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.

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.

Counting the Cost Among the Muslims

There is a price to pay for my brothers and sisters that come to Christ in Africa.  In Tanzania, if a man makes his living making alcohol and comes to Jesus, he must abandon his profession.  That is a step of faith for a person to leave a thriving business and move out in faith trusting Jesus to provide.  But for the Muslims we reach out to the cost is much higher.

I was at a house church meeting this week in East Leigh.  It is an area inhabited mostly by refugees.  We meet in a building owned by Muslims with a mix of believers and seekers.  Seekers are Muslims that come to our meetings and want to learn about Jesus.  This week a woman we will call Ruth was sitting in our meeting.  She is from Yemen.  Most of her family was there as well.  There were seven people in this little 8×12 room.  We sat on the mattress in the floor and on a bunk bed.  Others just on the floor.  It took a minute to quell the little boys from their excitement over a Muzungu being in their room/home.

I trust Abrahim that we are safe.  He says it seems safe to him.  But really we just trust that the Lord will protect us from harm or give us the grace to endure any hardship.  Just before we came into the building some Arab looking youth, pulled up behind me and honked loudly.  Honking here in really just communicating.  Unlike America where most honking is in anger.  We honk to let people know we are coming, especially when we will pass close by.  Bus drivers honk to see if you need a ride.  Friends honk at friends.  But this was different.  These young men honked and yelled loudly at me.  Here the pedestrian does NOT have the ride of way.  But I was literally almost on the curb.  The reason I was not on the curb was a vendor had set up product there.  As they passed they glared at me and hollered again.  I am the only Mzungu for blocks.  I say to them amani kaka.  Meaning peace brother.  This is a term used here when someone is getting very exercised over something and you are saying, basically, there is nothing to be angry about.   These men did not take this as it was intended and got more angry.  Abrahim basically told them there was no problem and that we were leaving. They stopped the car and yelled more.  We entered the building and quickly forgot about them.

After I taught on Mark 12 and Jesus telling the teachers about the greatest commandment of all, to love the Lord our God with all we have and give Him our undivided attention and love our neighbors as ourselves a sister spoke up.  I had ask for questions trying to have a dialog.  She shared a common theme among seekers.  What happens if I give my life to Jesus and my family cuts me off from my finances.  You see many come to the city to seek a better life and the family at home funds them for a while so they can search for jobs.  Others are run out by war and family members support them as they live here in this refugee area.  Since they are Muslim, when their family finds out they have become Christians they are cut off.  Of course we have lost three brothers and sisters here to the harsher reality of murder by radicals.  So I realize that other problems will be on their minds as well.  They never asked about that.

I share that when we step out to embrace Jesus as our Lord and Savior and surrender everything to Him we are in His loving hands.  We trust Him to provide for us practically, as we seek His Kingdom first.  I am ask a more pointed question. What will YOU do if I become a Christian.  I reply that she will be my sister in Christ and that the body of Christ will help all we can.  I explain to her that I am poor.  I came poor, I live poor, among the poor.  I help all I can.  But I can’t guarantee her I can meet her obligations.  She will have to trust the Lord for that.  She said I know you help others that come to Christ and get them off of the street.  I share that I can only help anyone because the Lord answers all our prayers for provision.  I have no bank account to draw out of for the newly saved and  homeless.  I help where I can.  I tell her sometimes I can only help a few.  Our source is the Lord.  He is faithful.

I cannot save nor help every person that comes to Christ in this Muslim area.  But God can.  He can meet the needs of every one of them.  But we struggle sometimes.  They don’t eat as much as they want sometimes and sometimes we trust Him when it seems hopeless.  But He is faithful.   I can’t protect them from harm.  But I can ask God to.  Sometimes God saves them almost miraculously.  Other times He gives us the grace to suffer and still love our enemies.  She must trust Him because He is God.  He loves her.  He died for her.  While she was still a sinner.  The brothers have been sharing with her for weeks now.  But she has small children.  If she steps out in faith it is not just her she has to trust Jesus for.  She has to trust for her whole family.

She asked me these things because one of our brothers just had this happen.  He is raising two young boys.  His aunt sent them to him so they could go to Kenyan schools.  She was paying him a little to watch over them, their school fees and giving some food money.  Two months after finding out he was a Christian, she cut him off AND left the children still in his care with no money.  Life is hard here sometimes.   He was sitting in the room, next to me.  He is also reaching out to the glue boys in our area.    He shares with me that at first it was just an assignment I had given him.  Now as he prayed for them he was coming to love them  in a special way.  I suspect he is coming to love them like Jesus loves them.  His group of glue boys has grown from two to seven in one month.  Still no repentance.  Just love and rice.  But we are praying.

I just left him 5000 Kenyan schillings.  Enough to buy a wheelbarrow and some fruit.  He will begin to sell fruit on the street as a vendor.  If he works hard it will replace his funding his family just took away and he can feed the boys the aunt left in his care.  I bought 10 Kilos of rice and gave him about half what he needs for rent.  It is a good start here.  About 60 bucks.  I charged him to work hard, pay his own way and earn enough to bless others.  He is growing in the Lord right before our eyes.  He is no longer, that new Muslim brother, that just came to Jesus.  He is now my trusted brother and I am connected to him.  We’ll call him Peter.  We hug and embrace.  We hold on a while.  I tell him I love him.  I tell him you love him.  He knows I cannot support him.  But he knows his brothers and sisters in Christ in America have given so he can have this chance.  He knows he has been entrusted with an important ministry.  Please pray for Peter and Ruth.  Pray for the Lords protection and provision.

It cost to become a Christian here.  Sometimes it cost all you have.  I walk outside and the young angry men are gone.  We stroll down and look for good places for his fruit stall.  Then I leave to head back to my safe and secure house where the missionaries stay here that visit.  They stay behind of course.  It is their home, now.  It is becoming a bit like mine.  I am still a stranger here.  I am white.  To people on the street,  I am a silly Muzungu who is where he does not belong.  But to some others,  I am their brother.  And they are my brothers and sisters.  With them I am at home.  Everyone of us must count the cost.  And all of us are asked to give “everything”.  But here “everything” can get very practical.  Very day to day.

If you would like to share in this ministry I welcome you to donate.  A little goes a long way.  It changes lives.

http://kingdomdriven.org/glenn-roseberry  click here to make your tax deductible gift.  But above all pray.

 

Monday is Sunday

Monday is Sunday

As I was striding along the street in Nairobi with my brother Ibrahim I felt a hand on my shoulder and someone say, “hey boss”,  I ignore it as I am frequently called to as “rafiki” friend or Papa or kaka, from people that want to introduce themselves and eventually ask, me for money.  But this hand persisted and then I saw Ibrahim stop and begin to engage another person.   The hand on my shoulder became firm, I turned to see some sort of Kenyan identification from the government but just like in America it was flashed so fast I could not read it.  This is a sure sign they don’t care if you can read it or not, but if they are asked in court after an altercation if they identified themselves they can say yes.  It is not for me, it is for them.

I am asked who I am where I am going and what I am doing.  My passport is demanded and it just occurred to me I never asked Ibrahim what to do in this circumstance.  I don’t even know if I have any rights to refuse to answer or question their authority in stopping me.  I glance over at my brother Ibrahim and see him answering questions directly and with great confidence.  He seems to almost be leaning into the officer questioning him, and announces he is a Christian.  Then it occurs to me it is most likely that they really want to know what I am doing with an Ethiopian or Somali.  We are near the area that was bombed just last month by radicals.  And Ibrahim fits the profile.  I am merely a curiosity.  He may be a suspect.

This is normal for Ibrahim, he has been arrested and his house taken in his home country.  He was beaten after a meeting where he preached in a crusade and many Muslims came to Christ.  He was in the hospital for a week afterwards.  So why is he leaning into the officer and proclaiming his Christianity?  They are looking for terrorist and he must ascertain he is a Christian or he could very well be taken in for lengthy questioning.  Being with me helps.  I say I am a missionary and that really helps.  After a while they are satisfied.  They are not the threat.  It is still yet to come.

It is Tuesday.  That is normally evangelism day.  But I have thrown the schedule off.  The week usually goes something like this.

Sunday, lay low and relax.  Stay in, as that is the day “normal” Christians go to church.   Monday is Sunday here.  Known and trusted believers meet for “church”.  No one carries a bible.  They are all refugees from persecution.  They are all targets for radicals.  And they are all radically committed to Jesus, and reaching the Muslim world for His glory.   They meet in a rented apartment.  They sing quietly.  Ibrahim has scripture written on a scrap of paper and will share his teachings and sermons from memory.  They will linger in fellowship.  They will stagger their leaving just like they staggered their arrival.  Not everyone could make it.  Some may have been followed so they simply go to market or stay on the bus till the next stop and then return home.    Tuesday is evangelism day.  All believers take this day to go and witness to Muslims.  Almost always one on one as Muslims are afraid to talk about Jesus in front of other Muslim as they might be informed on.  Ibrahim targets Imams and intellectuals.  You see he was an Imam.  He persecuted Christians and terrorized believers.  His turning point came as he beat a Christian who kept telling him that Jesus loved him and that he loved Ibrahim.  He hated himself for what he did, but continued on.  Later a student in the mosque of his became a Christian and came and told him of Jesus and that he knew he was going to heaven.  This stunned Ibrahim.  There is no assurance in Islam.  Only when someone dies in Jihad is salvation guaranteed, only one woman in a thousand will go to heaven and this bothered Ibrahim as he loved his mother and could not understand why Allah would most likely reject her.  So he asked this student how he could gain this salvation, and this new believer took him to the ones that lead him to Christ and Ibrahim surrendered to Jesus.

On Wednesdays all believers meet again for two hours of bible study.  This time they have their bibles and meet mostly in small groups.  Thursday is a day of inviting those seekers and new believers to fellowship.  This is when things are dangerous.  If a Muslim radical is pretending and the brothers and sisters don’t discern it there will be a price to be paid.  Ibrahim tells me if he dies he dies.  They all understand this is a risk and nothing can be done about it.  Not all can handle this pressure.  Ibrahim’s own wife was kidnapped and threatened and fled from Ibrahim leaving him with three children.  I am afraid that I can’t tell you anymore about that without endangering my brother.  Friday is just like Tuesday.  Saturday is a day of rest.

We arrive at a restaurant after traveling though horrible slums and putrid smells from the wet black streets.  We sit with our backs to a wall in the corner and Ibrahim surveys the room.  It is dim but clean.  He points out two men that appear to him to be Afghans and he does not like their looks.  We wait.  He will not give the signal for the others till he is comfortable with this location.  If he is not we will move.  We all remain flexible.  After about 15 minutes they each order a beer and take a drink.  Ibrahim relaxes.  Radicals here would never take a drink in public.  He sends a text or two and then makes a call.  Almost instantly one person enters and later another.  There were to be yet another but they caught the next bus and went home.  Something did not feel right to them.

One young lady sits down with us.  I am there to give them the news that the money that was given last month and earmarked for them is here with me.  They can barely contain their joy.  Many Somalis and Ethiopians that come to Christ have their homes taken immediately and can be killed.  They leave their homes with nothing and come to other countries but the radicals try to find them or alert others to look for them.  These believers had no place to live until you gave to provide them housing.  The local Christian community of refugees will supply the food.  Since they are refugees others won’t hire them but they can start a business. We will try to get brothers to make micro loans.  The goal is to get them self sufficient in four to six months.  Hard to do with many children.  I share the names of those who gave and they tell me to tell those that gave, that they love them.  I am certain that these believers will be praying for their supporting brothers and sisters faithfully.

The young lady tells of a story she witnessed in her village.  A Christian man was being beaten badly and the intention was to kill him.  Finally the attackers pinned him to the ground and poured gasoline on the man.  Another woman burst through the crowd before the radicals could produce a match and with her baby  strapped to her back she laid down on the man and shouted that if they were going to burn him they would have to burn her alive with her baby too.  She could not be moved.  Finally, they relented and left the man and woman alone.

We left an hour later together and were going to get a cup of coffee.  However, things did not seem right again to the believers.  As we walked the women would duck into alleys and change their head covering, first to the style of the Roma tribe of the Ethiopians when in their area and then in the Muslim style when we entered the Arab area.  Then back again.  Finally, the women announced they could not continue with us and as we pretended to go into a restaurant they snuck out a back door and we exited the front.  We did have our coffee and then walked a brother home.  They got onto me for eating some food from a street vender.  Hey, I love fresh pineapple.  They reminded me that in this refugee area over 40% of the people KNEW they had aids and there was no telling the real number.  Besides they said we are walking in open sewage.  I still wolfed it down and man it was good.

I could tell you stories like this all day.  Instead I will tell you thank you.  Thank you for allowing me to represent you and your determination to stand by your brothers and sisters in Christ.  I am you.  When I go to love the least of these, you are there.  When I hand them money for food and shelter, you are handing the money with me.  On judgment day Jesus will say, “when I was hungry you fed me, when I was in prison you visited me, when I was naked you clothed me.  Enter in to the joy of the Lord, my good and faithful servant.”  And he will be speaking to you.

In the presence of Giants: And victims of radical Islam

In the presence of Giants

I am going to get into trouble for that title. But I don’t mind. You see for part of last week I was with brothers and sisters who serve on the mission field all over Africa. Some have orphanages, rescue ministries for abused girls, prison ministries and refuge ministries just to name a few. These are just the “helps” ministries they do and don’t include the mission of simply reaching the Muslims, primitive tribes, animist, villagers and city slum dwellers they live among. Some are wanted by radicals and have had people sent to harm them and their families. They hide others and themselves from radicals while continuing to witness Jesus love to the many Muslims open to the Gospel message.

A few have been detained or arrested, some have seen churches destroyed and even had friends and family members slain, for Jesus. None of these men belong to a large well funded organization or a nationally recognized charity. They are just men and women, perhaps like you. At some point in life they just gave it all up for Jesus and began “going” into all the world. Although every one of the individual ministries need help, there was no talk of such things in the meetings. We did not discuss funding or even talk about fundraising. Rather, we talked about the Kingdom of God and how to expand it.

I learned of ministries I cannot talk about in this blog or in public. Lives are at stake. And I also learned some things that I must do something about but need your help to address. Some of you have already been emailed about this issue in the last 36 hours but I must mention it again here. There are Muslim women that come to Jesus and then are thrown out of their homes to live on the street with their youngest children while their husband keeps the older ones. And that is if their husband cares for them. Some are simply killed or brutalized. Some are helped by churches and continue in the faith serving the Lord. But I was appalled to learn that many fall through the cracks due to economics. Some return to Islam rather than starve. No one asked me to contact you about it. There are just brothers and sisters discussing options, housing and how to serve these women on the resources available. I was told we are doing all we can. Well at least these guys are doing all they can.

I have a question. What are you going to do about it? Email me at midtownglenn@ gmail.com and let’s act together.

From my iPad in Africa