Wishing to shatter the partition in between… Learning about Grace in the Meantime

One of the greatest gifts the Father gave us in sending His Son to save mankind from the downfall of our sin and destruction when He came in human form was the gift of relate-ability. Jesus Christ, clothed in human flesh. Christ chose to face all the temptations we do each day so that we have a God we can go to directly who understands our struggles intimately--not as a distant, high priest judging us from the balcony of heaven, but a Holy God with empathy inviting us to come directly to Him. Hebrews 4:15

As we minister here in India one common misconception with the flock that causes us grief is the notion of holiness in their leaders. Following our services, camps or any conference here in the East without fail, Paul and I are immediately bombarded with an eager prayer line, all wanting a special touch, all wanting a word, convinced in your unique power, your connection with God Himself, unattainable to the rest.

Each day we hit our knees and cry out for the work of the Lord in our hearts, in this city, in our church. We pray over the body, the rooms and even the chairs when it's empty, we visit the homes of the people in crisis or holding a party for us to come and pray and bless them.

And as soon as eager crowds pour in filling up our church, that familiar feeling of the glass right up against my face hits me suddenly, the barrier weighing down my spirit, impossible to shake off or ignore behind the unseen partition.

I feel the heavy of their hopes, the expectations, it is a most unsettling place to be when you and your family know all too well the sin, the short-comings, the fleshing out I myself am broken over in my heart. The outburst of impatience with wild little ones resisting the morning routine to leave on time for church just an hour earlier, the discouragement over unanswered prayer keeping me up the night before, the selfishness in my heart wanting things to be easier, vanity creeping in all over again caring too much about my silly cotton salwar for service that looks more like pajamas.  We tumble in with our crew, all a mess, barely on time and the stares remind me of the role I am eager to shake off.

In the West we want our leaders to be relatable, humorous even, vulnerable, transparent. We want to know them. We want to feel our friends are leading us.

Here in the East where formalities and traditions have crept in, a crippling poison of defeat masked in goodness and pious displays, leaders are groomed to be set apart, super holy beings in their religion, ranking above all. Believers want the show, hungry eyes for the parade of goodness, they want to follow the face of perfection. They want to be convinced of their leader's righteousness. The illusion is the greatest lure here in the Eastern church.

As soon as you begin confessing your sins, teaching leaders to also confess their sins, to be real, approachable, walk in brokenness reminding their people that we are only saved by grace and can do nothing of our own, you have just found the fastest way to shrink your church. The appeal is lost and crowd moves on. They bring their praises and accolades to the nearest church they can find with the bells and the whistles, miracles and wonders.

Though the flesh in me wants to rise up and shake the lines all at once in a group hug spearheading these cultural strongholds with a shout---"We are just sinful people like you, give us a break!!  Do not look to us, we will let you down, we will disappoint, our righteousness stinks before the Lord like all the rest and most of our works will be burned with fire! Let's be real, on our faces looking to the Lamb together!! All that has been given to the Son -you also have!! You do not need a mediator! Your prayers are just as powerful as ours when asking according to His Word!" 

Then He speaks to my heart. "It is my grace they need, and my grace is always sufficient". Grace reminds me of where they are. Grace shows me this way of thinking is not their fault. "Let them not die for lack of knowledge, Lord, let us meet them where they are! Grant me eyes to see what You see, grant me love to work with them as the Father works in our hearts---He ALONE to draw, to woo, to change!! Our hope only in this Gracious Master Who knows no limits--not even limited by my sinful small mindedness."

I have to take a step back here with His precious sheep who need to be fed. He calls me to consider how He works with us in grace. How each is on a different timeline, a different program with the Father and this pleases Him for He is the Faithful One Who has called and WHO will do it. We cannot call or beckon, helpless to rouse ourselves with the slightest hunger unless He stirs our hearts and awakens, unless He grants the revelation, unless HE moves. He decides when we will move and wake up and He decides how swiftly or painfully slow for reasons we cannot begin to see until eternity. 

So for now there is this invisible partition, there is this great divide and though often my nature will question--is this fake or hidden --my Father is teaching me that this for them, for now is grace. So there will not be the deeper levels, the transparency I love to call a friend, the outbursts of laughter will be less frequent and the place to feed my soul is not there just yet and that is OK, because I am learning this is grace. I will welcome them in the prayer line knowing for that moment for most it's their only haven, to fill them up and lock courage away in their hearts they will need to lean on as they return to hostile homes where this peace is unknown. 

I will be 40 anyway in just a couple years so I suppose it's time to learn something of grace, something of dignity, after all, I am a pastor's wife. :)

In the meantime my heart will continue to overflow with thanks and praise and deepest adoration that when it's my Lord and me and no barrier in between, no advocate, no mediator just HE (Ephesians 2:14)--all my tears and all my cries, all my messy messes--no quickly clean it up for God, but here is another sharp and twisted piece, my King I give to You.

 Oh wonder of wonders that He invites! With boldness He tells (Hebrews 4:16), "My joy, my Delight! My precious one my daughter! Run to me, make haste, tell me every single part" and there I bare my soul again and find all I ever need, my soul's best FRIEND.

I dream of that day we will be one as a body worshipping all upon our faces, wall torn down for all to see the only ONE Who is worthy lifted High above all else as we cry "Holy, Holy, Holy!"

For all eternity.

For not to us, Oh Lord--but to YOUR GREAT Name be all the honor and the glory.

What a relief for You ALONE are worthy.

What’s so special about home visits anyway?

Paul leaves Harvest to meet me in a bustling intersection near Walltax 

Road’s famous fish market as the auto rickshaw drops me off  with two 

of our cubs. 

Paul corrects the inquisitive driver for asking his wife too many 

questions handing him 100 rupees for my ride. It’s rare when they are 

well versed in English This driver was particularly eager to grill me, 

unable to hold back his curiosity. 

Paul shouts at him that he is my husband, loading the tots up on his bike 

as we take off in the bright hazy orange sunset, no skyline in site, boys 

reaching for my water bottle mouths full of dirt.  We have used car, but 

for home visits, the roads are too narrow.

We weave through semis, cows, open lorries loaded with thousands of 

tires and a dozen teens piled on them, holding onto the sides peering at 

us through thick clouds of diesel fumes.  

The boys are wildly excited to get off -- doesn’t matter that it’s to go to 

homes and pray for people. Paul remains focused as drivers honk from 

every side taking chances to turn just inches in front of us -- always a 

wonder we aren’t hit. 

Without fail the smell of the slums hits my senses faster than the visual, 

dramatic though the scene. Always there is an instant audience -- road 

packed full of people lining up for their bucket water supply. We 

dismount and head up several flights of narrow cement stairs, holding 

onto little, sweaty toddler paws. 

A family from church greets, steaming fresh chai in hand. They ask us to 

sit, just a couple mats in a tiny one room home. The kitchen is hidden 

behind a sheet hanging from the ceiling, a towel tacked up behind us 

covering their idols seeking to not offend.  

The wife’s eyes shine with joy over our visit though we still await the 

arrival of her husband.  She is proud of her two sons present with her. 

They share of trials, the pain with neighbors and family surrounding 

them against their open faith, mocking them as they leave for church 

each week.  The husband comes in and my Paul takes seizes the moment 

to share the Gospel full of passion and clarity as their teenage boys 

mutter prayers under their breath that their Father will listen, will come 

to church, will support their stand and their mother’s. 

They announce their great joy over their neighbor’s conception—a 

direct answer to prayer from a house visit of ours back in the fall. (Often 

neighbors wanting to be included in the prayers fill the little one room.) 

They shed more tears and open up their hearts as Paul and I tell them of 

Jesus’ promise that in this world we will have trouble, but He gives us 

the greatest treasure we can know -- His eternal peace. That we know 

what it means to walk in total peace and freedom when HE is happy 

with us because God’s opinion is all that really matters even when 

others disagree. 

The cubs quietly push their matchbox cars along the edges of the 

bamboo mat as we sing to God in Tamil and close in prayer.  The 

husband shares he would like to make a change, he would like to learn 

to be the man of the family, start coming to church. We rejoice with him 

and refuse the tithe he tries to give us, telling him it will be a greater joy 

for him to give in the house of God this coming Sunday next when he 

and his wife attend together. 

Praises to Allah begin to flood the neighborhood from the nearby 

mosque reminding us of the consuming darkness they live in -- stark 

contrast to the hope that just filled their place as we prepare to leave. It 

is a small exchange on paper, no great life altering moment to record for 

this family of four on a Tuesday night, another family to love and 

embrace hopefully into the Kingdom. 

The reality of the greatness of God and His undeniable presence made 

known when we gather—that is what sets these moments apart. In that 

moment of expectation and quiet hope—He is there strengthening us in 

our weakness and creating a sweet bond that only His Spirit can make. 

Our commonalities are few and we realize with each visit we are 

building –- brick by brick of the whole foundation, this is what it means 

to be the body, this is our joy and this is His heart. 

And so we will see Sunday whether or not this dear man makes it to 

church. We will follow up with the wife and her attempt to take 

thoughts captive, to live to please Him alone and thank Him for 

adversity. In the meantime I uphold them in prayer as we return to our 

hot-sticky power outages as water runs out and long nights with sick 

babies and aggressive cockroaches chase me, neighbors feud all night 

long, shouting in a foreign tongue. 

He again reminds me He must increase and I find my way to Him as He 

enlarges my heart for these jewels of His grace. I learn to walk in the 

moment, in freedom, where I decrease.  

This is what is so special about home visits—the way He opens my eyes, 

the way He pours His own longings for the redemption and freedom of 

the souls of others inside my own heart.  And I have hope in these visits 

that the Gospel is doing its work on me.