The next day Mike taught on baptism and the Lord’s supper, and set up a future date for a baptism, since no one in the church was baptized yet. Then, we set off for Carisalito, a village on the border between Guatemala and Honduras. We drove down the highway and stopped randomly on the side of the road to let everyone off. The mountains rose all around us impressively. Then we found the trail, a muddy, slippery stretch of land bordered by barbed wire on both sides. After all, it’s encouraging to know that if you slip and fall, the barbed wire is there to catch you.
I tried not to dwell on it.
And so, we slipped, slid and slogged our way up the trail and up into the mountains. It wasn’t overly dangerous, just difficult. I was rather pleased with my progress until Mike pointed out the mothers nursing their babies as they climbed up the trail in flip flops, compared to my tennis shoes. Yes, my pride took a hit, but at least I hadn’t complained. I’m pretty sure Mike the missionary wouldn’t have let me hear the end of it.
It's incredible to me that nearly the entire church goes there to minister every week. Men, women, and children alike all make the difficult journey just for the opportunity to serve their Lord. When's the last time a church did that in the states? Especially if that ministry were at the end of an hour hike up a mountain? If we had a faith like that here, I believe the course of this country would be quite different. But we've all turned to go our own ways, and the Lord's work sits on the wayside. How do I know? I've been the chief offender. And worse, I've known for a long time the right thing to do and havn't done it.
But this time... I'm bringing back some fire with me. The example I've seen in Honduras is compelling, inspiring, and yes, convicting.
When we finally got there, we rested for awhile, then split off for ministry. Carisalito is a beautiful village: remote and full of palms that wave in the breeze. It’s cool and crisp up there most of the time because it sits near the top of a ridge. And neater still is our brother in the Lord, Herlindo, who lives there. Each Sunday, he travels an hour and a half of difficult terrain just to come worship with us at church. And each Saturday, he opens his house so that we can come share the word there in a service, and shows us incredible hospitality. How many of us would do that? Would I do that?I hope so...
...but I don’t know.
For the ministry, I ended up grouped with a bunch of Honduras, and we visited a few houses and ministered. It was there that I began to find my place. A month before, I was worried that I wouldn’t have a place when ministry started, because I couldn’t even hold a conversation with my friends... let alone strangers in their homes.
But God gifted me with just enough Spanish to speak during that month. He gave me just enough Spanish to speak and follow conversation. But more importantly He also taught me the power of His word. So while we sat in our first house there, I opened my bilingual bible and let it speak on my behalf. After all, what is more powerful than the word of God himself?
It’s living and active, sharper than any sword. It can cut through body and soul and bring healing, rebuking and correction. In the Psalms, David cries out again and again that he lives off of God’s every word. So it was a cool opportunity. Instead of sharing my thoughts and my ideas, I let God’s word speak for itself. Then, my Spanish brethren picked up the slack and explained the verses clearly for them. It was beautiful cooperation, and set the stage for a month of incredible ministry.
After our time there drew to a close, we began to climb down the slope, but heavy clouds met us as we descended, and soon the cloudy sky broke out into a downpour. Naturally, this only improved the trip down. I couldn’t exactly say that we walked down the mountain; it was more akin to sliding. Mike joked that they should make a Disney ride or something. If they do, I suggest they remove the barbed wire. After a wet car ride back in the rain, we arrived back thoroughly soaked and exhausted.The next day, we had a brief church service. Laticia, the missionary’s wife and one of the locals were headed to El Salvador so that the local woman could receive medical care, which meant that for four or five days, Antonio and I would be left to our own devices. So as soon as the service ended the team departed, leaving me feeling alone and forlorn. I watched them depart, then turned around to face my Honduran brethren, who cheered. It was encouraging, and a foreshadowing of my time with them.
Antonio, the missionary, and I set out for Copan and visited the home of Oscar and Valentina. Oscar’s suffered incredible physical problems since his conversion. He had a massive tumor removed the year after he came to Christ. Since then, he’s been unable to walk, and nearly blind. His wife has to work, and they’ve struggled incredibly. He’s living proof of Christ’s promise to us, “In this world you WILL have trouble.”
But his faith is also testament to Christ’s other promise that we will overcome, because He overcome first. He told us that the past eight years have been the best of his life. Why? Knowing Christ is better than health, money, and anything else this world has to offer.
I only hope to respond the same way when its my turn to suffer.
My visit with them, and the cheers of my brothers helped set the tone for the trip. Not all missionaries get that kind of blessing when they begin their ministry. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to arrive on a foreign shore alone, where you don’t know if the locals coming to meet you are there to harm or help you. But those men and women, those heroes of the faith are the reason I’m even on missions. I want a faith like that.
I stand on the foundation laid by giants. I pray God also uses me.
There’s so much more to write of my time in Honduras, so I’ve decided to release four entries, one for each week I was there. Until then, please pray for the Church there, that God would grow and strengthen them.
