This may come as a shock, but there have been times that we
haven’t wanted to go back to Zambia. Don’t get me wrong – we love Zambia. We love the Zambian people, we
love the ministry, and we love life there. But over the last several months,
we’ve questioned whether or not we are supposed to return.
You see, we’re exhausted. Life in the mission field is so
awesome, but it’s exhausting. Serving God in this capacity, even when you know
it’s where He wants you to be, can take every last drop of energy and strength
out of you.
I’ve been at the Women of Faith conference here in Peoria
these last few days, and hearing one of the speakers today, I knew we’d be
going back.
She first spoke of John 14:12, where Jesus says that those
who believe in Him will do even greater works than He. Greater not in the
worldly sense of powerful and spectacular, but greatness how Jesus often refers
to greatness – humble, quiet service.
So hold onto that: if we believe in Him, we can serve/love/live in
greatness.
Now jumping to a passage that we often overlook unless we’re
simply reciting it as we go to take communion… Luke 22:14-20
At a moment in which Jesus is redefining the centuries-old
ritual of Passover, He not only serves the meal, but He becomes the meal. He
basically tells the disciples that the offering that is the Passover meal –
that he was becoming the content of that offering. And then he says, “do this, in remembrance of me.”
I, like many people, would have thought that “doing this”
was simply taking communion, in memory and celebration of Jesus’ sacrifice as
the Passover lamb. But breaking it down to the original Hebrew (in her words,
not my study), the “Do” means make, but in a present habitual term –
continuously make. Make what? The
remembrance, which basically means, “make real.” Jesus was telling His disciples to constantly make this –
this idea of being a living sacrifice for others – real. He was providing a model for living and
discipleship.
We, as Jesus’ disciples and followers, are to be a broken
and poured out living sacrifice for the healing and restoration of others. We should live out His sacrifice and be
the eucharist in our daily lives.
We are part of the body of Christ, pouring out our spiritual power. Sometimes we’re the ones pouring out -
the broken bread, and sometimes we’re the ones being nourished.
I think of the story in Mark 5:25-30 where the woman who had
been bleeding for twelve years touched the hem of Jesus’ garment, in a last
desperate – faithful –attempt at cleansing and healing. And she was made well. In verse 30, though, we see the effect
on Jesus: “And Jesus, perceiving in
himself that power had gone out from him, immediately turned about in the crowd
and said, ‘Who touched my garments?’”
Jesus, fully God and fully man, felt the power go out of
Himself. When we start feeling the power going out of ourselves, we know that
others are receiving life. We know
we are the bread when we start breaking for others’ hearts. And if we’re not being poured out – if
we’re not breaking for others – maybe we’re not doing what Jesus called His
disciples to do the night of the Passover. Maybe it’s time to be the bread, broken for others.
Thinking about our lives in Zambia, I realized
something. We didn’t come home
empty and dried out and broken because of the things we whine about: power outages and water shortages and
long lines and mission politics.
We were empty because we were being poured out for others. We were being broken again and again
and somewhere along the line should have stopped and found a way to be on the
receiving end of that – to go to a quiet place away from the crowds to rest and
hear from God. To recognize the
brokenness of our Savior and the strength He gives us to carry on. But because
we started to try to nurture the brokenness with our own strength, the little
petty concerns just piled on top of it all and we ran out of fuel (which is part of the reason for this time in the States - to be on the receiving end of that bread from the broken pouring out of others - to refuel - and we praise God for pastors and teachers who are willing to give of themselves in this way).
So when we think about going back, we know it won’t be
easy. We know we will be broken
and poured out in ways that bring such joy and heartache that we can’t imagine
it now. We know people there are
people who are broken and lonely and lost and don’t know the Savior who is the
bread and the life, and we know that it may break us a bit to be that to
them. And when the power goes out
and we can’t take a hot shower in the midst of that brokenness; when we’re
feeling alone and heartbroken and weighted down with heaviness for the pain we
see around us; when we’re desperate to give up and just serve people who are
easy to serve and safe and blessed (when it wouldn’t take everything out of us
because we wouldn’t actually have to give much); we remember Jesus and His
brokenness.
As one of the women tonight described Jesus’ death on the
cross, she said she’s tempted to be depressed and sullen and sad when she
thinks of Jesus’ death, but knows that sacrifice was actually His finest
hour. He was broken and poured out
so that we may have forgiveness from sin, fellowship with the Father, and eternal,
abundant lives, doing as He did, and doing “greater works than these.”
The popular worship song says, “I’ll never know how much it
cost, to see my sin upon that cross…”
He was poured out and broken for me in ways I’ll never
understand fully. If we have to
miss a few showers or leave our family and friends again or move houses or
occasionally experience discomfort, sadness, or heartache… who are we to turn
away and keep the Good News and these acts of greatness to ourselves? He died for me. He died for you. And He died for each of the people we
serve. May we be the bread, and when
needed, be broken for others.
Thank you Jen Hatmaker
for sharing your message today.
