What Man Will Finish My Race?

Went to Repi Kallie Hawot church. Negash showed us around the “compound.” Property of mud with mud classrooms. The “sanctuary” was a concrete slab, some branches, and metal siding. Adequate. We worshiped for two or three hours. I could not understand what was bing said, sung, or preached. However, I felt like I worshiped the Lord through the prayers and songs of my brothers. I wept a little. When these peopelsang a hymn, it was blessed. Negash transleated most of the sermon for me wan d I tried to thanslate it to Ross, but I’d fotget 70% of what Negash said. They had a guest singer who shared his testimony: he dug through the dump and fought hyenas for food. God saved him. He was a very good guitar player. Before the service, someone mentioned seeing a guitar. It was suggested I play a song rater than speak. O to cradle of the neck of a guitar in my lft nand. It was sweet. I played When Jesus Comes. I forgot some lines (as usual), but I figured nobody could understand me. I changed the last verse to “When Jesus comes/we’ll go home/no longer will/ we be alon/’cuase in this world/ we don’t belong/wo when He comes/ We’ll go to the same home. Ross shared a dream about praying to the one true God among Muslims, Hinus, and Ethiopian Orthodoxy.

We shook the hands of many smiling men and children as we left. A crowd of kids followed us down the street as we made our way to Negash’s house. Once we arrived, we ate speghetti and Ethiopian food. It was delicious. A young man named Bisrat showed up. He is about 25-years-old. Negash has helped him and ministered to him. He hs a mintal illness and comes from an Islamic backhground. He became a believer and his family shunned him. We prayed for him for a bit and encouraged hime. This is a man who, by accepting Christ, has accepted abandonment and family support. May God grant him peace, stability and someone to shepherd and disciple him. We came back home shortly after.

Today’s thoughts come from a realization that these men have very little to share with Christ. Jesus is their lives. They seemed prepared for death, and why wouldn’t they? Death surrounds them. With all of the dangers around them, life expectancy, I think, is around late fifties. Death, to them, is deliverance and a better existence. Death to them is a resurrected body, regenerated hands and feet, sight, voice, and healing. Death to Americans (at least to me at times) is the passing away of the worldly things I love so much. It is going to a place without sex or coffee. I found myself thingking how sad it is that I must leave these men to be the salt of the earth and I must return to be less. I can’t wait to go back home, but in a way, it hurts to know there are men as great as these. It is humbling, but somehow painful, too. So I wondered if and when I’d come back and for how long. Addis Ababa is an awful place: it stinks, it is dirty and crowded. But it is not godforsaken as long as these men are here. I don’t want to live here, but the thought of returning with Patrick in the future is not upsetting. Negash expressed interest in a group of musical folks to come over and minister to the youth, so who knows, God has callede me to music so if I cam back to “work,” I can’t see myself doing anything else. Before I started writing tonight, I was thinking about what God might be doing with me. I want to resist dreaming too much. I want to wait for His voice to call before deciding nbeforehand what He will do. He is leading me along a road I never thought I’d trod. Jackson, Africa…I can’t help but wonder who I will be at the end of my journey. What man will finish my race?