighbors to come to their homes and learn about their new faith.  We plant a house church right there with those new believers and then disciple and train them to do the same thing.  We led Muslims to Jesus that first day.  The Psator returned to his church that afternoon and announced he had never seen anything like it.  He had tried to get to those same people for years.  I later found out that his efforts were to go out and invite them to come to church.  To Muslims, he told them that Islam was wrong and they needed to come to church and become a Christian.  I, on the other hand, simply shared the gospel of the Kingdom of God.  That there were two kingdoms.  Jesus was the  King of the Kingdom of God and Satan the king of this world system.  I shared about the cost of becoming a disciple and invited them to repent and enter the Kingdom of God.  The did.

I then instructed the leader to go to them the next day and take them bibles, as promise.  Then he was to schedule an immediate meeting to invite their neighbors to attend, in their home and begin the training I had demonstrated.  And oh yeah, baptize them.  Water baptism is an event that needs a bit of planning in Tanzania as in most parts, water is 200 ft down and not readily available for baptizing without a long journey.  This requires planning and transportation.  I had to go to anther seminar and would have to leave the follow up to this brother. I returned 10 days later.

I immediately wanted to know how it went?  Not so good.  We led  them to the Lord on Thursday of that week.  The leader never took them the bible.  He never followed up at all.  He told me they did not come to church Sunday so he decided they were not serious.  I immediately went and took them the bibles and got a Christian lady next door to begin meeting with them to do training.  These new believers were so poor their children played in the yard naked.  I asked the leader why he wanted them to come to his church?  He somehow did not digest anything I had taught and simply wanted these and other new believers to come to traditional church.  He had no intention of following my instructions.  Although he agreed with my teaching while there, it was evident he had no interest in house church.   I asked him if he really thought that someone who had naked children was going to come to his traditional church where some members drove cars and everyone dressed up like princes and princesses for each service.  I tried to explain how this was just one of the many reasons he needed to disciple them there. In their homes where they lived.   I soon learned that almost everywhere I went people enjoyed the seminar, were shocked at the response in the field but then never followed up on the teaching that I brought.  They simply wanted some new and exciting lessons from the Mzungu and had no intention of really changing anything or even trying anything new.  This was repeated over and over.

Eventually, I was invited to a very poor area and meet some pastors who had almost no building and only a handful of members.  I shared my usual message but I stayed to model the teaching for weeks afterwards.  I eventually began to feel this was God’s plan for me.  I moved in with one of the families and became one of them.  I shared all my meals with them, and simply did life together.  Eventually, I told them I wanted to move to the area and that lead to a wonderful opportunity.  They gave me a small piece of land and then came the big surprise.  Due to a family difficulty they became aware some distant family members wanted to sell their plots of land on their shamba, or small family farm.  They had been denied this request by Babu the leader of the clan in this tribe.  The Meru people have a strong tribe and adhere to the old ways.  They mostly dress Western but very modestly.  The distant family members were told they could not break up the family plot by selling to strangers. They jumped on this new situation of Babu giving me land and letting me move on the property.  How could they be denied the right to sell their land when he gave me land right in the middle of the property.  Me, a stranger. The solution?  I would not be a stranger.  I was formally, at least from a tribal way of thinking, adopted by Babu and become his son.  Now all Babu had done,  was give his own son land.  The right of every son.  To hold the deed to land on the shamba.  I am Wameru.

From there I began to plant the first house church then another and another.  We have four good ones now and others in the works.  Not long after this I was invited to come and do a seminar in Kenya.  I meet with a small group of pastors and held my normal seminar.  But like Tanzania, these were not middle class pastors with middle class congregations.  These were pastors that lived and worked in the slums.  They had terribly small and poor church buildings and congregations.  They had stagnated in recent years.  The prosperity gospel had a strong foothold in this area with promises of a way out and riches for all.  But of course the pastors of those churches moved out of the slums as soon as the congregation began to grow and “sowed seed”, money, in hopes of riches.  I later visited a couple of those prosperity teachers that now lived in very wealthy neighborhoods in what can only be described as mansions.  Well at least the prosperity gospel worked for them.   Some opened multiple churches and members flocked to them.  Pastors that were not interested in this get rich gospel were left with dwindling congregations and few ideas on growth. So these guys were looking for answers.

I assured them my teachings were not going to make them rich.  But that if they joined in the work of the Kingdom in a meaningful way, that the teachings of Jesus were the only way to go.  Jesus, I assured them, left the roadmap for Kingdom expansion.   I left but had no idea if they would follow up without me being there, as that was the case in Tanzania.

After about two months they called and said they had 6 house churches.  They were excited.  I quickly scheduled a return trip and found that actually, one pastor had 6 house churches and the other 9.  They admitted they were not prospering  financially but the Kingdom of God was exploding.  We trained more on discipleship and evangelism.  Then, if you have followed my facebook and blog post something amazing happened.

We meet with the leaders of each house church after another month or two to learn of their challenges.  I quickly learned that these folks were applying these teachings seriously.  The house church leaders were literally further impoverishing themselves by helping the poor, widows and orphans in their area.  Just as we taught.  You see we teach obeying Jesus.  Sacricifial giving, turning the other cheek, loving our neighbor, making disciples.  Caring for widows and orphans.  These ladies were taking their earnings and spending them on the body.  My kind of ladies.   I noticed several churches had at least two members that had job skills and in fact little businesses in the slums.  Many sewed.  I asked those that had skills, what they needed to grow their business.  For example the sewers needed an overlock machine.  A device that puts the finishing touches on clothing taking them from that home made look to the look of a well finished product, desirable to all.  These ladies had to pay someone else that owned a machine to do this work.  Owning one of these machines would cut their overhead and because they could now finish their own clothes and it would also create a new revenue stream by using the overlock machine on other peoples clothing.  I saw my opportunity.  I asked them if they would be interested in teaching other women to sew and in return I would buy them on overlock machine.  I did this in faith as I had no money for such a purchase.  They agreed. I further stipulated that once the other, newly trained women, got good at their skill I wanted the established sewers to give their old machines to these new ladies and I would buy them new ones.  I was confident that if I blogged about this the Lord would place it on the heart of others to give for the machines.  I was right.

Later we inserted a new product line of purses and things exploded.  Now some of my ladies are actually hiring unsaved people from the area and training them as well and leading them to the Lord.  I never saw that coming.  Then the newly trained house church members learned to share their faith.  And now we have over 30 house churches.   People that came to Jesus 6 months ago are now going out two by twos and leading others to the Lord.  Hopefully, starting new house churches.

Later Marc Carrier, my in country mentor, came to Nairobi and shared for about 30 minutes, our mission and the Gospel of the Kingdom, with a brother that worked among Muslims leading them to Jesus through one on one evangelism.  I began to visit with him as he stayed in the same missionary house I stayed in, when visiting Kenya.  To him it was a safe house.  He had fled another country due to persecution and was living there.  He had been poisoned, beaten and put in a comma by radicals. I began to work with him each month and now we have 7 house churches in the refugee area.

We have a long way to go.  But we have come far.  I have learned I cannot teach alone.  I have to model.  I have to demonstrate what I teach.  When I do, like Jesus did, people get it.  If I want them to share with widows, I have to share with widows with them.  Want them to use the proper teachings in discipleship? Then you use the exact methods you want them to use, with them, all the time.  Jesus let the disciples watch Him do it, then he sent them out.  Hands on real discipleship.  We are not meeting oriented, we are disciple oriented.  Go into all the world and MAKE DISCIPLES.  Not converts, not believers, disciples. Disciples who make disciples, who make disciples.   Pray for me as we continue on this adventure in the Kingdom of God.  I am just a student.  I have so much to learn.  I am flawed, but God is Great.  And yes God is Good.  Especially here in Africa.  And I can’t help but add, He is good to me.

The Hunter, Turned Hunted and then to Hunting Again

Mohammad was sweating over the bomb he had planted and did not explode.  It was his third attempt to get the timed device to go off.  His other 5 team members were tired, sleepy and irritable.  They had tried and tried to carry out their mission to blow up this bomb and kill Israelis.  Finally, Mohamed, exhausted decided they could not succeed.  He returned to his base camp with the Mujahedin.  He was berated for returning alive and told he did not have faith.

It is hard to believe this is the same Mohammad that would go on to be beaten and put in a comma for sharing the Gospel.  Later, his wife would abandon him and his children and she would return to Islam.  But he had miles to go before he would arrive at where he is today.  Planting house churches in East Leigh among refugees from the Sudan, Ethiopia, Eretria, Kenya and Somali.  First, he would burn many churches and beat Christians for their faith.  He hated the Israelis, Americans and also the Sunni and Shia Muslims from other tribes.

It was during one of these beatings that a man told him that Jesus loved him.  He returned to his religious leader and told him of this statement and asked how this man could say this.  His leader told him Satan used this as a trick for Muslims.  Why would Satan want him to feel loved?  He was not convinced.  Later one of his students had come to know Jesus.  Mohammad learned of this and went directly to him.  How could one of Mohammed’s own students in the Islamic school he taught at become a Christian?  The young man shared that as a Christian he knew he was going to heaven and had an assurance that emboldened him to share his faith even in the face of sure persecution.  Mohammed longed for assurance of his salvation.  He questioned why women would almost certainly go to hell in Islam.  He loved his mother and this frightened him.   How could Allah hate women so?  Mohammed wanted this assurance; he wanted to know there was hope for his mother.  He asked how to become a Christian.  The young man led him to the Christians that had led him to Jesus.  Mohammed became a Christian.

Now this former Muslim Imam who had studied in Saudi Arabia and served in the dreaded Mujahedin was like one of the very people he persecuted.  He was driven out of his country and went to Kenya.  He boldly preached the gospel with the same zeal he had for Islam.  He began preaching crusades in the cities and speaking out against Islam.  He was captured and beaten, left for dead.  He was in a comma and given diplomatic asylum by the U.N.

A missionary persuaded him that he would surely die holding crusades to reach the Muslims and lead him to sharing one on one with seekers.  He went to a traditional seminary and learned the Western theology in another country.  But he still sought answers on how to reach Muslims using these Western models.  Church buildings, with meetings centered on a preacher in a pulpit trying to train up believers seemed like a method ill suited for his ministry.

I meet Mohammed and began to share a different type of Christianity.  The Christianity of the Early Church.  The value and strategies of the Church in the house and the importance and model Jesus set, of making disciples instead of converts.  We have been partners every since.

But we need your help.  I need two safe houses.  One for the glue boys to sleep in, inside the Muslim communities we are reaching out to.   One where men turning to Christ could flee during times of persecution.  I need a second one for the women with children who are thrown out on the streets by their Muslim husbands when they come to Jesus.   A place to safely make disciples and baptize new believers.  We need funding for equipment and training, to equip these men and women to support themselves while they learn to share their new faith.  Some will certainly return to their home countries to lead others to Christ.  Many simply can’t return due to the nature of their asylum documentation.  Will you stand with us as we stand with these our new brothers and sisters?

I have two former Imams who need your help in reaching the Muslim world.  Go to this web address and make a donation.  http://kingdomdriven.org/glenn-roseberry .  Their world will never be the same.

My Week in Nairobi

As many of you know I went to Nairobi this past week with a couple of issues in mind.  One to check on a new brother who was formerly a Muslim and had been attacked  by radicals.  We will call him Caleb.  Caleb had hospital bills and perhaps a home that had now been compromised to the radical Muslims.  Hospital bills and a new residence were financial issues to be dealt with.  The other reason I went was to purchase the Overlock sewing machines for my sisters in the house churches in Mathere and Kayole.  I am so appreciative of all my brothers and sisters that have contributed and made these efforts possible.

I began in East Leigh where many of the persecuted live.  As always we have to be flexible.  This is the underground church.  We stagger our times to meet and choose our meeting places carefully.  My mere presence compromises some of their secrecy.  Trust me there are few white people that go here.  I have NEVER seen another one on my visits.  This is where the bombings occurred around Christmas.  We recently had a sister murdered here by a machete attack.  My short term mission group coming in a couple of months will not be  coming here.

We ride the crowded Matatu mini bus to East Leigh.  We arrive at a brothers home and he is not there.  We find he has headed to the meeting place ahead of schedule.  This is not a bad idea.  We meet up and enter the restaurant.   The food is excellent here and it is one of two safe restaurants we go to when I come.  For 10 bucks we have two huge platters of food for four, that could have fed eight.  Four sodas and six cups of coffee while we talk.  I am surprised the Caleb speaks some English.  He is from Ethiopia.  His wounds are looking good but he is sore in the ribs and his broken nose is giving him problems.  My dad had his broken many times and I tell him that it will get better but straightening it is just as bad as getting it broke.  He seems to decide to leave the now crooked nose as it is.

Another brother, Kevin, updates me on his work with the glue boys.  These are small young boys that spend their days begging, stealing and sniffing glue.  I have had Kevin simply loving them and feeding them and telling them of Jesus.  They go to the Catholic church to eat all the time.  They are told of Jesus, but to them He is irrelevant.  They sleep in alleys, move around a lot and all carry knives.  It takes him days before they trust him with a name we think is real.  More days till he knows where they really live and a bit about life.  The police round them up regularly to find out about crimes in the area.  The glue people are responsible for most snatch and run crimes.  They will rat on each other for a few hundred schillings.  They will stab someone for a thousand schillings.  It is said they will kill someone for a thousand schillings.  How much is that?  Around  eight dollars and thirty cents.

Keven is also from Ethiopia and like Caleb has little education and cannot find meaningful work since Kenyans don’t really care for refugees and would rather hire someone from their tribe or at least a real Kenyan.  We talk about buying a wheel barrow and buying some pineapples and bananas and selling them on the street. A good business and if you add some bottled water you can make a decent living.   We think we can do this for about 6000 schillings.  We decide to investigate.  For now the brothers will receive rent from us for two rooms.  About 60 dollars.  They will let some others live there with them and sometimes have as many as eleven in one room.  Kevin has nine living with him now.  He charges them all a bit to stay and then can buy food.  They cook right in their rooms.  They open the door to let the smoke out as there are no windows.  They are so thankful.  They smile and tell me of the glue boys, thank me profusely for the rent money and I give them some to buy more rice for the kids.  They tell me that they are feeding them about three times a week and still have five hundred schillings left over from last month.  I tell them to keep it.  We go to Kevin’s room and talk of making disciples, loving like Jesus loved and laying down our lives for these glue boys.  No one want to work with them.  They stink, they lie, they steal and they are just little boys.  They are just the least of these.  They all carry knives and they use them.  Kevin is learning how to share with them.  I can’t be directly involved and I truly regret it.  A musungu ( white person)  is viewed as nothing but a silly, stupid rich person to be fed a line and get some money.  My presence in this instance is problematic.  I watch from afar and disciple Kevin for a while.  His true mentor is a former Imam that is my contact.  We pray and I head back home.

Next it is the slums.  On my last visit I visited called all the house church leaders together and meet for three days.  Day one was teaching on the Kingdom of God.  Day two on the teachings of Jesus and Luke 10 evangelism.  We were to go out and witness the next day but it was during national elections and there were many murders in Mathere where we were going and I got over ruled by the pastors.  So we spent the day talking about challenges in the house churches.  As you might imagine they are legion.  Of course the main one is financial.  Eight to ten people living in a 10×10 room.  The women make a living watching each others children and taking turns walking the rich neighborhoods looking for work cleaning floors or washing dishes.  The men look for jobs as laborers. Over 50% of Nairobi lives in the slums.  At least that is what I am told.   About 20% of my house church leaders also run a small business.  Sewing, selling vegetables and making a flour taco type of food called a chipati.  Some are very good at it but spend all their profits feeding their house church members.  Sharing and sacrificial giving is the African way.  To accumulate money for yourself while your friends, neighbors and family struggle is not normal.  The ones that live that way quickly exit the community.  They move off where they don’t have to be around family members that are in constant need.  The more Westernized they get the quicker they move off.

I pledged on my last visit to write about the needs there and see if the brothers and sisters in America would join them in this service and buy additional sewing machines and fund vegetable stalls and buy more supplies to expand their fledgling businesses.  Not to prosper these business people.  But rather, we identified those people sharing at the greatest level of sacrifice and determined to help them.  In returned they agreed to begin to train the others on their skills.  Sewing, buying and selling used clothing and other skill sets we could identify.  This trip was the time for me to fulfill the commitment.  Thanks to your generous giving I am purchasing four sewing machines.  Your are funding a used clothing business, purchasing 80 kilos of rice for the hungry in our churches and purchasing supplies like needles, cloth and thread.  These are not loans.  These are investments into the lives of people that are sacrificially giving to our brothers and sisters.  I cannot loan to someone that is giving all they have for others.  With your help, we join in their giving.  It’s that simple.

One last note.  There is a business model in Tanzania where women with Aids are making handbags out of flour sacks and coffee bags.  They are then sold in the shops that cater to tourist.   We are going to do the same, in Kenya.  Soon we will have pictures of the bags and purses.  I wondered if you would be interested in buying them or selling them in your church or to your friends for gifts.  Many of you give Christmas gifts.  These would be perfect.  The sewing machine for this ministry model is being delivered next week.  We hope to begin sewing right away.  Let me know if you would be interested.

Thank you all for allowing me to serve these people.  I am not the one giving.  I am not the one sacrificing.  In fact, I am having all the fun.  You and your generosity are making a difference.  You have heard me say this before and if you keep reading my post you will keep hearing it.  I am you. WE are serving the least of these.  My prayer is that if someone ask you what you are doing for the Kingdom you will say with complete confidence that you are feeding the poor.  You are visiting the sick and you are serving the least of these.  You tell them you have sent and are supporting a brother named Glenn.  He is your agent for the Kingdom in Africa.   You are feeding orphans, because many of my house churches are feeding them.  And you are providing the rice.  You are clothing children, blessing widows and spreading the Gospel.  You are reaching out to the unloved glue boys.  The hopeless ones that if we can’t reach in 6-10 months will have ruined their precious minds on this glue.  I hope that your giving here inspires you to do the same in your neighborhood.  Trust me the poor are just a few miles away.  The lonely and the needy.

God bless you my brothers and sisters in Christ.  And thank you for the privilege of being here to serve the Kingdom.  For our King, and for your His faithful Church.  Please pray for us.

My Sister Wears a Burka

I sat in a room of missionaries at a conference I was obligated to attend from the agency that helped me get my visa.  I was not looking forward to this, but now I was electrified.  The men in this conference were all retelling their testimonies to the group.  About half the men were from Muslim backgrounds and told of wives and family being killed in front of them and losing their homes.  They were beaten and hunted.  They had come to countries that allowed them in as refugees but were pursued even there.  I wrote my first blog about them titled,  In the Presence of Giants: Victims of Radical Islam on this blog.    I shared their stories at that time but later became involved with the ministry of one of the men.

Ezra and Joe, another African Missionary, told me they were taking women off of the street that had come to Christ and were dismissed from their homes by their husbands, abandoned with the smallest children.  The husband kept the older ones that could work.  These women were the lucky ones.  Their husbands did not report them, harm them or kill them immediately so they had time to flee.  Now they were on the streets.  No home, no food, only their new found faith for comfort and the mercy of God.  I was told that some returned to Islam rather than starve or be hunted, or preyed upon by criminals.  Ezra and Joe took many in and provided housing in safe houses away from prying and unmerciful eyes.  Then they dropped a bombshell on me.  They knew of others but simply could not afford to care for them.  I was stunned.  How could this be?  They said they were doing all the could do and could only leave the others in God’s hand.

I have since written and raised money to save these women and also support the former Imams and Muslim leaders that come to Christ and are in hiding.  I understand the persecution of former Imams and evangelist.  I was not prepared for my last trip.

Upon arriving in this country,  last week I was met with stunning news.  One of the  new converts, Howa, recently only missing, was now confirmed dead.  I wanted to learn the details and was told only the lady that lead her to Christ knew the whole story.  We arranged a meeting.  We went to a Somali restaurant to met Ruth.  At first I did not know who was approaching out table as the lady approaching wore a full burka.  Turns out that is the perfect disguise for our persecuted ladies.  Ruth sat down and raised her facial piece and revealed an attractive and smiling petite lady in her mid 30’s.  I tried to immediately speak but was cautioned to wait.  As is the case many times in these meetings we have to wait till those with us who are understanding of the culture and risk can assess the situation.  We sit and drink tea but it is determined that we cannot speak other than casually.  We speak of food and different Somali dishes.  Then we leave and go to a coffee shop.  We drink coffee but the boisterous crowd will not stop engaging us directly and it is obvious this is a bad choice for a discreet conversation.  We move again.

Finally, we enter a restaurant with private booths and curtains.  The story unfolds.  Ruth I am told lost her own husband, killed in front of her very eyes in her home country.  Her children are being raised by her mother.  She has not seen them in 4 years.  She has slightly mishapped lips from a vigorous interrogation earlier in her Christian walk.  She smiles beautifully.  She begins to unfold the story of Howa.

A former Muslim man was pulled off of the street.  He was tortured for the names of other Christians like himself.  After some time he was told he would be released if he shared some names.  How many we don’t know.  He wrote down some names and was told if he wrote more he would be turned lose.  He filled the front and back of a page and they slit his throat.  Howa was on that list.  She was grabbed in front of her home.  Luckily her children were with her brother.  She was dragged behind the slum mid rise she lived in.  They searched her backpack and found an Arabic New Testament.  She frequently shared her faith with other Muslims and meet with the local underground house church.  They struck her in the head with a machete.  She fell to the ground where they left her.  The neighbors saw her but were afraid to help.  She bleed out over the night and it was confirmed she was dead the next morning.  Locals, not affiliated with the murder, poured oil over her body and burned it to protect the area from police problems.  We did not know she was dead.  Only missing.  This happens among refugees and normally means little.  It was troubling since she would never leave her children.  She has been missing since around Thanksgiving.  The story is now known for the first time.  Pieced together by the neighborhood, her brother and an anonymous informer.

Is Ruth on the list, she does not know. Ezra?  Not likely.  They don’t seem worried.  It is in God’s hands they say.  The world is not worthy of those who die for Him  I am sitting at a table full of men and women who accept that risk, live in poverty, share their faith, lead house churches and are constantly looking over their shoulders.  They find it hard to get  regular jobs as they are refugees.  When they get money they share it among themselves to eat and live.  I slip them money for rent and food.  We plan to take more women with children off the street.  Mostly they live four or five  in 12×12 rooms with a mattress and no furniture.  They cook some rice and add some vegetables and once or twice a month, meat.  When God blesses.  Their house church meetings are in these small rooms.  They whisper their worship.  They come and leave meetings staggered over hours of time to avoid detection.  They love Jesus and each other.  They don’t know you, but I told them you loved them.  I told them you sent me to love them and help them.  They want you to know they love you so much.  Greetings from Ruth, Ezra, Imam and many others.  You see my sister wears a burka and so does yours.

For other related stories see, Monday is Sunday on my blog to see a week in an evangelical Christians life that came from Islam.  (again Barrett you can link this if you want)