February 2006
Dear Friends, dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ,
Paul and I teach at Union Theological Seminary in the Philippines.
Teaching in the Philippines is quite different from teaching in
the United States. Once we are in the classroom everything looks
pretty much the same. We stand at the front of the room and the
students sit in chairs in front of us. We talk to them about what
interests us most: for me it is Old Testament and Hebrew, and
for Paul it is theology and philosophy. Our students listen and
talk, laugh and sometimes even sing in response to what we say.
But the similarity ends there. In the Philippines we live, almost
literally, on top of each other and are thus a “close”
community. Everyone pretty much knows what everyone else is doing.
If I forget my umbrella at one end of the campus today, people
will tell me all about it tomorrow. Soon I will know exactly where
my “lost” umbrella is. This sounds absolutely delicious.
A community. But if we pretend to be a community, like the community
of the early church, as is detailed in the book of Acts, then
we need to be the community. This is easier said than done, because
it means that we must live according to our convictions, no matter
what time of the morning it is, or what day of the week it is,
or whatever else we had planned.
Let me tell you about one of our students, José. One morning
at 5:00 a.m., just as the light was beginning to brighten the
edges of the horizon, I woke to find José waiting for me
outside my door. What you need to know about José is that
he has had a very hard life and has been in some sticky situations
at seminary. He was not, I had been warned, the most reliable
or trustworthy of students. He had, I was told, once stolen something
from a professor’s home.
I opened the door and invited him in for a cup of coffee. At
first he refused, as Philippine politeness requires. Finally,
he consented to come in. “Ma’am,” he asked,
looking at his feet, “do you know what Jesus’ disciples
said to him?” “No,” I answered, my eyes still
bleary with sleep. “What did they say?” “They
said, ‘We have no more food.’”
Tiredness dropped away from me like a blanket. “Come in,”
I invited again, “I’ll get you a cup of hot coffee
with sugar and milk.”
While José was sipping the hot, sweet brew, I went to
my cupboards and refrigerator and pulled out whatever I thought
he could use. Then I made myself a cup of coffee. While Paul and
Rachie slept in the upstairs bedrooms, we sat and talked about
our families—his eldest son who had won first prize in his
class, his brand new baby daughter who was the joy of his heart—and
his latest paper for me. We talked about our lives. We talked
about our faith. When José left an hour or so later, I
gave him the bag of supplies and told him that I was so glad he
had come, that he was welcome anytime, and that if he ever needed
some food again that I would share whatever I had with him. This
was not the last time I shared food with José, and since
then he has shared himself with me. Where before we had been cousins
in the faith, now we were family. I hope, brothers and sisters
in faith, you can welcome him and all his brothers and sisters
in the Philippines into your hearts as well.
Teaching is not limited to the classroom. To our way of thinking,
ministry and witness to the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ means
providing physical food and spiritual food. Providing both is
your gift to us, dear friends, and we share this gift gladly with
our students. It is incredibly important to provide this spiritual
nurture to our students while they are at seminary, because if
we don’t feed our students well, they will never survive
their ministry. They will never be able to feed their own sheep.
Thank you, brothers and sisters in Christ, for making this ministry
possible with your support of us with prayers and gifts.
In Christ,
Mary, Paul, and Rachie
The 2006 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p.
253 |
