the lost american

A few weeks ago I decided to search houston for an orthodox anglican church. Becoming more partial to Anglo- Catholic theology, I thought that experiencing a 'unique to me' service would help expand my idea of what different denominations give to christianity.
The church was a nice new building leading me to conclude that it had recently been built. The variety of up scale cars said that this congregation was not 'ghetto.'
Walking in, I expected a group of proper anglo houstonians getting ready for another sunday service. But was I wrong. I strolled into a church service with hundreds of africans. With their tall fancy hats and colorful dresses, I knew that I had found a church beyond anything I had experienced. It's as if I had stepped out of Memorial straight into Nigeria. I waited to entered as the priest slowly made his way down the isle.
What was so intriguing to me about the service was the mix of anglican traditions with some african spice. Although the congregation was eyeing me throughout the whole service, I was eventually accepted and met with smiles. As I looked around I noticed small children sitting in the church pews with their hands folded in their laps with a sens of solemn reverence and joy. What a rare thing to find children who are willing to quitely sit through a sermon cheerfully.
The old priest who was speaking was no taller than five feet. He stood before the congregation in his long robe beside the podium so that he would not be hidden by it. Althought he spoke fluent english, his nigerian accent was so strong it took some getting use to.
The topic of his sermon was identity within community. He urged his brothers and sisters in America to submit to the laws of their new country, but to never forget their culture. Throughout his talk I in some ways became envious of these people. They had much respect for the United States but refused to conform to the american identity. They were Nigerian. They were a different people. This was their community. Called to reach out to those around them, they were to never forget that their first duty was to their people.
I felt a mild revelation that sunday. The American identity is not what it seems.
The other day I was watching President Obama on the View and I thought he made a very interesting comment. When questioned about his race, whether or not he identified himself as a white or black, he simply replied that he only saw himself as an american.
A very diplomatic answer.
But what truly is an american? What is our identity now? It seems that we have become so pluralistic that who we are has become a vaccum of peoples. Although the initial desire to become tolerant of others was a admirable undertaking, we do not know how to be defined at all.
Perhaps this is why their has been such an increase in more violent organizations that offer unity to groups. Fundamentalism in both Christianity and Islam has become feared amongst many people but why the draw?
I think its because we are so hungry to identify with something. We no longer have a way to define ourselves except by that which we create ourselves. This is true even in most protestant churches today.
Overseas I sometimes became jealous of the cultures I encountered. Although some of their practices seemed somewhat pagan to me, I yearned for the community they offered each other. But as an American, I know that even if I ever live there, I would never quite fit it.
And so here we are as Americans, the lost sourjourners gravitating towards anything that will give us meaning, creating some empty definition that we know is not true.
I wonder if it is too late to establish ourselves; is who we are totally lost in our inability to stand up for anything? Or, have we forever been lost to the wind, blowing any direction we are pushed?

neither yellow nor blue

"Grief melts away/Like snow in May,/ As if there were no such cold thing." - George Herbert, "The Flower"
Even the peak of the Texas summer heat can not be compared with the months of Thai humidity. Its almost been a month since I have returned home, and instead of feeling like my life overseas was a dream, the faces and experiences of Bangkok have left such an impression on my heart to remind me that my life there was in a sense, the closest to human reality I have ever experienced.
Someone explained culture shock once as the country you have been raised in as "yellow" and the country you visit as being "blue." After your experience you are neither yellow nor blue, but fade into a deep green. Every culture is imprinted so deeply on your very being, that to deny the effect of one or the other would be to almost deny a certain aspect of yourself.
What a difficult thing to come home and not be the same, and even harder, to realize that those around you have changed. Sometimes it would be so much easier if time could sit still, so much easier if we could just come to terms where are life has been. But those moments of complete stillness are an illusion. Life is always moving and to evade this truth is to be in denial of the very essence of what life is: an accumlation of events.
Its so easy to get trapped in what we wish our life could have been, so tempting to visit those vivid memories that we feel like have defined us. The challenge of life is to press forward. To appreciate your experiences, but to sail on embracing what comes.
One of the hardest lessons for me to learn is that I can not change people and that I am not the world's savior. I am a mere sojourner wandering through life trying to find some definite purpose.
Oh God, I think to myself all the time, let my life be meaningful. Help me never to forget these images, even if they eat away at me. And most of all, help me to remember that quality is more important than quantity. Help me to remember that my purpose will be fulfilled in pouring myself out into the little things that everyone else over looks.
Because after all, for theirs is the kingdom.

bangkok book list

Here is a list of books I read in Bangkok. All of these books have played a minor role in my ever changing perspective of the world.
1.Setting Love in Order- Mario Bergner
2.First They Killed My Father- Loung Ung
3.The Human Condition- Thomas Keating
4.Simple Spirituality- Chris Heuertz
5.Friendship at the Margins- Chris Heuertz
6.The Road to Lost Innocence- Somaly Mam
7.The Inner Voice of Love- Henri Nouwen
8.The Lotus and the Cross- Ravi Zacharias
9.Cross Cultural Servanthood- Duane Elmer
10.Out of the Silent Planet- C.S. Lewis
11.The Healing Presence:Healing the Soul Through Union with Christ- Leanne Payne
12.New Monasticism- Jonathan Wilson- Hartgrove
13.The Cost of Discipleship- Dietrich Bonhoeffer
14.Living Together- Dietrich Bonhoeffer
15. Making Room: Recovering Hospitality as a Christian Tradition- Christine Pohl
16. Simply Christian- N.T. Wright
17. Exclusion and Embrace: A Theological Exploration of Identity, Otherness, and Reconciliation- Miroslav Volf
18. From Brokenness to Community- Jean Vanier
19.The Way of the Heart- Henri Nouwen
20.Companion to the Poor- Viv Grigg
21.Sexually Exploited Children: Working to Protect and Heal- Phyllis Kilbourn (Having an extremely hard time finishing this book)
22. Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger- Ron Sider
23. Culture Shock/Thailand
24. Compassion: A Reflection on the Christian Life- Henri Nouwen
25. The Atonement Child- Francine Rivers

protests

This morning my team visited one of the main detention centers in Bangkok. The detention center is unlike any place I have ever visited. We arrived an hour early to check in, then waited with other refugee workers and families for the only hour visitors are allowed to meet with the detainees. After submitting my passport, I was directed to a small area with about 50 other people around a fence. The detainees were slowly released and the shouting match began. With about 150 detainees on one side of the fence, and approximately 50 visitors on the other, it was very difficult to communicate clearly with our friends. Today I met a ten year old boy from Sri Lanka. He explained to me that he had been there for about two months and had no idea when he would be released. Another Sir Lankan family we met had been there three years. After talking to the little boy for a few minutes, he asked me to come back and visit him. I apologized and explained to him that I was returning to America in a few days. The little boy frowned, obviously disappointed.
I was probably the first foreigner who took the time to speak with him in weeks. Day by day, this little boy goes through the same routine of getting up every morning in a room with hundreds of other men hoping that some white person will come and speak on his behalf.
Thailand, a hot spot for human trafficking, is flooded with hundreds of thousands of immigrants every year in hopes of better lives. Who can blame them for wanting more? Who can blame the Thai government for wanting to protect its citizens from the social and economical turmoil the immigrants may provoke? Its such a depressing situation.
Immigration is one of the many issues plaguing Thailand right now. Within the last three weeks, the protests have become so heated that the Thai people fear a civil war. Over the last four months, our team has slowly been prohibited from visiting many of the business districts because the protests have become so violent. With military pouring into every corner of Bangkok, last week our team was confined to our street. Last Wednesday, one of the red shirt leaders finally stepped down causing mass chaos amongst the protesters. Everything was immediately shut down.
Although the city has finally seemed to calm down, the impact of the protests are still weighing heavy on the hearts of the Thai people. A place that was once referred to as "the land of smiles," is now filled with only solemn stares. It has been an amazing experience to witness a vibrant country lose its life. Its hard to imagine that in a few days I will be leaving this country I have grown to love. But as in every great tragedy, there is always a glimpse of hope. There is always a young generation waiting to become something new, and there will always be salvation waiting for those who have been broken.

I hold onto so much

No one told me that each week working on the streets would increasingly become more difficult. Something about seeing the same people week after week makes them oddly more human. Its so easy to file away the faces I see on the streets as mere statistics. Its so easy to build walls by labelling them as victims of someone elses crimes. But it is so difficult to realize that many of these women are just like me. Many of these women once had hopes and dreams only to be crushed by the harsh realities of their circumstances. Many of these children want to play with the popular action figures they see through the store windows. It is so easy to believe that just because someone has been raised in a different culture, they are some how less human.
A few nights ago I was sitting in a food court reading a book about world hunger. Page after page, I read tragic stories of the lives of children cut short because of starvation followed by charts and statics of these children's impoverished countries.Suddenly, I looked up and noticed a little thai girl sit across from me. Sometimes this girl drops by our house to play when she is not begging on the streets. I looked up and smiled at her with my world hunger book in one hand and a big cup of ice cream in the other. I tried communicating with her using my limited thai, but eventually we just ended up staring at each other across the table. Her eyes moved from me to my ice cream. I wondered how long it had been since she had eaten ice cream. I wondered how long it had been since she had eaten anything at all. Honestly, at first I was a little annoyed. I wanted to eat and read in peace. But then I was quickly convicted. My heart broke as I thought to myself, "Here I am reading about world hunger and stuffing myself with ice cream across the table from a child who actually is hungry. I pointed to the bakery and bought her a snack. How ironic. And then it the question hit me: In some small way, Am I somehow responsible for world hunger? What a beautiful analogy for americans in relation to world hunger. Sitting across an ocean from a world of starving children, we ignorantly turn our heads and eat our sweets. But it starts with me. Almost every day I pass by a man whose body has been badly burned. His only source of income is the generousity of strangers. I have never given this man any money. Why not? Because I rather eat donuts and coffee. Oh God, forgive me.
The CEO of Word Made FLesh, Chris Heuertz tells a story about a little girl named Deepa he met in India. "Deepa is twelve years old. I can't even begin to imagine the life she and her sister have been forced to endure. Today, she is orphaned. Her entire immediate family has died from AIDS. When she was younger, Deepa's mother died from AIDS. A couple years ago when Phileena and I were in India visiting Deepa, her little sister, Charu, was still alive but very sick and dying from AIDS herself. We found out on that trip to the WMF children's home in Chennai that at that time Deepa's father was also dying from AIDS.
It was a hot South Indian summer afternoon. Deepa and Charu's father came to visit his daughters. He looked terrible. In the weeks leading up to the visit, his health had gotten progressively worse. He would frequently be found passed out in the communal toilet in his slum- sometimes lying in his own diarrhea. The man was obviously in the final stages of the disease. I thought his two little girls were going to splinter his frail bones when they jumped up onto his lap that afternoon. A couple days after his visit, I got a call. Deepa's father had comitteed suicide. The humiliation, the pain and the decay of his body pushed him over the edge. He took his life to bring an end to his suffering. As you can imagine, his daughters were heartbroken. Phileena and I rushed to the home to find Deepa and Charu weeping. We held these little ones close, prayed with them, tried to encourage them with Scripture and promised we'd be there for them when they needed us. Our hearts were broken. In the sad series of goodbyes that our lives seem to offer us, it came time for Phileena and me to once again pack up and leave Chennai. We spent our last day with the children at the home. Deepa and Charu stayed close to us the entire day. When everyone had hugged and exchanged goodbyes, tears streamed down all of our faces. We walked past the gates of the home, turned around one last time to wave, and noticed Deepa and run inside. Before we could close the gate, she came running out of the home with a single yellow rose bud in hand. We couldnt hold back the tears. After her father had died, they cleaned our his slum and discovered that his only possession was a dismal potted rose bush with a solitary bud. Deepa stood there, her face soaked in tears, holding out the flower to Phileena. How could we take it? It was her inheritance, the last reminder of her deceased parents. Today, I take that flower with me everywhere, showing it as often as I can to illustrate this little, tender, revoluntary heart. How do we follow Deepa to God's heart? Where do we find the courage to let a little orphaned girl's tragedy compel us to name the complexities in our faith that keep us from generosity and obedience?"

the power of words

This morning I woke up after only a few hours of sleep and asked myself, "Did last night really happen?" There are some experiences that should never be put into words. My only comment is that I have never been in a position where I have prayed for God to take a child's life unless He immediately intervened. Sitting beside my bed last night, I fought so hard not to sleep. I was so tired but I did not want to close my eyes and see the image that will forever be burned into my memory. I did not want to dream and I did not want to wake up in the morning with the overwhelming feeling of being dirty.
Yesterday morning we discussed how our words either bring life or death. Because of the nature of entropy in which our world exists, every person and everything is constantly headed towards destruction. The human heart is headed towards hardness, and the main way to prevent the hard from becoming hard is by speaking words of truth.
I never thought that I would come to such a dark place where words of love were the absolute only thing I had to give someone who was suffering.
Finding myself on the curb of a street hysterically crying "God where are?" Is a humbling place to be. Oh God, Where are you?
Today I visited a new church. During the middle of worship, a young woman came up to me along with the minister and started speaking words over me. "God wants me to tell you that He is with you. Although you feel like God has left you, He is still with you." She told me that God had given her an image for me of a mountain with a curving road and a bike explaining that it signified my life's path. She said that I do not know the next step and that I am worried about the direction of my life. "But dont worry because God only sees a straight path so just trust him." How bizarre. Its in moments like this that I realize that even in life's darkest moments, God still speaks powerfully.

Blessed are those who mourn....

This last week has been one of my hardest weeks here. A few days ago a came down with a nasty cold/flu and discovered the same night that I had gotten lice from our trip to Cambodia. I have been boiling water to wash my sheets and pour into my hair since we dont have hot water or a wash machine. I am also having trouble knowing when I have fever because we dont have air con (the weather right now is similar to July in texas)I am constantly hot and sweating. It is very easy to slip into a state of self- pity, but then I realize that so many of the women and children we work with experience the same discomforts on a daily basis.
Monday night the Word Made Flesh field in Kolkata,India suffered a great loss Tuesday after discovering that one of their Sari Bari ladies had been murdered. (Sari Bari, a business initiative for women, began in February 2006 in a red-light area of Kolkata. They began in a small room with three women who wanted to start the road to freedom from the sex trade; they now provide jobs for 28 women and expect to reach 50 women by the end of 2009. Sari Bari trains the new women to sew blankets and bags from recycled saris (the sari is the traditional dress for Indian women). In addition to tailoring lessons, the training program includes literacy, math, budgeting, nutrition and informal group therapy. The community desires to see a transformation of the women’s minds and to encourage the women’s value and self-esteem through on-going training and support. Visit the Sari Bari website to learn more and to buy a handmade blanket or bag.)
From one of the WMF staff:
One of our ladies who has spent three months with us in training was murdered by a customer last night. There will be no justice for her… everyone in the brothels knows who did it but will not speak up. This is a devastating loss for our community. The Sari Bari ladies in particular see themselves in this loss and the realities and violence that some of them still face as they continue to live in the brothels. Please pray for our dear ladies and for Pornima’s family-who would not even come to see her because of the shame of where she was working.

Pornima had a great day at Sari Bari Monday. There was new hope and belief in herself, that she could have freedom and was a mere day away from completing her first blanket. She will be cremated with her blanket sometime today or tomorrow and will surrounded by the family God gave her three months ago in all of us at Sari Bari.

We are brokenhearted that Pornima will not be able to see the dream for her life fulfilled. We can only hope for freedom in the next.

Jesus have mercy on us and on the whole world.

What violence has beset us this day

What violence has beset us this day
Of all days, this day was most unexpected
Most vile, violent and cruel
Because it is the day after hope still lingered in one woman’s heart
Yet it lingers no longer with her end
Today is everyday and the today no one wanted
Today is for weeping over violence
Weeping for freedom lost
Where no freedom can be found
Powerless, fearful silent
Offenders protected
Shame for such injustice is heavy on us all.
Three months of freedom tossed like her body
Aside.
What violence has beset us this day.
We all are her. She was us.
Part of us left with her.
The violence committed, indignity
Against her, against us all.
She flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone
This sister gone.
Her fight for freedom was violently wrenched from her grasp,
We will fight on remembering.
----------------
These last two months I have realized that so many Americans live in an illusion. The people we see one the streets are the reality of the world. This is a dangerous realization. To realize this truth without being crushed by its implications is only possible with the knowledge that Christ will one day bring justice to this suffering.
The point of my trip is not to fix their problems, but to be compassionate to them (Luke 6:36). For so many of us compassion has simply meant to shower them with financial aid, and although there is a place for helping their physical needs, most of the time all I can do is to recognize them as people who have been made in the image of God. The word compassion is derived from the Latin words 'pati'and 'cum', which together means "to suffer with."
Sometimes the most powerful way to love someone is by simply suffering with them.
This is an excerpt from Henri Nouwen's Compassion: A reflection on the Christian life
"To the outsider, much Christian behavior seems to be naive, impractical, and often little less than an exercise in self-flagellation. The outsider understandably believes that anyone who feels attracted to suffering and pain and who desires to humble himself or herself to a position of servanthood cannot be taken very seriously. Striving to be a slave seems such a perverted way of living that it offends human sensibilities. Nobody finds anything wrong or strange with attempting to help people who are visibly lacking the basic necessities of life, and it appears quite reasonable to try to alleviate suffering when this is possible. But to leave a successful position and enter freely, consciously, and intentionally into a position of disrepute and to become dependent and vulnerable seems to be a form of masochism that defies the best of our aspirations... Radical servanthood does not make sense unless we introduce a new level of understanding and see it as the way to encounter God himself. To be humble and persecuted cannot be desired unless we can find God in humility and persecution. When we begin to see God himself, the source of all our comfort and consolation, in the center of servanthood, compassion becomes much more than doing good for unfortunate people. Radical servanthood, as the encounter with the compassionate God, takes us beyond the distinctions between wealth and poverty, success and failure, fortune and bad luck. Radical servanthood is not an enterprise in which we try to surround ourselves with as much misery as possible, but a joyful way of life in which our eyes are opened to the vision of the true God who chose the way of servanthood to make himself known. The poor are called blessed not because poverty is good, but because theirs is the kingdom in heaven; the mourners are called blessed not because mourning is good, but because they shall be comforted.
Here we are touching the profound spiritual truth that service is an expression of the search for God and not just of the desire to being about individual or social change. This is open to all sorts of misunderstanding, but its truth is confirmed in the lives of those for whom service is a constant and uninterrupted concern. As long as the help we offer to others is motivated primarily by the changes we may accomplish, our service cannot last. When results do not appear, when success is absent, when we are no longer liked or praised for what we do, we lose the strength and motivation to continue. When we see nothing but sad, poor, sick, or miserable people who, even after our many attempts to offer help, remain sad, poor, sick, and miserable, then the only reasonable response is to move away in order to prevent ourselves from becoming cynical or depressed. Radical servanthood challenges us, while attempting persistently to overcome poverty, hunger, illness, and any other form of human misery, to reveal the gentle presence of our compassionate God in the midst of our broken world."

cambodia

Last night I returned back to Bangkok from Cambodia. I did not think I would experience so much culture shock coming home to my middle class thai home. ALthough they are neighboring countries, Cambodia is worlds away from Thailand. Because World Made Flesh Thailand is a new field, my team had the opportunity to network with some major NGO's in cambodia. We met with Cambodia Hope Organization (a Christian organization that helps cambodians in the pio pet area farm, provides housing for at risk children, started schools, provides healthcare, and church plants), International Justice Mission ( A group of lawyers that fight sex trafficking), Friends International (an organization that educates and trains cambodian children), and the Somaly Mam foundation (an organization that rescues young women and children from the cambodian brothels). We were also able to visit Mother Teresa's missions of charity for a week. At the end of our second week we visited the killing fields where the Khmer Rouge soldiers murdered approximately 20,000 Cambodians. At the entrance of the killing fields is a wat with 17 tiers of 8,000 skulls that have been recovered. Walking through the beautiful country side, which had now become a massive graveside, we literally walked over crushed bones and pieces of clothing that had not been recovered out of the ground. In the middle of the fields stood a large tree with a marker signifying that hundreds of women and children's corpses were buried beside it. Our guide explained to us that the Khmer Rouge soldiers used this tree to smash the skulls of these women and children. The soldiers, who lacked adequate weapons, sought out primative means in which to torture their victims. The trees, leaves, and many farming tools, had been used to brutally crush thousands of lives. How horrific it was to see God's creation used in such a perverted manner. Walking over the bones that were still scattered underneath my feet reminded me of Romans 8:22 were nature is described as groaning for its creature. At the end of the tour there was a large marker that described the soldiers as having "human form but with the hearts of demons.."

NOt only did the victims of the hundreds of killing fields suffer from the evils of the Khmer Rouge, but the whole country is still feeling the devasting effects of this dark time in its country's history.

AS we travelled through the small villages, I realized that many Cambodians are still experiencing shock and are just fighting to survive. I cant fathom the pain these people have experienced. Its as if many of them are already dead. Many of these people live defeated lives and have given into the misery that surrounds their lives.

Our first night in Cambodia we stayed in a little border town called Poipet. Poipet reminded me of a ghost town. A desolate, dusty, hot town that has been forgotten by the rest of the world. Our second night in Poipet we walked down a muddy little street covered in trash which served as the town's red light district. The women squatted in the corners of the small alleys beside each other in silence. We noticed the eyes peering out the bars on the doors of the brothels where many of the women spend all day and all night. No one is helping these women.

These women are too much work and are too dangerous.

A young pastor explained to us "There is so much need."

A few days later we left for Phnon Phen. The second day in the city my leader and I came across two young children who looked like they were about five years old strapped with newborn babies to them. The babies were dirty and dehydrated. The young children had no idea how to care for the infants who were barely covered in stained rags. The babies' heads flung side to side as the young children roamed the streets begging. We tried to show the children how to hold the babies, but the children were not even able to take of themselves- much less small infants. The reality is that the more sick and desperate the babies look, the more money the children will receive begging. The reality is that the babies are most likely not even related to the children holding them. Many of the babies with the beggars have been "rented" from the mothers. THe reality is that it is very profitable for the parents/ pimps of these children to hold sick babies. The reality is that if these babies do not get medical care soon they will probably die.

I went home that night enraged. To see babies, the most vulnerable of all human beings, treated as a commodity truely reveals the depravity of man.

I dont think we were made to fathom these extreme degrees of evil. And to realize that it is just not Cambodia, that the whole world is crying out for a savior, that the whole world is crying out for justice. But God has not abandoned these people. HE is close to those crushed in spirit and suffers with them. I think it is our natural tendency to question the sovereignty of God amist such evil. We want to shake our fists at God and ask Him why He allows so much suffering to happen. But I wonder if God ever looks at us and asks why we allow so much suffering to happen? Why are these people by themselves? Where is the body of Christ to share in their suffering?

Throughout my trip in Cambodia I read Dietrich Bonhoeffer's The Cost of Discipleship and would like to close this email with a few excerpts:

Cheap Grace is the deadly enemy of our Church. We are fighting today for costly grace. Cheap grace means grace sold on the market like cheapjacks' ware. The sacraments, the forgiveness of sin, and the consolations of religion are thrown away at cut prices. Grace is represented as the Church's inexhaustible treasury, from which she showers blessings with generous hands, without asking questions or fixing limits. Grace without price; grace without cost! The essence of grace, we suppose, is that the account has been paid in advance; and, because it has been paid, everything can be had for nothing. Since the cost was infinite, the possibilities of using and spending it are infinite. What would grace be if it were not cheap?

Cheap Grace means grace as a doctrine, a principle, a system. It means forgiveness of sins proclaimed as a general truth, the love of God taught as the Christian "conception" of God. AN intellectual assent to that idea is held to be of itself sufficient to secure remission of sins...in such a Church the world finds a cheap covering for its sins; no contrition is required, still less any real desire to be delivered from sin. Cheap grace therefore amounts to a denial of the living Word of GOd, in fact, a denial of the Incarnation of the Word of God. Cheap grace means the justification of sin without the justification of the sinner.

Costly Grace is the treasure hidden in the field; for the sake of it a man will gladly go and sell all that he has. It is the pearl of great price to buy which the merchant will sell all his goods. It is the kingly rule of Christ, for whose sake a man will pluck out the eye which causes him to stumble; it is the call of Jesus Christ at which the disciples leaves his nets and follows him. Costly grace is the gospel which must be sought again and again, the gift which must be asked for, the door at which a man must knock. Such grace is costly because it calls us to follow, and it is grace because it calls us to follow Jesus CHrist. It is costly because it costs a man his life, and it is grace because it gives a man the only true life.

Bangkok

I dont think anything could have prepared me for the crowded vendors on the streets, the smell of basil along with strong peppers and a slight hint of sewage that permeate through the breeze, the colorful taxis lined up on the street awaiting customers, the legless beggars that shuffle between the alley corners, the fresh fruit cart that passes in front of my house, the modern architecture serving as a shield to the pocket slums. Its hard not to get caught up in the fast pace city of Bangkok. As I was preparing a bible study yesteryday, I thought of Paul visiting Ephesus in the book of Acts. Ephesus, very much like Bangkok, was a city that revolved around sex worship and idolatry. As the Ephesians offered sex to their great goddess Artemis, the notorious red light districts in Bangkok are full of young women offering their bodies as sacrifices in order to appease their countries economical well being. The temple steps of Soi Cowboy, Nana Plaza, and Patpong serve as altars for many of these women's souls- a dark doorway leading to a life from which few women ever recover.
In Acts 19 after Paul begins performing miracles in the city of Ephesus, many people converted to Christianity. Shortly after, a silversmith named Demetrius who made silver shrines of Artemis is enraged because he loses a significant amount of business. Demetrius, along with many other Ephesians, start rioting and demanding that the Ephesians return to their worship of Artemis. Because so many Ephesians had been heavily involved in idolatry, the economy was greatly shaken as many people burned their idols /(withcraft) and converted to Christianity.
I cant help but think of how I am also living in a country so dependent on sex tourism and idolatry. Because approximately 90% of Thais claim to practice Buddhism, it is impossible to walk very far without noticing the colorful shrines, spirit houses, and little buddha idols. Many of the children wear bracelets signifying their dedication to a spirit. Sometimes the spiritual darkness of this country is overwhelming. Like a dark cloud hovering, I wait patiently for the slightest bit of light to penetrate the darkness.
From Acts 19 to 20, Paul spends three years converting and discipling the Ephesians. The new Christians of Ephesus created a Christian community founded on repentance (19:18) serving the needs of the weak in humility. A body of believers who had previously been enslaved to deep spiritual bondage were slowly learning what it meant to serve Christ. Although the church of Ephesus was a novice, slowly forming its structure, the new Christians' hearts were genuine and transparent. Sadly, only 40 years later the church of Ephesus is rebuked for "losing their first love" (Rev. 2:4) John writes, "I know your deeds and your toil and perseverance, and that you cannot tolerate evil men, and you put to the test those who call themselves apostles, and they are not, and you found them to be false; and you have perservance and have endured for my name's sake, and have not grown weary. But I have this against you, that you have left your first love." John then encourages the Ephesians to repent and return to the deeds they did first. I wonder what went wrong with the church? Its as if the humility of not having it all together, the humility that comes with constantly confessing that you are a screw up and need God's grace, is more satisfying to God than being the Christian who gets caught up in good deeds and self righteousness.
As I continue serving in a spiritually oppressed country, it is this truth that encourages me: God favors the humility of the repentant. Although I will walk down the streets of Bangkok today and be confronted with porn dvds and little buddhas, these symbols of spiritual bondage will remind me of the hope that awaits the people of Thailand. These symbols will remind me that it is the darkest places that receive the most light. These symbols will remind me there exists a world of pain awaiting a Savior.
(See letter to Ephesus: matt chandler- for scripture outline)

Not For Sale Campaign

Sunday morning I attended a Thai international church. The guest speaker was a man who was a spokesman from the not for sale campaign. "Not For Sale is a campaign of students, artists, entrepeneurs, people of faith, athletes, law enforcement officers, politicians, social workers, skilled professionals, and all justice seekers united to fight the global slave trade and end human trafficking. The Campaign aims to recruit, educate, and mobilise an international grassroots social movement that effectively combats human trafficking and slavery through "Smart Activism." It deploys innovative solutions for every individual to abolish slavery- in their own backyards and across the globe. NOT FOR SALE believes that everyone has a skill to contribute that can free an individual living in bondage, and together we can stop human trafficking and end slavery in our lifetime."
Some ways to get involved:
-Spend 20 minutes on the website: www.notforsalecampaign.org
- Go to "Slavery map" and see where slavery exists in your state
- Talk to your legistlators about enacting laws to stop this human trafficking
- Go to "Stop Paying for Slavery" and see where your clothes come from.
- Arrange for a Freedom Stor (merchandise created by rescued victims of slavery)
- Organize a Bible study using the Not For Sale materials and continue to pray for the captives