Post-Kenya Notebook: Kenyan Pentecostals Put Us to Shame

During dinner at our hotel, I prayed I wouldn't have to preach the next morning. I usually enjoy preaching and sharing my heart. But this would've been the seventh time in two weeks and I just wanted to relax and soak up the church service in all its pentecostal glory. Alas, as Dan was filling in the details for the next morning, Sunday the 20th of May, he announced the plan and those who were preaching at churches. I was among them. Not surprised, I spoke up, hoping to dodge the responsibility. I was fresh out of 'church' sermons. There were only 'evangelistic' ones left. Apparently that mattered little to Dan. He said that would be just fine.

For some reason though, preaching an evangelistic sermon to a booming pentecostal church wasn't sitting well with me (those were supposed to be for the crusades). Against Dan's advice, I wrote a new one early the next morning, something fresh, something with Naro Moru in mind. It wasn't technically a sermon. I called it a "reflection." Whatever it was, I prayed it would be good enough for the charismatic Kenyans who would fill the seats and rows of Naro Moru's Foursquare Church. With dirty pale red floors, tin walls and overall rickety structure, the building could accommodate well over 100 Kenyans comfortably. 100 Americans comfortably? Not so sure.

Three of us arrived that morning ready for the service, Lyndsey, Danielle and I. It was almost 9:45. The sign out front said main service started at 10. Some of the kids standing in the front yard grasped our hands to say hello. They were much more mellow now. They were used to us wazungu. Inside the building, Alice, 19, was teaching on what sounded like anger to five others who arrived early to listen and learn. She taught surprisingly well. Articulate, insightful and dynamic. Not bad.

White plastic yard chairs were organized in three columns. In the back, when the chairs ran out, were flat wooden benches. I was curious about how and who engraved "New Covenant" into the back of each chair. It looked like the words were melted in. That was no simple job. Each chair was numbered as well, but don't assume that the chairs were actually in order. They most definitely were not. I would've been quite impressed.

The service started shortly after 10. Only a few were gathered. During the first song two ladies moved our backpacks to the front row and slid over a coffee table, which was usually placed in front of the pastors' chairs. She wanted us sitting in front. I don't like the front.

Praise and worship went on for over an hour. I wanted to fall asleep. You have to understand that this was our last morning in Kenya. We are exhausted. Everyone else though was loving it. If I counted right, there were four special songs (and other spontaneous ones), a mini-sermon and, oh let's not forget, lots and lots of dancing trains weaving throughout the rows. Joy and freedom spilled out from that place while the tinny speakers blasted the sounds of the keyboard.

By the time they took offering, I figured it was nearly time for me to preach. All I could think about was how tired I was and how I was not going to be able to be the excited charismatic they needed. Oh well… I would have to man up and deliver this "sermon" I wrote only hours before as best as I could muster.

Finally, Jeff, the pastor, called me up, the one to preach "the word of God." This phrase when used in an introduction for you to preach is quite terrifying. I preached with the little energy I had. I told them what I wanted to say, three simple points: the righteous live by faith, god uses people and pray honest prayers. Turns out that faith had been the theme to their revival meetings the week prior.

I remember looking out. The building was stuffed full with beautiful Kenyan faces, mostly women. Many youth and kids were there too. What was I doing? Where was I? It was all too surreal. Preaching to a poor church in Naro Moru, Kenya. I was telling them things I learned in my faith, which was lived out in a completely different context, a whole other world, a world impossible to explain. And yet it transferred. Faith transfers. Their faces looked at mine. Their eyes full of hope. As Alice translated, some would nod, affirming they were not only listening but understanding. Thank God.

It's crazy that you can get on a plane, fly to a strange country and unfamiliar people, and yet find common ground: faith in Jesus. Though we walk different soil, we walk the same ground.

“Look, and Look Down!”

It is by no means perfect, but here is my interpretative message on Isaiah 63:7-64:12. This was the culmination of my second exegetical project for my class on the book of Isaiah. I'd like to continue to study this passage and perhaps, eventually, I'll make some revisions; because I'm sure they're needed (while reading this to my class I realized that somehow the word "purposes" had become "porpoises." Thus, in the middle of my sentence read, "God's porpoises," not "God's purposes." Greaaat...).

Dave the Dishwasher

This past weekend I went to San Francisco. It was our Senior Trip and the main item to be experienced, at least for me and a few others, was Muir Woods National Monument—though this post has little to actually do with Muir Woods. Yet while enjoying the stillness and peaceful beauty of the wood, I found my mind wandering to a memory of this past summer.

I spent the summer north in Nevada City, CA working at a Salvation Army camp for kids. Midway through the summer, rumor spreads one afternoon that something had happened to Monica's husband. Monica's the nicest office lady anyone could ever meet. She's truly great (she purchased my favorite snacks, wrote a note and gifted me with one of her favorite books all for my birthday).

Turns out, Dave, her husband, was in a tragic motorcycle accident and was killed. It's a reality that is impossible to grasp. Someone, someone you love and see every day, gone. Just like that. We were stunned.

That weekend was his memorial service. It was held at the camp and all the summer staff—whether we knew him or not (and I did not)—were invited. Up until then I hadn't seen a picture of him. I was surprised. He was a burly man. And hairy. His face actually reminded me of Edward Sharpe. Monica seemed gentle and, well, innocent enough that after seeing picture after picture of Dave's black biker clothes, unkept hair and beard and overall wild style, I was genuinely yet satisfyingly perplexed. There were recent pictures and ones decades old. I was intrigued, starring at his face, at the way he looked, and Monica too.

I learned that he was something of a man of God, whatever that might mean. His appearance screamed, "Get the hell outta my way!" But from the several and seemingly never-ending testimonies given by that diverse collection of individuals, his faith said something else entirely.

There was one story though that burrowed itself in my mind. It must have because it was this I was turning over in my head as I walked Muir Woods. So basically, Dave had his master's degree (from APU of all places) in history. And after moving to Nevada City years later, he decided, being burdened for the people there (washed-out hippies and the like), to get a job as a dishwasher at a local restaurant. It was a good spot in town where locals and passer-bys would hang out and chat. He wanted to love and serve others. And he did so humbly.

He scrubbed dishes...

A master's degree and washing the leftover food off plates. Dave was a loser by most standards. He had a higher education than over 99% of the world's population and he does what?... But there is something intriguing about this life. It was his choice after all to wash that dish, and that one, and this one.

When he passed away, he and a close friend were riding their motorcycles down a narrow road. Unfortunately, I forget the details, but they were either getting back from or heading out on a missionary adventure of sorts. Dave loved people and wanted them to find God through Jesus. While riding, a deer darted in the road... I think we know what happens next.

His friend who rode with him said when the paramedics came he started explaining about their journey and one of them repented and was born again. I remember his eyes swelling up as he talked into the microphone. I couldn't imagine. So much good in the middle, unabashedly in the center, of grief, confusion and death. Life in death. So strange. I don't understand things like this.

There is obviously so much about him I am ignorant of. So much of his story lies beyond my understanding. And yet, what I know of him inspires me. Apart of me wants to imitate the man in those stories, whoever he is.

I don't really know what I want to do with my life, my post-graduation life that is. But inspiring others who you've never met (I'm writing about a guy I've neither met nor spoken with), when people talk about your life and heart and faith isn't such a bad idea.

I hope I'll think about Monica and Dave again soon.

Monica, I wish you blessing, peace and rest in the remembrance of your husband Dave.

The Big Rush: A Thought About Educational Trailblazing

Since I'm graduating, many friends are applying, being accepted to and beginning graduate level programs, even as early as this summer. When I hear things like this I get both excited and concerned.

I'm excited because education is good, formative and at times exhilarating. But at the same time, what's the big rush? I feel like many people are planning on blazing trails through their academics like they're running some marathon, with no foresight of breaks or slowing down. I understand for people in relationships who want to be married (or are married), who want to start a family and don't want to be old geezers when they have kids because they wanted to finish their education. I get that. I also understand that some people just know what they want and how to make it happen!… Hopefully that doesn't change.

But there are others, others—and I was one of these up until recently—who should think about slowing down and taking some time… taking some time off to………

Stop.

Sit.

Breathe.

Then think…

Go ahead and try it.

Education is important and something I care about. But since life is short and we are all going to die, we are limited in what we can pursue. This goes for everything, not just education. To be human is to be limited. God knows that I want to study everything! Well… a lot of things: theology, philosophy, history, psychology, sociology and ministry for starters and each of these is a portal to a whole world of its own. There's this heap of potential knowledge with not enough time to conquer it all.

Your studies should be well thought out. I think there is something to be said about, upon graduation, taking some time and honestly evaluating yourself and your life and intentionally putting into practice what you have learned and attempting to live in light of how you have been formed through your education. Obviously, though, for most of us, this doesn't mean chilling around and not working. Unfortunate, right? Life goes on. Bills need to be paid. Relationships happen. Etc.

But what's the point of studying the Bible, exegesis, hermeneutics and ministry if you abandon biblical studies and remove yourself from ministry? What's the point of your studies here and now if all you can think about is "moving on"?

I'm all for higher education. I just want people to treat their education well. Treat your education as if it were your grandmother. Be ethical. If you were your education, how would you want to be treated?

I guess all I'm trying to do is urge people and myself—in the middle of the crazy, up and down, go-go-go busyness of life, work and going to school—to walk in a manner worthy of the calling education to which you have been called received
(Ephesians 4:1 slightly modified). And so I suppose my one (multi-layered) application from this thesis is to stop, sit, breathe, then think about your educational road ahead, being honest in evaluating yourself, your talents, passions, dreams and calling. I don't know what the big rush is (other than the *strange trendiness* of graduate school of late and wanting to be a young, fresh scholarly genius who impresses others with his or her intellectual swag)! Time is not the enemy, it's the gift.

A true story (slightly modified as well):

A good friend of mine—and by no means am I saying this because I think she did not think through her life or education!—went to a very nice school to study education (what a coincidence) to be a teacher. She studied and passed and studied and passed and studied and passed until she was in her fourth year of college. Yet somehow, somewhere down the line she discovered a very sobering fact about herself. Drumroll please………

She did not want to be a teacher… *crowd stunned*

Well, ok then… I tell this story to illustrate the point that someone who thinks they know what they want to do/study in the future does not mean they will end up doing that.

Think about it.

So instead of trail-blazing, steam-rolling and other forms of path-clearing through the academy in our respective fields, we should take some time and properly think about that next step. And while we wait we can do the education that we have received justice and honor by practicing, implementing and influencing our everyday lives.

I am Going to Kenya: A Blogovized Support Letter

Hey Friends and Family,

My professor, Dan Stewart, is leading a trip of Life Pacific College students, me included, to Kenya in Africa in the month of May. Admittedly, I was a little late in joining the trip (I was only able to join because someone dropped and decided not to go!), but because my friend Chantal convinced me it was not too late, I asked and whala, by the hairs of my chiny-chin-chin, I'm in! As my last summer as a student—I'm graduating in May—I wanted to take advantage and travel with some amazing people all the while discovering Christ in the people of Kenya.

But I need your help! I need prayer and money ($3,200). If you would like to support me by prayer, by all means please do so. I would be honored if you prayed for my team and I as we go. We need love, faith, wisdom, protection and guidance (for starters). Also, if you would like to support financially as well, I would be honored just the same! I wanted to make donating as easy as possible so I put a donate button below that is linked directly to my Wells Fargo Bank account through paypal.

If you, like me, don't have anything to give, you can check back here to my blog occasionally. I am attempting to write updates during trip preparation about how things are going. Also, upon returning, I will be posting and sharing about the lives and stories that we experience and encounter in Kenya as well. I appreciate any and all who have read this and are considering supporting me in any way. Love, Grace and Peace!

May God continue to open us up to His beautiful world through the partaking and sharing of our adventures in Christ.

Sincerely,

Nick R. Pack

P.S. If you make a donation, please let me know by writing a comment below or message through facebook. Thank you!

Share a Meal, Share Your Life: Eating as Bridging

What is it about eating? Eating with others around a table?

During the practice of meal-sharing, eating a common meal, there is something in us that folds down; it's that barrier that's placed aside making *real* community (not merely "being together") more accessible. A meal brings real community (i.e. laughter, honesty and vulnerability, empathetic listening, etc.) within reach. It truly is odd in a sacred way.

I have often heard people talk about this phenomenon. People say that a common meal "brings people together." Brings people together? Does it really? I mean, it makes sense. I've experienced it.

If this is true, a common meal, than, is like a bridge to another person. It gives you a kind of accessibility that is hard to come by, a peculiar proximity. I'm not sure what it is. Maybe sharing good food acts as an appetizer for the main course: sharing your life. Food is (hopefully) packed with nutrients and other good things and is an experience of (again hopefully) tantalizing delight. A life, on the other hand, as vague as that is, is stuffed full of stories, laughable and cryable moments, wisdom and perspectives with the potential to nourish the soul. Think about how you feel after an inspiring conversation with someone you highly respect or an intimate exchange with a growing friend. These are truly transformative moments; the types of experiences branded into the memory.

Today in service, the Martzs were officially given pastorship of Lifehouse Foursquare Church. Rad indeed. After, we had a potluck. I was 30 minutes late to service and the potluck was the big-time motivator for me to get out of bed (not sure whether I should have admitted that). Are there other groups or communities that have potlucks that actually called them "potlucks"?

Anyways, the point to all this is I had a great time fellowshipping with those around my table (and a "great time" at church service, for me anyways, is a little strange). Chantal and I talked awhile about graduation, the summer and the future's future. I always want to connect with people like this, but often don't know how to. I get shy. I often need something to bring me to people. I need a meal!

Afterwards, Leighah Darnell and I were chatting about how every Sunday would benefit from such eating-experiences, not just special days. Isn't every Sunday special? Potlucks, being the people-briders they are, should be conducted weekly, no? And if not, then why? Isn't church (service) for Church and isn't Church a community and if something "works" for the sake of the community then why stop? Why postpone it? Plus, if it was every week I would probably remember to actually buy/make (probably buy) something. Just sayin'.

Since I'm not the most inviting and welcoming person, especially in the morning, it would be nice to have something, a potluck or whatever else might work, to bridge me to the lives within my own community.

I Don’t Wanna Wait, I Wanna Read!

I have been waiting for an opportune time (most likely summer…) to sit down and start chipping away at four books I've recently purchased. They have been, sadly, buried in my trunk under heaps of dirty clothes for weeks now. I bought them with an Amazon gift card I got for Christmas. Mothers sure know best, don't they? Thank you Sweet Lord (for mothers… and Amazon gift cards)! In no special order, they are:

Metaphors We Live By by George Lakoff and Mark Johnson

Dostoevsky: Language, Faith and Fiction by Rowan Williams

The Evolution of Adam: What the Bible Does and Doesn't Say about Human Origins by Peter Enns

And…

Silence by Shusaku Endo

Soon, very soon, I will properly devour each one; probably something like this:

Caveman

Caveman "Great Life" is Yourstru.ly from Yours Truly on Vimeo.

There is something good, something mesmerizing about the slow, steady brew of Caveman's "Great Life." Fluid vocal harmonies laid over light-picking and a catchy bass line all embedded in the booms and clicks of a sea of percussion. Ah, yes. Just take it all in, maybe with a good pair of headphones.

I can't help but think, this is surely how good theology sounds. Easy to take in. Smooth, not rough or forceful. Simple yet hard to pull off because of the chemistry with all its members. Yes, mmm, do enjoy.