Jo Saxton

Mark 2:22 you know better than to put new wine into old wine-skins.  They would burst.  The wine would be spilled out and the wine-skins ruined.  New wine needs fresh wine-skins.

Structure is important!  Think of all the routines/structure/boxes that you have going on in your life – whether they are self-appointed or imposed by others.  Some are particularly good and really helpful.  Take the example of a morning routine – shower, breakfast, cleaning teeth, some sort of devotional time.  Or traffic laws, without which there would be absolute chaos!

Sometimes however, we can get so rigid in our structures and routines that we forget the bigger picture and sometimes the aim of what that structure is there to facilitate.

Last night we hosted a discussion with some of our missional community leaders – all lovely and very capable people.  One couple in particular had got very focussed on their group and how they were trying to make it work.  The over-riding impression we got from listening to them was one of tiredness (why is this not working?) and of frustration (we have all these openings with our non-Christian friends and neighbours but no time to pursue them as we’re too busy trying to make our group work).

Another leader came up with the passage of the wine skins.  Throughout the centuries, the ‘wine’ or the essence of the gospel has not changed.  Society and individual situations, of course have!  Sometimes we need new wine skins.  Let’s be creative, think outside the box and not necessarily be a slave to the structure.  Does the structure serve us and God’s purposes or do we serve the structure?

What is God calling us to do, both individually and as a group?  Can both of those callings work together?  Do the existing structures help or constrain?  Let’s ask God to breathe His life and energy in and through us and what we are doing.  May we and the whole body be used to draw others into an ever deeper relationship with Him in as many ways as possible.  May we not lose sight of our ultimate goals.  Let’s seek to bring God’s Kingdom to those people and situations that He has placed us with/in.  Let’s ask God to reveal to us the best way of doing that.

Picture from the New York Times.

We smile because we can’t speak. At least not in the same language, not quite, not yet. So we try with our eyes and our hands and expressions to communicate  - to show that we are interested, to welcome, to befriend. I’ve learned a couple of words, but their English is way better than my Nepali. But I’m learning.

For one hour a week I try to communicate with our new Bhutanese friends, and its sweetly awkwardly sweet. I bow and say “Namaste” by way of greeting and I can see its appreciated. We photocopy the Bible passages into Nepali – and God’s word becomes accessible.  We had this great Sunday School curriculum for the kids at church, and its utterly useless right now because we have yet to work out how to communicate.  And right now it seems that a church play set without broken glass, and scooters and trikes and toys are  God’s smile of provision that means more to these children in this strange new world. And we talk, but most of all we smile.

For me it’s one hour a week, but for them? I remember how bewildering it was when we first moved to the US, navigating the system, the roads,  the bureaucracy, even the food. And we moved a team, in a world where we speak (mostly) the same language. How bewildering must it be to move here, from a refugee camp to an unknown world? It’s as though the struggle has just begun again. And no matter whom a refugee was in their home country, now they had to start again, usually from the bottom up. I once watched a series called the New Americans which featured a number of refugees who in their former land were business leaders, entrepreneurs, journalists and political activists. Now in the US they were cleaners, kitchen porters and hotel maids. They’d learned to not hand in their resumes (UK read CV), so people wouldn’t learn quite how qualified they were. Makes you think.

We are learning new things daily, and leaning on the Lord for direction. In the meantime, our friends have practical needs. Clothes, skills, forms, language learning, and we can be His hands and feet for that. We’ve learned from Nepalese and Bhutanese Christians we’ve met that most have become Christians through encountering Jesus in dreams or a family/community member being healed in the name of Jesus.  So we’ll practice what we preach, and we’ll pray for the power of God to meet them where they are at. And we’ll smile until to find the words to communicate everything we want to say.

Then the King will say, ‘I’m telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.’

Matthew 25:40

He did tell us to get ready. He reminded us that the harvest was plentiful, and that as we went out – we’d reap it.

A couple of months ago, a group from our church, ( a motley crew of all ages and background if ever I saw one) connected with an apartment block near our church. Just across from our church is a sprawl of never ending apartment complexes, the most densely populated part of the state. Economically deprived communities, they house many of the forgotten, refugees, ex offenders, people relocated from the devastation of Hurricane Katrina. We were connected with one apartment block by Lutheran Social Services, and began to think of ways to serve. We started with a free BBQ and crafts for the kids, and the offer of prayer to anyone who wanted it.

I remember driving into the apartment complex for the first time, with my kids in the back. This was a complex housing refugees from many different countries. I saw the playground, broken glass in the sand, and a metal play set – impossible to play on in 100 degree heat. Next to the boundary walls of the complex ran a telephone wire, with a solitary pair of sneakers hanging from them, marking gang and drug territory. “Welcome to America” I muttered, and pulled my kids out of the car to join in with the festivities.

It was a hot day, but over the next two hours we connected with loads of families. Most were Bhutanese. We did lots of kid’s crafts and resolved to use only chicken hot dogs in future, because people looked at the meat really suspiciously. We offered prayed and tried hard to communicate with hand signals and odd words. And it doesn’t matter how loud you speak, or how slowly, another language is another language. But somehow by the end of the time – we made a connection, a God connection. And we knew we would return.

I had conflicting emotions as I drove home that day. I was angry. Where is the church I demanded, somewhat judgmentally. How are people supposed to live like this? How is this a  place for them to raise their kids. These were refugees; it’s not like is been an easy life to begin with. And now they’re dumped in the ghetto? Why aren’t we doing  something, anything? And where are these gangs and dealers anyway? What are we doing about them. I felt embarrassed at our own ineffectiveness; I felt foolish for the times I’d debated about worship songs, or how to do church, and wondered how often I am distracted from The Great Commission. I think sometimes God lets me get provoked and ask these questions and then lets me hear the silence. In the silence ( well not complete silence because the girls are chatting in the back about My Little Ponies) I remember exactly how you live like this – you just do. In the silence, I remember the impact of Christian urban missionaries who moved into our lives like an unstoppable force of love, compassion and the power of the Spirit. My heart was set on fire and my life was changed. Forever. And to His silence, I responded with my own. Which meant: I get it, I know what you’re saying . Bring it.