"My second trip to Malawi was supposed to be somewhat mundane," I began, addressing the Toastmasters. "I was going to teach fellow aspiring pastors about systematic theology and biblical exegesis. During the day, I would buy fruits and vegetables, and at night, I would eat nsima (corn paste) in the homes of the students."
"But the trip started with a monkey, and ended with a monkey, and ended up being anything but mundane.
On one of my first days there, a man walked his bicycle up to me with a monkey casually perched on the back, eating a cob of corn. 'You want monkey?' he asked. I thought about putting the monkey in a bathtub or closet, but thought the better of it. Before I could respond, he added "To eat" and to make clear what he meant, he chomped his teeth. 'No thanks,' I responded and in my mind added, 'I've reached my quota on monkey meals this year.'
Things were pretty routine from then on out, awakening in me a desire to have an African adventure before I left. I was told that no Westerner had climbed a certain mountain behind the village for some 20-30 years. It was not particularly tall or steep (no need for a hook, hammer, or rope), but was clearly not bushwhacked.
So on my final day in town, I decided to climb that mountain. I awoke early in the morning, walked the short span to the base of the mountain, and began my ascent as the arriving sun broke through the mist. Some places where relatively flat and I was able to tread through foliage, while on occasion, I would have to crawl over boulders on hands and knees. I even had to prop myself between boulders at times and try to carry myself up and over.
I had just climbed up and over one particularly large boulder, about three quarters of the way up, when I heard a heart-piercing snarl. I froze and couldn't move for what might have been the longest minute of my life. My mind raced with images of lions or other beasts. I had no easy way back down and had a backpack and a journal with which to defend myself.
I slowly turned, and saw about 40 yards away and 20 feet above me--across a small ravine--a baboon who was clearly not happy that I was in his territory. He didn't look particularly big, but I have been told by TV and by locals that these things can tear a person limb from limb. I slowly inched closer toward the rocky peak as his snarling intensified, hoping to just put more distance between me and him.
When I got to the peak, I spotted a cleft within two pressing boulders and climbed up and into the cleft. It was there that I prayed, let the Lord know that I was a bit shaken, and remembered the words of that famous hymn "Rock of ages, cleft for me--let me hide myself in Thee!"
I started to make my way back down the mountain when the snarling crept down my spine again. I looked over. The baboon was still 40 yards away, but was now eye level and looked to be eyeing a way across the small ravine. I gently stepped back toward the peak and then took off down the backside of the mountain. There was an old goat path cutting back and forth, but I cut through, jumped 5 or 6 feet at a time to try to create distance between me and the baboon.
Several minutes later, Malawian farmers watched as a mzungu (white man) appeared and quickly disappeared from their yard, likely for the first time. Now sprinting at full tilt, I attracted a crowd of village children who shouted and chased after me. By the time I slowed down, I was at the base on the other side of the mountain. I jogged the next hour or so until I arrived back at my village.
A few things I learned:
1) Always carry a stick. Probably wouldn't have helped against a baboon, but at least I would've felt prepared.
2) God creates us for community. We're not meant to go it alone. I could've used some other guys up there. We need other people. My wife needs me to help her speak up; I need her to help me shut up.
3) If I was vulnerable before that baboon, how much more vulnerable am I before the Creator of the universe? He has the power to crush me, but hasn't. Why? Because He sent His only beloved Son to this vulnerable world in order bear their sins, appease His wrath, and make peace between God and sinners. Because of Jesus Christ, the God who has the power to crush me does not terrify me like the baboon. Instead, he has become my cleft, my rock of ages. For that, I am grateful."
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After Toastmasters was over, I got into a discussion with a mother and daughter who were visiting the group. The mother is an evangelical Lutheran who loves the Lord. Her daughter still avows some of the basic truths of the faith, but has determined that she doesn't believe certain portions of the Bible--especially the ones dealing with sexuality. Surprise, surprise. Welcome to my generation.
She briefly mentioned that we can't really trust the Bible because there are so many translations. I told her that in seminary, we are trained to study the ancient Greek and Hebrew, derived from the many ancient manuscripts of Scripture, and no, the major translations have not deviated from the ancient manuscripts.
Next, she talked about the command in Leviticus concerning the stoning of homosexuals, and how some arbitrarily want to keep that law (very few would actually say that) while dismissing other Levitical laws. I told her that most people, including most evangelicals, butcher Leviticus. It's laws were not meant to be normative for all of humanity. They were meant for Israel, the one God-endorsed theocracy after Eden. That theocracy is over, and God is equipped the state as His agent of justice (Rom. 13) and the Church as his agent of saving mercy (Matt. 5).
And for the people of Israel, Leviticus was meant to show them the great gap between a holy God and unholy people. Every little thing that reflected the fallen nature of mankind, from a man's seed spilled upon the ground to a woman's menstruation, carried with it a penalty or time of purification in order to remind the people of the vast difference between them and God. It is no surprise then that at the heart of all these laws was the sacrificial system, which stressed the need for sin to be atoned for and picturing the coming Savior.
I told her about the reboot of our discussion Meetup in Menomonee Falls (now called "The Real Happy Hour") and what we hoped to accomplish with it (charitable discussions about deep and dirty issues). She loved the thought of people who are "pro-gay" and "anti-gay" having charitable discussions.
Again, I challenged her on her descriptions. Unlike what our culture tells us, we are not defined by our sexuality. The term "sexual orientation" didn't even come into existence until Freud used it about 150 years ago. Our culture may have collapsed the distinction between who we are and what we do and now defines us by our sexuality, but our identity goes much deeper than our behavior.
She understood what I was saying, because she earlier told me that she was struggling with her identity and the question: Who am I? I told her that before she asks that question, she needs to ask who has the right to define her identity? Is it her right, or that of her friends or family? Or is it God, who can hide our lives in Christ so that our identities are untouchable by the whims of this world?
She is now pumped for the Meetup group. And I simultaneously became friends with an evangelical mother and her wayward daughter. Speaking of which, I am excited that they were at Toastmasters together. Parents, what do you do about a wayward child? (1) Unconditionally love them. (2) Pray for them. (3) Don't equivocate on the Gospel. (4) Continue to enjoy life with them. (5) Never, ever give up hope.
One day, the Prodigal may be ready to come home--may they know that they have a home to come back to!
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