Taking Stock: Term 1

An evening class at SOW

I’ve been in the Gambia for a few months now, and I’ve taught at SOW (Servants of the Word), this Bible School in the Gambia, for one term. Perhaps I should say, I’ve been taught at this Bible School in the Gambia for one term. Here are some things I’ve learned…

2 mistakes (I’m being selective…)

1. Inappropriate greeting

Week 1 of teaching: Excited and a bit nervous to be about to teach my first class. I pass a senior lady outside the classroom - pursuing politeness I greet her, “Good evening [Name]” - with a warm smile. She looks strangely perturbed and walks past. Word reaches me that she wants to see me. She graciously sits me down and explains that for me, a younger man, to greet her, an older woman simply by her first name is inappropriate and not done… [“Ground, swallow me NOW…!”] Instead, a title such as Aunty or Sister is required. “Ouch” doesn’t even come close.

2. Turning up to teach a class on the tail end of an anaesthetic
[For the gruesome dental details, see post here…] It had been a pretty rough morning in the dentist’s chair. But I had a class to teach that afternoon, and the anaesthetic seemed to be doing its job quite well so, on a relative high from the temporary pain relief, I proceeded as normal. Somehow it stupidly slipped my mind that before long it’d wear off and I’d soon desperately want more painkillers than allowed following the rather brutal treatment.

As the pain began to emerge, I opted for as interactive an approach as I could, to get others to speak (“Interesting - please go on; explain what you mean… What do others think…?”), whilst I half-listened, gazing at my feet, wincing in pain… The effort was short-lived, and I had to abandon ship half-way through the class.

2 examples

1. From the students: humility

In the last chapter of Isaiah’s epic prophecy God says, “This is the one I esteem: he who is humble and contrite in spirit, and trembles at my word.” (Isaiah 66:2)

Humility is the most basic attitude that displays an accurate understanding of our smallness, selfishness and sinfulness, and God’s greatness, love and holiness. And the litmus test of true humility is trembling at God’s word - listening eagerly, attentively, obediently to what he has to say.

That is what I have rejoiced to see in students at SOW. I think particularly of two pastors who faithfully attend my classes, each probably almost double my age. There’s M - who travels an hour each way from his village on his old motorbike three times a week. He’s got poor literacy, his eyesight struggles in the dim light, and he often struggles to keep up. But he listens intently and works hard. Or there’s O - a respected pastor and gifted orator. He’s always the first to hand in his assignments, and obviously dedicated to seeking to understand and teach God’s word more accurately. They rightly and humbly tremble before God’s precious word. They are the ones God esteems.

2. From the Director: servant-leadership

Jesus says that he came “not to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom” (Mark 10:45). He therefore calls those whom he has served to serve others in the same sacrificial way - as “slaves of all” (Mark 10:44).

Pastor Steven, the Director of SOW, is a beautiful model of a leader who hasn’t forgotten that he is first and foremost a servant. There is naturally much honour, respect and dignity given to elders and leaders here. It makes it extremely tempting to “lord it over” others (Mark 10:42). But Steven is quick humbly to serve, not to be served; quietly to listen, not to speak; generously to give, not to receive. His godly example of humble service and courageous faith flows out of a deep personal devotion to prayer and God’s word. “Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant” (Mark 10:43). This man is indeed a great servant.

2 wake-up calls

1. What a privilege Bible literacy is

It can feel unnatural to stand up and teach people like M and O mentioned above - they’ve been following Jesus far longer than I have and they’ve learned much more in the school of life than I have. So I take heart from the Apostle Paul telling his protégé Timothy, “Command and teach these things. Don’t let anyone look down on you because you are young…” (1 Timothy 4:12), and telling another church leader Titus (though we don’t know his age) to teach the various age-groups in the church, even “Teach the older men…” (Titus 2:2).

I am sharply aware of the responsibility and privilege I have, that simply because I happen to have grown up and been discipled in a context of excellent and faithful Bible teaching and gospel ministry, I am equipped to a certain extent to help train and encourage guys like these in their ministry here.

OH what they would give to have received the years of careful preaching and simple but rich teaching that I have been blessed with - if they could even imagine it! I’m aware that might sound condescending. But I really believe it is so.

2. What a need there is for Bible training

I’ve noticed a big American ministry online with a project called “Theological Famine Relief”. That might sound outrageous but it really isn’t an exaggeration. So many people in the world are starving for the word of God, which alone gives true and lasting life: “Man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord” (Deuteronomy 8:3). Even Christians who seem mature in some respects, even experienced pastors, often have a dangerously thin understanding of the vital word of God, leaving them precariously close to drifting into seriously harmful error. 

A village church in the Gambia

Who knows why God does things the way he does? But in his sovereign economy, the fact is that today there are many Christians in the West with a clear appreciation and enjoyment of the truths of God’s word for which people here are desperately hungry. And this is not just about pursuing excellence for excellence’s sake. It matters. Anything valuable has deceptive replicas, and that is certainly the case with the truths of God’s word. With eternities at stake, people desperately need to hear the word of God “correctly handled” in order to know the truth and not put up with that which “only ruins those who listen” (2 Timothy 2:14-15).

Jesus said, “the harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest therefore to send out labourers into his harvest field.” (Matthew 9:37-38)

[Coming Up Next: continuing the looking back theme, 100 things I’m thankful for from 2015…]

A Rather Different Carol Service

1995

Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford

Service: Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols

Location:  500 year old Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford, central England

My role: 

Boy chorister in the cathedral choir (Ahh…)

Music: 
Traditional carols. Top quality classical choral music. World-class organist.

Choir outfit: 

Traditional red cassocks and surpluses

Atmosphere:  
Very English. Very Oxford. Traditional. Very serious. Ticketed entry. Atmospheric dim lighting and candle-lit.

My spiritual understanding:  

Minimal. Enjoyed a rousing (and good quality) sing.

Overriding feeling:  

Excited about unpacking my stocking in the parents’ car on the way home from boarding school.

The massive and impressive Durham Cathedral

2005

Service: 
Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols

Location:
1000 year old massive Durham Cathedral, Durham, north England

My role:  
Choral scholar as a university student in the cathedral choir

Music: 
Traditional carols. Pretty good classical choral music…

Choir outfit: 
Palatinate purple cassocks and surpluses

Atmosphere:
Grand. Very English. Traditional. Very serious. Atmospheric dim lighting and candle-lit. 

My spiritual understanding:  

Maturing. A bit concerned by religion overshadowing the gospel message.

Overriding feeling:  All very pleasant, but saddened by those singing "Glory to the newborn King!" who, the rest of the year, really didn’t seem to care about His glory.

With the pastors and choir at NCBC

2015

Service:
Carol of Seven Lessons (I think something got lost in translation…)

Location:
2 year old New Creation Bible Church (NCBC) with incomplete roof and walls, in Kotu slum, the Gambia

My role:
Guest preacher

Music:
Karaoke videos of such classics as “Oh Christmas Tree” (idolatry?!) and “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” (appropriate?!) before the start. Then traditional carols sung with African pronunciation, electric keyboard (once he worked out the key for each song), and occasional brilliantly entertaining musical arrangement (with synchronised swaying). The final congregational singing of “Oh come let us adore him - Christ the Lord!” was pretty stirring in its passion and sincerity.

Choir outfit:
Matching red tops with santa hats or red cowboy hats

Atmosphere: Unsurprisingly began an hour late. Cheerful interaction between the pastor leading the service and the congregation throughout, including the occasional spontaneous song. Youth group and children’s groups’ presentations included. Applause after every item. Bright electric lighting except for during the power cut half-way through.

My spiritual understanding:
Privileged to have the opportunity to share the reason for the season - the “good news of great joy for all people” (Luke 2:10) that Jesus our Saviour has come.

Overriding feeling:
Greatly entertained by the unfamiliar expression of Christmas joy, and overflowing with thankfulness for the privilege and opportunity to proclaim Jesus.

Heaven - How I Got Here

Don’t worry - I’m not there yet... A dear old couple at my home church in Oxford gave me the small book, “Heaven - How I Got Here” by Colin Smith, before I left the UK. It’s just 95 pages long - I recently read it in one evening.

It’s written from the perspective of the then-irrelevant now-famous “thief on the cross”, having died and now in heaven. His story is in Luke’s Gospel (23:32-49), and the book is an amplification of it, drawing on the other Gospels too, with a dash of poetic licence. This is not a full review, just a couple of reflections.

Scandalous grace
The concept of the book is a powerful way of expressing what Jesus’ death on the cross achieved - full and free forgiveness for whoever trusts in him, whenever they trust in him, whatever they’ve done, whatever they will do. What clearer example could we ask for to illustrate that than this man: a hardened terrorist, in the very process of dying, daring to turn to Jesus in simple trust, and receiving from him the certain promise of paradise. Clearly there was nothing in this undeserving rebel to warrant his pardon, and there was no time left for him to “pay it back” either (not that he ever could). Jesus’ blood-won salvation is all of grace.

That’s how that thief got to heaven. And that’s how this sinner writing got to heaven too.

I use the past tense for myself intentionally. The Bible says that salvation through Jesus is so sure and complete - because it is all of his grace - that in a very real sense, I am seated with Jesus in heaven already. I have been given new life by Jesus, which begins now with the assurance of his love and pardon, and which will go on forever in paradise: “the Great Story… which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before” (C.S. Lewis).

I often encounter Christians here in the Gambia - and it’s common all over the world - who react to this scandalous grace saying, “But surely God has standards, and now you reckon you can live however you want?”

By no means! That objection has understood the scandal of grace, but it vastly underestimates the power of Jesus’ love. Jesus rescued me from eternal punishment, for eternal paradise. That is the most astonishing love anyone could ever receive and it has such power that it is unstoppably transformative. The believer’s heart has been replaced and made new, and it is gradually being warmed up to love Jesus more and more because of who he is and what he’s done. I used not to care, but now I hate it when I do or think or say things that displease him (which is always also what’s not best for me or others). Jesus’ love is so powerful that it saves and changes people. Bit by bit, it is changing me.

As the thief “said” (imagined in the book) -

“His cry of anguish tore me apart. If He was given up for my sins, what sin would I not give up for Him? That took hold of me… I found myself longing to be filled with the love that I had seen in Jesus’ eyes, and to live a life that would please Him. I only had a few hours left for that. I hope you have much longer.” (p.74)

The thief got to heaven because of Jesus’ scandalous grace. So did I.

Deathly darkness
One part that really struck me from this little book was the retelling of the darkness that suddenly occurred from 12pm to 3pm on that first Good Friday (Luke 23:44-45). It’s a significant detail that I’ve read and shared with others very many times. But the horror of it hit me anew.

Right in the middle of the day - 3 hours of darkness!! Here in the Gambia it's painfully obvious that 12-3 is the hottest period of the day, as the sun blazes down most fiercely. I never expect to get a lot done in those 3 hours. Can you imagine, at 12 noon, when the sun should be at its brightest and most intense, suddenly you’re plunged into darkness for three… long… mysterious… hours… 

I remember watching the solar eclipse back in 1999 in my parents’ garden, with those apparently protective glasses. It was a bright sunny day, and rather eerie when it went noticeably darker and cooler for a few minutes, and the birds stopped singing. But that doesn’t compare to 3 hours of total darkness! It’s unmistakably supernatural. And it must have been absolutely terrifying.

The rest of the Bible indicates that it was a dramatic sign from God of his anger at sin. What’s most stunning though is where his anger is directed. It’s not at the soldiers mocking and brutally crucifying his Son. It’s not at the authorities, with all their injustice and cowardice. It’s not even at the human race more widely, whose sin made this dreadful event necessary. It’s at Jesus: “He himself bore our sins in his body on the cross” (1 Peter 2:24). Because he was bearing our sins, he endured the righteous anger of God in our place. 

Can you imagine being there in the darkness? It must have been extremely confusing and disorientating. Yet imagine the relief at 3pm when the darkness lifted. It’s over. It sure is. The light of Jesus came into our dark world, and went to the very darkest place on that cross - facing the wrath of God. And in his scandalous and extravagant grace, he thereby paid the price in full for us to enter heaven.

The price is paid - come let us enter in

To all that Jesus died to make our own.

For every sin more than enough he gave.

And bought our freedom from each guilty stain.

The price is paid, Alleluia!

Amazing grace, so strong and sure!

Graham Kendrick, 1983

As we’re reminded at Christmas services, this momentous good news is “good news of great joy for all people” (Luke 2:10), including North Europeans and West Africans. And it applies in the same way to each of us as it did to that thief on the cross.

The thief got to heaven because Jesus endured that deathly darkness in his place. So did I.

“No one gets in automatically. It’s Jesus who gets you here. Heaven is His home. He holds the key. He opens the door, and if you become His, heaven will be yours… My story proves that getting into heaven depends on Jesus, and on Jesus alone.” (p.87)

Adapting

Stages of cultural adaptation.

During my Crosslinks Orientation, several times a diagram a bit like the above was referred to. It charts what has been observed as a usual response to transitioning to a new culture. Having been to the Gambia a few times before, I hoped I wasn’t being over-optimistic by expecting the dip to be less severe than it could be. I had 4 months here 10 years ago, and another 4 months here 6 years ago, plus 2 brief visits since. So I had a fair degree of familiarity with the new culture and way of life I was about to dive into.

I’m very thankful to God that, as hoped, the dip hasn’t been too bad. I’m sure it’s because I already had a good idea of what the climate, people, church, living conditions, language situation, etc etc, would all be like. I believe there are even signs of the desired final stage of the process - adapting to accept one’s new culture and new life. Here are a few examples of things I can identify:

I’m not naive enough to presume that everything will just continue getting easier and easier. I know there will be frustrations, challenges and disappointments ahead, just as there are in any context and walk of life. But I’m really thankful for these signs of adapting.

It has certainly felt like someone has been holding my hand and helping me through everything in these first few months…

“I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.” (Isaiah 41:13)

Grace Sufficient for Toothache

A totally unrelated picture of some goats.

“Did the dentist put a golf ball in your mouth?!” - my friend responded to seeing my face. It’s the latest stage of my tooth saga - a hamster-like right cheek, as some kind of mass of puss and blood and who-knows-what builds up around an infection.

When the toothache began I optimistically hoped it might just die down again. It didn’t, and I realised the tooth that was hurting was the one I’d had root canal treatment on in England about a year ago. I remembered my dentist saying that, whilst he felt a good job had been done, he couldn’t guarantee that it wouldn’t flare up again sometime… I also remember thinking, “I hope it doesn't in the Gambia.”

As always seems to happen, the weekend was approaching as the pain was increasing. A phone call home on Friday evening was met with urges to get it looked at as soon as possible. But I knew that the next day was the monthly National Cleaning Day - the last Saturday of every month - when everyone has to clean their compound. Public services like dentists or transport wouldn’t be available. So I’d have to wait until Monday, which felt a long way away.

Treatment time...

It was the first of several sleepless nights, as the painkillers wore off and I waited in pain for the clock to crawl on to when I could take more. Then in the morning I heard Mama on the phone giving my name to someone and arranging an appointment. She felt so concerned that she went ahead and phoned a friend who knew the wife of a decent dentist. Though he doesn’t normally work on Saturdays he agreed to see me, and was able to do so because the cleaning day had been cancelled!

After a quick prod around, the dentist explained that he’d have to essentially undo and redo the root canal treatment - sometimes an infection can still flare up underneath the good work that’s been done, and it needs to be reached and dealt with. I thanked him and trusted him, and I thanked and trusted God whose hands I was in. I just had to trust that the tools were all good and clean.

My least favourite part is always the anaesthetic injection. But it was over before long and my mouth duly grew numb. Then began operation Dislodge-Crown and Remove-Filling. I’d opted for what was meant to be the strongest and most durable type of crown - gold - placing one of my most valuable possessions in my mouth. Not for much longer! But being such a smooth and strong metal, it turns out it’s not terribly easy to remove it from the tooth that it’s crowning. A prolonged assault on it with various techniques ensued - some kind of big metal pumping lever, some kind of burning instrument, leaving the strange taste of burning metal in my mouth, and lots of banging and drilling. Finally, “twunk” - off it came. It lodged in the back of my throat and I was about to swallow it! The dentist calmly said, “Don’t swallow. Cough.” Phew! Gold (albeit singed round the edge) recovered.

Then began the real work. The tooth in question is the penultimate molar on the bottom right. Those fellas go pretty deep. And the filling went all the way down, into all three roots. It took a lot of drilling through the metal filling to clear it out, with shards of the stuff spraying over my mouth and down my throat. Yummy. No assistant on hand with that suction thing. I think it was around this time that the dentist confessed, “This would be a lot easier if I hadn’t forgotten my glasses”. Oh. I wasn’t in much of a position to respond beyond, “Huh”, and to keep praying.

Eventually he reached the bottom and injected some kind of medicine, which hit a nerve and made my legs fly up into the air in pain. Why that won out over the anaesthetic I don’t know. It all felt like a long and pretty brutal operation. I tried to take my mind of it by singing in my head words to some of my favourite songs, which lifted my spirit to truths far bigger and more important and more joyous and eternal: “In Christ alone my hope is found; he is my light, my strength, my song. This cornerstone, this solid ground, firm through the fiercest drought and storm…” I got through all 4 verses of that, all 3 verses of Before the Throne of God Above and all 4 verses of I Stand Amazed in the Presence.

It was an hour and a half after the appointment began when I walked out. I was relieved that it was over; hoping that the treatment would be successful; thankful for the dentist’s kindness, seeing me on his day off; humbled by the awareness that many people here wouldn’t be able to afford treatment. Naively forgetting that the anaesthetic would wear off before long, I went along to the Bible school class I was meant to be teaching soon after. I just about stumbled through it, as my mouth gradually came to terms with what had just happened, and made the class as interactive as I possibly could, to minimise time speaking and take attention off me.

Since then I’ve been living on painkillers, waiting for the body to heal itself, and latterly watching this swelling develop, which the dentist is keeping an eye on.

— 

Grace Sufficient

All of that is not exactly unique. It’s a common problem, and common treatment. So why would I blog about it? Partly the distance between me and friends back home just makes me long to fill (ba-dum, tssh) people in. More than that though, I want to testify to this being an example of God’s good hand at work even in what has been very painful and unpleasant. How so?

The physical pain after the operation was very severe, some of the worst I’ve felt, as my mouth adjusted to the pretty brutal trauma it had received in the dentist's chair. Painkillers that had to last 6 hours would wear off after 3, leading to an infuriating and prolonged limbo experience of wanting to do something to distract me from the pain, but being unable to concentrate on anything sufficiently.

But the physical pain was confounded by the emotional pain of grieving the weakness and fragility of my body, being not wholly sure of the quality of the treatment, and all far away from home, just wishing I could have family or friends around to lend a sympathetic ear and give me a hug.

As I said though, I see God’s good hand in it all. I’ve just today remembered that soon before the toothache kicked in I was reading an excellent book about John Newton (famous for writing Amazing Grace), in which I read and highlighted this:

Trials remedy fictional escapism. Trials are the onrush of stinging realism crashing the idealised party we call “life”. When these serious trials interrupt our lives we “run simply and immediately to our all-sufficient Friend, feel our dependence, and cry in good earnest for help”. But when all is well, when life seems peaceful and prosperous, and when the difficulties in life are small then “we are too apt secretly to lean to our own wisdom and strength, as if in such slight matters we could make shift without him.” We lose out on communion with Christ.

Tony Reinke, Newton on the Christian Life, p.82 (quotes are Newton) 

Times like these force me to “run simply and immediately to” Christ. And that is so good for me because he is the only “all-sufficient Friend” and the only ever reliable and faithful source of comfort, love and strength. It reminds me that I can’t even “make shift without him”. Furthermore his grace and strength and power are displayed in and through me all the more brightly and clearly when I am most conscious of my weakness and most “feel [my] dependence”.

You don’t have to read the Bible for long before you clearly see the folly of the dangerously misleading yet ever popular “Health, Wealth and Prosperity” message, which poses as the Christian gospel in many churches here, and around the world. The apostle Paul wrote:

We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about the hardships we suffered in the province of Asia. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life. Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead.

2 Corinthians 1:8-9 

Not exactly health, wealth and prosperity. Not exactly “your best life now”. Every single New Testament writer clearly communicates that there will be trials, battles and hardships as we follow Jesus in this fallen world. But the child of God can know with confidence that all such things come under the sovereign control and loving wisdom of our Father. And God uses them so that we will learn that he truly is reliable - he absolutely and uniquely can be relied upon, even ultimately to raise us from death. Trials develop perseverance which leads to maturity (James 1), this perseverance produces character and hope (Romans 5), trials prove the genuineness of our faith resulting in praise to Jesus (1 Peter 1), and they aren’t even worth comparing with our future glory (Romans 8).

So trials are to be expected. But God is at work for our good through them. And since God wants to grow and mature his children, we can trust that he uses these trials to prepare us to trust him, rely on him and glorify him in greater trials ahead. I don’t expect this to be the last or the most severe trial that I face!

So like Paul in his pain…

I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in your weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weakness, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

2 Corinthians 12:8-10 

It’s only a tooth; many suffer much more. 

Who knows what future trials lie in store? 

May you and I learn, in whatever we face, 

That in Christ alone is sufficient grace.

1 Month A-Z

Today marks one month of my being back in the Gambia. Here’s an A-Z of Month 1:

A   Atlantic: the ocean is nearby, beautiful, fun and even warm at the moment.

B   Bats: fly everywhere as soon as it gets dark.

C   Chicken: have now learned to enjoy the bones and marrow as well as flesh.

D   Deadly: wretched mosquitoes - biggest killer in Africa. Thankful for modern medicine.

E   Electricity: very erratic - never appreciated it so much.

F   Fish: fresh and tasty.

G   Gille-gilles: onomatopoeically named minibus-taxis. One crash so far - no one hurt.

H   Hair: successfully shaved my head without losing any ears.

I    Ill: thankful for only a brief period of “Banjul Belly” on arrival.

J   Juice: love the guy who makes fresh fruit juice on the beach.

K   Kombos: the name of this coastal area where I live.

L   Language: made a start on Wolof. My favourite word is “waw”, meaning “yes”.

M  Mama: so thankful for my African mother full of love, wisdom, encouragement and joy.

N   “No, I’m not married. No, I’m not looking for a Gambian wife.”

O   Oranges: actually green, but a refreshing snack on a hot day.

P   Peanuts: eaten lots, and now know how to open the shells!

Q   Quegshon: how people pronounce “question”

R   Rice: huge portions once or twice a day. Still I’ve somehow lost weight!

S   Sweat: so much in the humidity. I think that’s why I’ve lost weight.

T   “Toubab!”: “white man”. What little kids shout out as I walk past.

U   Uncle: what children call me when they’re a bit more polite.

V   Very hot: it can be.

W   Watermelons: delicious and everywhere at the moment.

X   (E)xtremely hot: it can be.

Y   Yassa: a yummy local dish.

Z   Zoo: my back yard - birds, hens, dogs, cats, rats, bugs…

---

While I'm at it, here’s a reminder of a mnemonic I shared before leaving of how people can pray for me here:

G  Gospel Clarity: please pray for clarity and accuracy as I teach God’s word and its central message of salvation through Jesus Christ.

A  Assisting Local Ministry: please pray that I’d learn how to be most effective in helping people here.

M  Meeting People: please pray for wisdom in which people particularly to spend time with, and for good friendships to develop.

B  Battling Sin: please pray that I would honour Jesus and encourage others by setting an example of godly living, being strengthened by God’s Spirit to turn from sin every day and turn to Jesus.

I  Involvement in Church: please pray for wisdom regarding which church to join. It’s been really interesting and useful to visit a variety of churches - particularly to see where my students are (many of them pastors). But it’d be good to settle somewhere soon.

A  Abiding with Jesus: please pray that I would keep my soul satisfied in Jesus every day, remembering that he is everything, and apart from him I can do nothing.

Surf's Up!

I’m so keen to surf in the Gambia. No one really does it though. Most Gambians can’t / don’t like to swim, and so the idea of wading out to sea for any kind of leisure is seen as rather strange / stupid. But there’s such great potential!

Two thirds of the population live in “Greater Banjul” / the Serekunda urban area (on the edge of which I live - star on the map) and down the “Coastal Belt”. All the way down the coast are beautiful sandy Atlantic beaches. A number of them I’ve been blessed to enjoy over the years, though never with a surfboard. Until now…

I’m so excited and eager to get surfing, but I need to hold myself back a bit. Here’s the sitch -

Location

The beach is a 25 minute walk from my house; I couldn’t really expect to be much closer. It’s lovely to be so near for a swim / drink at the beach bar, but even that distance is enough to make for a pretty hot and sweaty walk, just with a rucksack. I’m not super keen on lugging my board down and back (at least 30 mins to a surfable spot), especially as I can’t check conditions in advance.

Hopefully, by Christmas, I’ll have a vehicle that I can pop a board in. That will make things a lot easier, both for going for a surf here, or exploring beaches a bit further afield.

Knowledge

There’s not really any local knowledge about surfing here. There’s not even non-local knowledge about surfing here! Google shows up a few people who seem to have thought about it, but little more. One website simply says, “if you venture down the coast you might just stumble upon a whole line of great breaks”. Normally, one surfs in an area where people know about the waves, the tides, the currents, the underwater beds of the beaches, and how the weather (wind / temperature / season) affects all those things. Here, no one seems to have considered those things from a surfing point of view. At least, if they have, it’s not at all systematised or shared. So I’ve got my work cut out for me.

It’s quite an exciting project to have as a hobby here: mapping the surf potential of a new and promising area. It could easily be a full time job: ideally you’d want daily and careful observation of different spots in different conditions. There’s no way I can do that. I’ve got other things to be doing… But that doesn’t mean there’s no hope.

A nearby fishing beach

I could realistically pop down to the beach at least a couple of times a week. I’ve done so already. And (as I’ve done already) I’ll make notes about what I see of the surfing potential in different spots, jotting down a few details about the conditions and how it looked. Looking at the map and reading the Guide Book can tell you a few things too: noticing the slight points in the coastline (which will create interesting waves), being aware of where the busy working fishing beaches are (can avoid them for now), and so on. I’ve already begun planning potential day / weekend trips, where I could check out promising beaches a bit further down the coast.

Whilst people may not have been thinking “surfing”, there will be related local knowledge. Quite a few people spend a lot of time on the beach - either fishermen, or in the tourist industry, at beach bars / juice bars / hotels. They are more than willing to chat (try avoiding it!) and will surely have noticed at least what the sea tends to do at different times of year / when a storm kicks up / what the tide does to the beach / etc. The fishermen in their multicoloured dug-out canoes will have familiarity with the ocean in a more close-up way too. So I can begin mining info from these guys. Maybe some will even help me out by keeping more of an eye on things if I promise to buy juice / fish off them…

Dangers

A lovely looking wave that I found...

Another reason I’m not just diving in straight away is that whenever you’re thinking about water sports, especially in the ocean, there are dangers. Even more so when few, if any, people have tried to do what you’re doing before. Some promising looking beaches are rocky. There are rip tides around, though these can actually be useful for surfing (getting you out back to surf back in) if you know where they are and use them well. If you don’t, they can be at best frustrating and tiring, at worst lethal. Thankfully no one / no guide books mention sharks or crocodiles in the sea (the crocs here are all in the river, provided they don't get too lost…), though I’ve known a few people be stung by jellyfish. What can you do? Worth the risk.


So I’m biding my time at the moment, confident that with some observing and talking, the day will come before too long…

Potential

I’ve mentioned that there’s exciting potential. Here’s why I reckon so:

Bodyboarding down south here in 2005

• Many kilometres of easily accessible west-facing Atlantic coast, with no land between here and Central America = good waves. 
• Access to the same waves from storms in the North Atlantic which people enjoy very much in Morocco (booming surf industry), the Canary Islands (also a popular surf spot) and western Portugal (top place to surf in Europe, home to the biggest wave ever surfed [no thanks], and excellent conditions for beginners too, which I’ve enjoyed a few times.) 
• A surf camp has got going in Dakar, capital of neighbouring Senegal, in recent years, and Ghana, further round the coast. Positive signs. 
• Friendly locals will be happy to share what they know. 
• Did I mention the beautiful sandy palm-fringed beaches? 
• At this time of year you wouldn’t even need a wet suit. Nice. 

So - to be continued…!

Life on Life

Jesus famously said to his disciples, “Make disciples of all nations” (Matthew 28:19).

This past week at SOW we’ve had 2 staff from Navigators visiting and leading seminars on discipleship. It’s been hugely encouraging having them around and sharing the house with them. We use Navigators material here year-round, and this has been a week of focussed attention on that.

Discipleship means living in response to the gospel - in faith and obedience to Jesus. The central conviction of discipleship is that Jesus gives us not just salvation and a ticket to heaven, but the privilege of growing in a relationship with him and being used by him in his service. He’s not after converts, but disciples. So the Navigators material we use is all about encouraging Jesus’ followers in that, and equipping them to then help others. Jesus’ vision and strategy is disciple cycles - disciples who make disciples who make disciples…

As we’ve thought together about various principles of disciple-making, the thing that has most struck me again is the call not just to teach others but to share life with others, setting an example. As the Apostle Paul said to the believers in Thessaloniki:

“Our gospel came to you not simply with words, but also with power, with the Holy Spirit and with deep conviction. You know how we lived among you for your sake. You became imitators of us and of the Lord; in spite of severe suffering, you welcomed the message with the joy given by the Holy Spirit. And so you became a model to all the believers in Macedonia and Achaia. The Lord’s message rang out from you…” (1 Thessalonians 1:5-8)

Paul and his co-workers didn’t just turn up and preach, then retreat to their hotel rooms. They could say, “You know how we lived among you for your sake”. They shared their lives, setting an example, which the Thessalonians then imitated, and then modelled to others. Disciple cycles.

This has been deeply challenging for me. It’s one thing to come out to Africa to teach and preach. To do that well will require hard work, careful study and much prayer. But that is only half the job. I am also called to “set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith and in purity” (1 Timothy 4:12). That is an all-encompassing call. I know that sharing life like that will involve great effort and will challenge my sinful selfishness in all kinds of ways: travelling through the heat when I’d rather stay cool, receiving unexpected guests when I’d rather rest, sharing possessions when I’d rather hold on to them, battling through awkward culture-clashing conversation…

I find it very tempting to fall back on my job description as a “Bible teacher”. I can’t do everything - I reassure myself - and my primary work is to teach the Bible and train people in their Bible teaching. That is quite true. But it doesn’t excuse me from the call to share my life as well as the gospel.

I will only be able to do this if God’s Spirit changes my selfish heart and fills it with his love: “We loved you so much that we were delighted to share with you not only the gospel of God but our lives as well” (1 Thessalonians 2:8).

Unusual Journeys 2: The Bus

At the outset let me be clear: this was an unusual journey for me, but it’s perfectly usual for many people here!

The bus from the Gambian border

The closest I could get by boat to my ultimate destination (the Gambia) was Dakar, the capital of neighbouring Senegal (see previous post). I could have hopped on a plane and landed at Banjul airport 25 minutes later. But that was too predictable. Besides, when my Gambian friend M, who works with SIL in Dakar these days, offered to do the journey with me by public land transport, how could I refuse?

He frequently makes the journey back to his home country, so I knew he’d be a reliable guide. I would not have wanted to do it without him! Plus, he’s a friend and good company.

The Gambia consists of the main part of the River Gambia, plus its north and south banks, as it cuts into Senegal (read up on the history elsewhere!). The whole region (Senegal / Gambia / Guinea Bissau / Guinea) consists of lots of different tribes, many of whom have migrated around the area for various reasons over the centuries, and are now quite mixed up geographically. 

One of the main ethnic groups in the Gambia is now the Wolof, who were originally artisans from Senegal (inc. Dakar), so much so that Wolof is now the common language in the primary urban area of the Gambia (where I live). That is just to give some context to what is still the case today - that people move around the area quite a bit. So my journey was going to be unusual for me, but not uncommon for people here. 

Step 1: Taxi from SIL to the “bus stop”

M had said we’d meet at SIL at 8pm, to get to the bus at about 9. (The benefits of doing the journey overnight were that the roads would be a lot emptier and it would be considerably cooler - just about the right side of 30˚.) He decided to re-introduce me to “African time”, arriving with a taxi at 8.50. I needn’t have worried that we’d miss the bus…

We drove across Dakar (a city with 4 times the population of the Gambia) using a motorway, which was one of several things about Dakar which - compared to what I knew of the Gambia - were new and different in an otherwise familiar part of the world. My newness of being back in Africa meant I was initially concerned about the absence of a seatbelt, but my worries were quickly put into perspective by crowded minibuses overtaking us on the motorway with people sitting on the roofs.

We arrived at what looked to me like any other street corner, where we waited by a little food shack and had a “meat pie”. Apparently we were at the meeting point for our international journey.

Step 2: Wait for the bus

It was now 9.15 and, I still being a bit anxious that we might have missed our bus (going on the 9pm estimate), M said there was no need to worry. It would be there “Soon!”

At about 10.45 the bus turned up. I had a precious couple of hours chatting with M and finding out lots more about him, his life, and his ministry. I hadn’t appreciated than when he left accounting to work for GAMFES in the Gambia (part of IFES - international Christian student work), he was embracing a salary cut to 1/5th of what he’d had before. Since then it’s not been easy. He had a very useful year in London, doing the Cornhill Training Course, and is now working with a team on the first translation of Luke’s Gospel into his own Karon language. We rejoiced together at his privilege of being involved. After many months unable to pay for his family to move to Senegal with him, wonderfully they are now back together in Dakar. He testifies to God’s provision and care every step of the way.

As the bus arrived, no one seemed in a hurry to get on. It was going to take some time to pile everyone’s bags on to the roof. (By now I’d already offered up, and would yet say many more, prayers for protection of that bag!) And besides, some of the ticketed seats’ purchasers hadn’t yet arrived and the bus wasn’t going to leave without them. M and I laughed about the contrast to England (which he knew from London), where train doors might close a minute before its precisely scheduled departure time!

We finally stepped up to get on. In a moment of confused and ridiculous English politeness, I declined the offer to go to the loo. (Why?!) Thankfully, I quickly saw my folly, repented and - as they say here - “eased myself”.

Step 3: The bus to the border

This would be the bulk of the journey: south to the border with the Gambia. We left at 11.50pm and arrived at 5.30am. I would have been very interested to see it all in daylight, crossing a large and rural part of the Gambia’s large neighbour, but I can’t imagine doing the journey in temperatures even a smidge higher!

The bus was an actual bus. The other way of doing the journey is in a “sept-place” (= seven places) - a Peugeot estate with 7 seats squeezed in. Boy am I glad we didn’t do that. M stressed that we were taking the more comfortable option in this bus with about 60 seats. When we boarded the bus I thought, “There’s no way it’s got that many seats”. It didn’t at first. Until most people had sat down, and then chairs folded up to fill the corridor down the middle. I chose not to think too much about what would happen if we needed to evacuate for any reason!

Maybe someone back home was praying that God would help me survive the heat. In any case, thankfully, just as we were leaving, M bought a small hand-woven fan from one of the ladies selling them and bananas on the bus. Oh was I glad for that! (I still am during powerless nights.) It had been extremely hot and humid during the day, and must have still been high 20˚s and very humid. After a highly embarrassing amount of wriggling to try and get comfortable in a rather small seat, I managed to find a passable position for my legs. But I said goodbye to the idea of sleep. Instead, I fanned myself, listened to some favourite music (e.g. Sovereign Grace Music / Ryan Adams), and curiously snatched what sights I could of our very dark surroundings.

This whole area is very flat, so you can often see a very long way. Plus, we were quite close to the coast for a while, so you could see right out to sea. You’d think that at night that doesn’t mean much. But on the horizon (thankfully no closer), on several sides, there were dramatic thunderstorms, with thick clouds hugging the horizon and flashes of lightning reflecting all over them. It made for exciting watching.

Step 4: At the border

M had told me that we’d need to go through passport control and then change onto another bus to take us into the Gambia.

We got to the border at about 5.30 and M guided me through the various police offices and immigration checks. It was still totally dark, and I almost jumped out of my skin in front of one official when a giant dragonfly flew into my face.

We stood by the side of the road watching the sun rise, as we prepared to cross the border to my new home. Once more I “raised my Ebenezer” and thanked God for his help thus far and his presence ever with me.

Step 5: Bus to Barra

We were now boarding a Gambian government bus, which would take us 10km to the small town of Barra, on the north bank of the River Gambia opposite the capital, Banjul. Wheels rolled at 7am, and we were in the Gambia! It was my 5th time, and felt good to be back. The sun had only just come up, but life had begun and it all looked very familiar: the small villages lining the road with white painted mosques and basic compounds of accommodation. People walking with huge bundles of wood or piles of fruit on their heads. Children playing with sticks. Goats and chickens wandering around. 

Step 6: Ferry to Banjul

Crossing the River Gambia

Immediately after stepping off the bus we were at the ferry terminal and it looked like we’d catch the first ferry, which had been M’s plan. All in all, an efficient journey! It had been a hot and sweaty night so I was glad of the chance to freshen up under a tap by the side of the road, and we picked up a cool drink and some breakfast (I’d packed 2 cereal bars for the journey) before boarding the ferry.

I’d taken this ferry before, and it can be alarmingly overcrowded. Perhaps the first ferry is a bit quieter, but it was fine and felt great to be crossing over to familiar territory on the South Bank. The river - the heart of the country - greeted us with beautiful calm.

Step 7: Taxi from Banjul to the house!

M had arranged for Pastor S to meet us at Banjul. After stepping through the ferry terminal’s gate at about 9am, there he was! He’d hired a taxi which was somehow hovering in the middle of a busy road, waiting for us. We just about managed to avoid slipping into huge pot-holes full of recent rainwater as we lugged my big heavy bag into the car, and headed on our way.

We’d made it! Such a common journey for so many. But quite an adventure for cushioned old English me. It was such a relief, after 14 days at sea and 13 hours on the road, to be driving along roads that I know well, past familiar places, in the area of the country where I’d been preparing to go for months / in some ways, years.

The house was actually locked when we arrived and the lady with the keys was “on her way”, so S kept us company at the compound of SOW (where I’m working), just across the road, and supplied us with delicious cold water as we waited. The morning’s classes had actually begun so I was straightaway introduced to some of the students I’ll be working with - drenched in sweat and probably not making my finest impression!

And so it began…

Unusual Journeys 1: The Boat

I’ve said a few things about my boat journey to Africa already but so many people were so intrigued by it (being a slightly unusual way to travel), that I thought I’d write up a more detailed report for those who are interested. (I have made the aforementioned video too, but am struggling to find an internet connection that will cope with me uploading it...)

My 14-day voyage was hosted by the Italian freight company, Grimaldi. I’d heard of them through some missionary friends from my church in England who also travelled this way to South America. I actually took the same route they took (remembering to get off half-way) - my boat’s stops were:

Hamburg, Germany
Tilbury, England (where I embarked)
Antwerp, Belgium
Dakar, Senegal (where I disembarked)
Vitoria, Brazil

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

Santos, Brazil

Montevideo, Uruguay (where all the other passengers were heading) 

The Gambian capital, Banjul, has a port, but there didn’t seem to be any cargo ships going there which would take passengers. So after a lot of Googling I couldn’t find any alternatives and booked with Grimaldi to nearby Dakar. (The prospect of Italian food sealed the deal.) There don’t seem to be many cargo ships that take passengers these days. But my one was a “Ro-Ro” - “Roll on, roll off”. That means they have a big ramp for vehicles and most of their cargo filling up the 12 decks was vehicles (Range Rovers, JCBs, all sorts). It also means that, if you want, you can drive your own vehicle on and then drive it off at the other end, like an inter-continental ferry. That’s what my 7 fellow passengers were all doing - off travelling in South America with camper vans (3 couples) or a motorbike (1 individual). (One couple’s interesting website, featuring their amazingly equipped truck, is here.)

You have to be prepared for quite a bit of flexibility travelling this way. All along, since booking 6 months in advance, I only ever had an “estimated date of departure”. This moved from 23rd Sept, to 25th Sept, to 26th Sept, to 29th Sept, then finally to 2nd October. Such are the unpredictabilities of the shipping industry’s timetables. I was told that it was my responsibility to log in to a webpage to check this date - I wouldn’t be informed otherwise!

Boarding time

Finally the day came: I headed to Tilbury Port on the Thames in Essex, just next to an old fort which “protected London's seaward approach from the C16th through to WW2”. After weaving through the modern port’s maze of huge yards full of containers and vehicles, a small Grimaldi office (shed) appeared. I was then told I could just walk up the ramp on to the ship and be signed on! Time to say a final goodbye to Mum and Dad…

The quite senior 3rd Mate (an Italian officer) showed me to my comfortable cabin and I happened to bump into a friendly English fellow passenger, which was reassuring - having no idea at that stage how many (if any) fellow passengers I’d have.

Settling in

Our meals were in the same dining room as the 10 or so (Italian) officers. The non-officer crew (mostly Philipino, about 15 of them) had a separate dining room, wafts from which had a distinctly more Asian smell. Our food was good, if served in a slightly odd way! Breakfast was straightforward enough, then lunch (11am!) and dinner (6pm) always began with pasta (very nice) then we’d be asked “Beef?” and given a slice of beef on a plate. Then, “Fish?” and we’d be given a piece of fish on a plate. With iceberg lettuce. Every time. I guess it keeps quite well. Then a piece of fruit on a plate. It seems that the idea of putting meat or fish in with pasta would be a bit radical…! Couldn’t complain though, especially with bottled water and wine included.

I had opted for an “outside” cabin - i.e. with a window - which was a pleasant enough space to bunker down when it was a bit blustery on deck. About 10 days in I finally figured out how to open the window (with the help of a rubber mallet). I had an en-suite bathroom, a fridge, and a few days in they even installed TVs with built-in DVD players! Thankfully some other passengers had a stash of DVDs.

Amusing curiosities

We couldn’t help but feel certain things had a whiff of Fawlty Towers about them… In fact, put Ben Elton and co. on a boat like this and I’m sure they’d be inspired for a sit-com. After a busy first few days for the crew, as we navigated in and out of the English Channel and loaded up at various ports, they seemed to get to work on all kinds of areas on the boat. It resembled the Golden Gate Bridge - constantly work was needed on something. So for most of the voyage the boat seemed to be going through Operation Refurbishment, with some mealtimes dominated by hilariously unaware(?) / unfussed(?) banging on the dining room walls. Every now and again the kitchen door would fly open with goodness-knows-what heated Italian being exchanged on the other side. “How is everything?” / “Yes, fine thank you - excellent!”

The crew were friendly and helpful if you ever needed anything, though they would never volunteer any information! Not even safety information - until day 8, when a disconcerting alarm sounded, along with the announcement (thick Italian accent), “This is a drill. This is a drill. All crew and passengers report to the Meeting Room.” Thankfully we hadn’t sunk in the first 8 days, and were finally given a safety briefing.

We were shown that we had amazing evacuation suits in our cabins, dry suits which would prolong your survival in the ocean by a considerable time. We were told all about the lifeboats (there were plenty - i.e. 2) and the rations inside. I paid considerably more attention than when on a plane, out of sheer interest!

Challenging the Master and Chief Engineer - they were amazing!

Surely the most bizarre moment was the cocktail party. One day, at breakfast, we were told that we’d be having aperitifs with the Captain in the Lounge… At 10. That morning! Sure enough, huge platters of canapés appeared along with (almost undrinkable) cocktails! (For passengers only - the crew are to stay dry all voyage [pun avoided…].) We were introduced to the Captain (or Master as he was known), the Chief Engineer and the 1st Mate. It was fascinating to actually chat to them - at mealtimes they seemed not so keen on conversation, and they were diligently at work the rest of the time. The Master had been sailing this route for 25 years. Extraordinary to think you could know (a slither of) the vast oceans so well. The Chief Engineer’s family moved from Italy to Brazil so he was going to get off and join them for a few months when they made it there. Poignant to think of them apart for so much time. It must be a peculiar life being away at sea for months on end.

What did I do?!

I’d drawn up a draft timetable to identify what I wanted to spend time doing - books to read, time to spend in prayer and Bible-reading, a bit of exercise. Sleep was often not great, with the boat moving around a bit. But there was plenty of time for a nap or two during the day. And it was wonderful to have hours and hours of uninterrupted time to pray and read and think. So hard to find in normal life.

I had precious time meditating on God’s word, particularly Genesis, Exodus, Mark and Romans. In terms of books, I was glad to familiarise myself with some course material I’ll be teaching in the Gambia, made good progress on a more academic book, Salvation to the Ends of the Earth: A Biblical Theology of Mission (Köstenberger & O’Brien), was encouraged greatly by Jim Packer’s Weakness is the Way, and devoured the wonderful stories of God’s grace and power in Warriors of Ethiopia (Dick McLellan). I’d recommend them all!

It was fun to spot a bit of wildlife. Sadly no whales and only a few dolphins, but they were the first I’d seen. There was the odd big seabird out fishing alongside us, and flying fish seemed to enjoy shooting off from the waves around the boat.

The gym had a treadmill (added fun when on a moving boat), weights and table tennis. And since there were 3 other friendly Brits in the same boat(…), we ended up spending a fair bit of time together (DVDs / table tennis), which was an unexpected bonus. They had lots of travelling stories under their belts, and were interested in what I was off to do in the Gambia. It was comfortingly familiar to get some good English banter flying around; I quickly acquired the nicknames “The Surfing Preacher” and “The Banjul Spinner” (table tennis). After eating 3 meals a day with them for 14 days, it was sad to wave goodbye at Dakar!

The ship

Grande Nigeria was her name. I must say I’m glad that (I think) my parents didn’t happen to see the photos that Google reveals of her having had a rather serious crash a few years ago… Slightly alarmingly there was a collision between two vessels in the Antwerp channel whilst we were in Antwerp. Our Master was baffled by it, saying there seemed to be no good explanation.

We were about 200 metres long and weighed about 57,000 tonnes which, judging by what else I saw at sea and in ports, is kind of a middly-size. We cruised along most of the time at about 15 knots. The Bay of Biscay made for a slightly sleepless night but otherwise we were thankful for pretty still conditions - the size is certainly an advantage: at times it felt fairly calm, then you’d look down and see much smaller boats being flung around by the waves!

The Chief Engineer gladly showed us round the Engine Rooms. Wow. It was hot, sweaty, noisy and enormous. I’m just sorry that - not being more technically-minded - I can’t repeat what I imagine were pretty mind-boggling stats about it all. But it was impressive! Quite something to think they’ve got to keep that all running and maintained on the move.

The Master intentionally sailed close enough to the Canary Islands
for the crew and passengers to get phone signal for a bit!

The cabins were all on the 12th deck and you could wander round outside there with decent views off the port and starboard sides. But the best views were from the bridge - within and around the control centre, full of gadgets and gizmos and radars, plus an old-school commitment to paper maps and charts, with our route being plotted by pencil and compasses. The crew were more than happy for us to wander in and nose around.

The English Channel felt like a shipping motorway, with lots of other vessels around. But once we got out beyond there, especially beyond Spain and Portugal, there were amazingly few other boats around. It was quite a strange experience to stare out to simply sea on all sides, sometimes with not a soul in sight. Then the stars, shooting stars, and planets at night were stunning.

A gradual end

When we left Tilbury our ETA at Dakar was 10 days later. We ended up spending 3 days in port at Antwerp (longer than they’d planned, because of how long it took to load, etc), so the ETA shifted 2 days on. Then as we approached Dakar we were told we wouldn’t be able to enter port until a day later than our ETA, so it shifted on another day. Then just as we were rounding the peninsular of Dakar itself we found out we’d have to drop anchor out there for a night, since our berth in the port was occupied! So in the end we came into port 14 days after leaving Tilbury.

There was then a surreal last day on board in port, tantalisingly close to land. We crawled into port (probably wise not to rush manoeuvring these kind of vehicles) at about 9am in pouring rain. It then took several hours for immigration officials to come on board and check everyone’s passports, etc. Finally, at about 3pm I was free to disembark onto dry land!

Added complication was - the rain had made the roads to where I was meant to be staying in Dakar impassable… Expensive mobile data thankfully meant I could keep in touch with the friend of a friend of a friend who was meant to be picking me up. In any case, I had to go to an immigration officer at a police station on land to get my passport seen again, so I knew I had some time to play with. Dakar isn’t exactly the kind of place you want to be with nowhere to stay though… Options were: find a nearby hotel and hope for vacancy, or find the next flight to the Gambia (though I’d been planning to travel by road with a Gambian friend). Turned out there was no flight that day anyway. Then, thankfully, my contact was able to make it through the floodwater to pick me up from the police station, where I’d been welcome at first, but after a few hours was beginning to sense they didn’t want me sitting around indefinitely.

So I was very glad to be picked up! And to make it to the headquarters of SIL, where I had a room for a night before my onward journey to the Gambia itself… (see next blog post)

Large and infinite distances

My hopes for this voyage were for:

• Time to think, pray, meditate, read - tick. 
• Time to process the emotions of saying goodbye, in advance of arriving and starting a new life - tick. 
• Time to appreciate the distance travelled - tick. 

On that last point - there’s something so deceptively immediate about flying. I’ve found it helpful to appreciate the reality that my friends and family back home are not truly just a few hours away (though thankfully they are, in the case of an emergency!). No, the world is bigger than that. Somehow, going more slowly impresses that truth more acutely. And my 14 days’ distance is only half what the other passengers are experiencing as they go on to South America. Not to mention the Far East or Australasia.

The voyage caused me to muse on true distance. It’s humbling to think of people in generations gone by who took the good news of Jesus to those very distant corners of the world - and they are distant! Many think that Christianity is a Western religion, but it’s from the Middle East and most Christians today are East Asian, African or South American. As that shows, people took the momentous news about Jesus all over the world, even up to those funny lumps of land we call the British Isles. “How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news.” (Isaiah 52:7) May we remember them with deep gratitude, who walked or rode or sailed many many miles to take the good news to our lands.

Reading some of those classic missionary biographies (C.T. Studd / Hudson Taylor / John Paton), the sacrifice they made makes a mockery of what we call sacrifice today. It’s almost unimaginable to think of boarding a boat that would take months to reach its destination (if it made it). Post would then take that long, to hear any news from home. And it would take that long to go back home, if you did. Life today (and crossing cultures today) just doesn’t compare.

Reading the history of the Gambia, it was sobering to read the shockingly short life-expectancy of missionaries to West Africa in centuries gone by. Not for nothing was it known as “the white man’s grave”. Many were shipwrecked. Many died of malaria. None expected to last more than a couple of years. And yet, in obedience to Jesus’ command, they kept going. Would I have done?!

Most importantly, their faithfulness and sacrifice did not spring from a heroic self-determination, which will seem intimidating and unattainable to us in our very different age. Rather, their faithfulness and sacrifice were the fruit of the seed of the life of Christ in them. He travelled the INFINITE distance - leaving the glory and splendour of heaven, the eternal and intimate joy of divine love, to walk on to the surface of dusty, hot, smelly, painful Earth. God is the Great Missionary: the Father sent the Son to save us, and the Son obeyed and went. And so with His power at work in us, may God strengthen you and me to be faithful to Him, obediently going to make him known, whether it means crossing oceans and cultures or crossing roads.

Never Alone

My neighbourhood.

All my previous trips to the Gambia have been during the dry season (good time to come); right now we’re towards the end of the rainy season. People are thankful for good rains this year (for the crops), but they (not just me!) have also been struggling with the extended heat and humidity. When I arrived it really was a dramatic physical shock. Temperatures were high 30s˚ (forecast says “feels like” mid-40s˚) and humidity was in the 90%s. Anyone who’s been on a summer holiday or played sport with me knows that it doesn’t take a lot to make me sweat…

Well, I'm writing at night as the water and power are both off (power = fan; water = shower) so, instead of just soaking my bed sheet with sweat whilst lying awake, I thought I’d do something productive and write a few words!

———

One of my main concerns about arriving was loneliness. On my previous 4 trips to the Gambia I’ve been a member, leader or visitor of a team. This time it’s just me. But I’m so thankful to God that I’m no stranger to a number of people here.

• Pastor S is the one I’m here to serve, and I’ve had enormous respect and admiration for him since we first met 10 years ago. He has been tremendously generous and helpful in all kinds of ways already.

• Brother P is a dear friend and great fun - he and I will be teaching some material together at SOW (Servants of the Word) and it’s been great to reconnect with him (and deliver to him his beloved Haribo).

• B is a young Christian who’s become good friends with recent UK teams out here. I loved meeting him 18 months ago and it was a treat when he popped round the other night (during an evening power cut, which can be a lonely time). We shared and laughed together and had a precious time reading the Bible (Hebrews 10:11-25).

• I await Mama’s return from Sierra Leone, where she’s been for a few weeks. She’s desperate to look after me here and I’m desperate to see her! She’s the legendary Mama of the annual Gap teams here and is a source of big hugs, delicious food, many laughs and much wisdom. 

So I’m really thankful for all these people and more. And I trust that current and new relationships and friendships will grow and deepen in time.

But when I am lonely, how thankful I am that I am never alone. Before he physically left Earth, Jesus promised:

“The Father will give you another advocate to be with you for ever - the Spirit of truth… he lives with you and will be in you…

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you… Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” (John 14:16-27)

Lonely? Sometimes. Alone? Never. God is with me for ever by His Spirit. Oh what peace that gives!

Furthermore, I have the following keeping me company in my compound:

• Rupert the Rooster: meaning I won’t be needing an alarm clock 
• Helen the Hen and her friends: helpfully eating my scraps 
• Larry the Lizard and his friends: whom I love to watch running all over the walls 
• Colin the Cockroach and his (many) friends: would really rather they didn’t get in the fridge though...
• Anthony the Ant and his (very many) friends: we’ve come to a peaceful co-existence 
• Mollie the Mosquito and her (many) friends: I’m trying to keep my distance 
• Jimmie the Cricket and his (noisy) friends: giving that tropical background noise
• The mysterious creature in the roof with remarkably heavy footing...!

© Freeimages.com

Ebenezer who?!

One of my favourite hymns has the line: “Here I raise my Ebenezer…” I dare say I’m not the only one who’s sung it and struggled to get thoughts of A Christmas Carol (for me, the Muppets version of course) out of my head, whilst thinking, “Who knows what that means? Oh, the song’s over.”

Ebenezer is a Hebrew word which means, “Stone of Help”. Here’s where it’s from:

Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen. He named it Ebenezer, saying, “Thus far has the Lord helped us”.

(1 Samuel 7:12)

Samuel chose the appropriate word to name his monument, which celebrated his experience of the Lord God’s help up to that point. It was a tumultuous time in the history of God’s people. But Samuel was enjoying the goodness and faithfulness of God and so “raised his Ebenezer”.

Here’s that song again:

“Here I raise my Ebenezer,

Hither by thy help I’ve come.

And I hope, by thy good pleasure,

Safely to arrive at home.”

Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing, by Robert Robinson, 1757. Here’s a version that I enjoy.

Well, here - in Dakar, Senegal - I raise my Ebenezer! I’m only stepping over the start-line of this initial 3-year term in the Gambia (where I travel on to tonight), but I’m very conscious of God’s good shepherding care as I look back on all the preparations and leaving the UK, and as I’ve travelled on the boat: “hither by thy help I’ve come”.

And that “hope” for the future in the song isn’t wishful thinking. It’s the certain hope that comes from knowing God’s sovereign control and fatherly kindness.  So I look to him and trust him for what’s ahead.