"How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news, who publishes peace, who brings good news of happiness, who publishes salvation, who says to Zion, 'Your God reigns.'" Isaiah 52:7
Just a small part of a story I really like...
"...If you are big and powerful, you have to become small and weak in order to work with other weak beings. It was a perfect parallel for what God had done in Jesus.
But there were so many unknown factors in the way the Motilones reasoned. How could I be sure that I would convey the right thing?
I couldn't. Yet I felt sure God had given me this time to speak. So i took the word for "becoming like an ant" and used it for incarnation. "God is incarnated into man," I said.
They gasped. There was a tense, hushed silence. The idea that God had become a man stunned them.
'Where did He walk?' the witch doctor asked in a whisper.
Every Motilone has his own trail. it is his personal point of identity. You walk on someone's trail if you want to find him. God would have a trail, too. If you want to find God, you walk on His trail.
My blood was racing, my heart pounding. 'Jesus Christ is God become man,' I said. 'He can show you God's trail.'
A look of astonishment, almost fear, spread over their faces. the man who had been shouting into the hole looked at me.
'Show us Christ,' he said in a coarse whisper.
I fumbled for an answer. 'You killed Christ,' I said. 'You destroyed God.'
His eyes got big. 'I killed Christ? I did that? How did I do that? And how can God be killed?'
I wanted to tell them that Jesus' death had freed them from meaninglessness, from death and the powers of evil.
'How do evil, death and deception find power over the Motilone people?' I asked.
'Through the ears,' Bobby answered, because language is so important to the Motilones. it is the essence of life. If evil language comes through the ears, it means death.
'Do you remember,' I said, 'how after a hunt for wild boars the leader cuts the skin from the animal and puts it over his head to cover his ears and keep the evil spirits of the jungle out?'
They nodded, listening closely.
'Jesus Christ was murdered,' I said. 'But just as you pull the skin over the chieftain's head to hide his ears, so Jesus--when He died --pulled His blood over your deception and hides it from the sight of God.'
I stood looking at them, hoping desperately that they would understand. then I saw on their faces that they did.
I told them Jesus was buried. A wave of grief swept over them. The man who was searching for his brother's language began to weep.It was the first time I had ever seen a Motilone cry. But the thought that God was dead, that they were lost, brought tears and sobs.
I picked up my Bible, opened it and said, 'The Bible speaks that Jesus came alive after death and is alive today.'
One of the men grabbed the Bible from my hand and put it to his ear. 'I can't hear a thing,' he said.
I took it back. 'the way the bible speaks does not change,' I said. 'It is like the papers of your speech that I have. They say the same word one day to the next. The Bible sayd that Jesus came to life. It is God's banana stalk.'
I showed him the page and told him that the little black markings had meaning.
'No one has ever come back from the dead in all Motilone history,' he said.
'I know,' I replied. 'But Jesus did. It is proof that He is really God's Son.'
They asked many more questions. Some I didn't fully understand. But I was sure that God had spoken through me. That night I prayed, 'god, give validity to Your Word. Make it touch these lives.' I claimed God's promise that His Word would not return to Him without any response.
Yet there didn't seem to be any response. I continued to walk the trails with Bobby, giving medicine to the witch doctors and showing them how to do their work more effectively.
One evening, though, Bobby began to ask questions. We were sitting around a fire. The light flicked over him. His face was serious.
'How can I walk on Jesus' trail?' he asked. 'No Motilone has ever done it. it's a new thing. There is no other Motilone to tell how to do it.'
I remembered the problems I had had as a boy, how it sometimes appeared impossible to keep on believing in Jesus when my family and friends were so opposed to my commitment. That was what Bobby was going through.
'Bobby,' I said, 'do you remember my first Festival of the Arrows, the first time I had seen all the Motilones gathered to sing their song?' the festival was the most important ceremony in the Motilone culture.
He nodded. The fire flared up momentarily, and I could see his eyes, staring intently at me.
'Do you remember that I was afraid to climb in the high hammocks to sing, for fear that the rope would break? And I told you that I would sing only if I could have one foot in the hammock and one foot on the ground?'
'Yes, Bruchko.'
'And what did you say to me?'
He laughed. "I told you you had to have both feet in the hammock. You have to be suspended,' I said."
'Yes,' I said. 'You have to be suspended. That is how it is when you follow Jesus, Bobby. No man can tell you how to walk His trail. Only Jesus can. But to find out you have to tie your hammock strings into Him and be suspended in God.'
Bobby said nothing. The fire danced in his eyes.Then he stood up and walked off into the darkness.
The next day he came to me, 'Bruchko,' he said, 'I want to tie my hammock strings into Jesus Christ.But how can I? I can't see Him or touch Him.'
'You have talked to spirits, haven't you?
'Oh,' he said. 'I see now.'
The next day he had a big grin on his face. 'Bruchko, I've tied my hammock strings into Jesus. Now I speak a new language.'
I didn't understand what he meant. 'Have you learned some of the Spanish I speak?'
He laughed a clean, sweet laugh. 'No, Bruchko, I speak a new language.'
Then I understood. To a Motilone, language is life. If Bobby had a new life, he had a new way of speaking. His speech would be Christ-oriented.
We put our hands on each other's shoulders. My mind swept back to the first time I had met Jesus and the life I had felt flow into me. Now my brother Bobby was experiencing Jesus himself, in the same way. He had begun to walk with Jesus.
'Jesus Christ has risen from the dead!' Bobby shouted, so that the sound filtered far off into the jungle. 'He has walked our trails! I have met Him!'
From that day our friendship was enhanced by our love for Jesus. We talked constantly about Him, and Bobby asked me many questions. But he never asked the color of Jesus' hair or whether He had blue eyes. To Bobby, the answers were obvious: Jesus had dark skin, and His eyes were black. He wore a G-string and hunted with bows and arrows.
Jesus was a Motilone."
"The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few. Therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. Go your way; behold, I am sending you out as lambs in the midst of wolves." Luke 10:2, 3
Just a small part of a story I really like...
"...If you are big and powerful, you have to become small and weak in order to work with other weak beings. It was a perfect parallel for what God had done in Jesus.
But there were so many unknown factors in the way the Motilones reasoned. How could I be sure that I would convey the right thing?
I couldn't. Yet I felt sure God had given me this time to speak. So i took the word for "becoming like an ant" and used it for incarnation. "God is incarnated into man," I said.
They gasped. There was a tense, hushed silence. The idea that God had become a man stunned them.
'Where did He walk?' the witch doctor asked in a whisper.
Every Motilone has his own trail. it is his personal point of identity. You walk on someone's trail if you want to find him. God would have a trail, too. If you want to find God, you walk on His trail.
My blood was racing, my heart pounding. 'Jesus Christ is God become man,' I said. 'He can show you God's trail.'
A look of astonishment, almost fear, spread over their faces. the man who had been shouting into the hole looked at me.
'Show us Christ,' he said in a coarse whisper.
I fumbled for an answer. 'You killed Christ,' I said. 'You destroyed God.'
His eyes got big. 'I killed Christ? I did that? How did I do that? And how can God be killed?'
I wanted to tell them that Jesus' death had freed them from meaninglessness, from death and the powers of evil.
'How do evil, death and deception find power over the Motilone people?' I asked.
'Through the ears,' Bobby answered, because language is so important to the Motilones. it is the essence of life. If evil language comes through the ears, it means death.
'Do you remember,' I said, 'how after a hunt for wild boars the leader cuts the skin from the animal and puts it over his head to cover his ears and keep the evil spirits of the jungle out?'
They nodded, listening closely.
'Jesus Christ was murdered,' I said. 'But just as you pull the skin over the chieftain's head to hide his ears, so Jesus--when He died --pulled His blood over your deception and hides it from the sight of God.'
I stood looking at them, hoping desperately that they would understand. then I saw on their faces that they did.
I told them Jesus was buried. A wave of grief swept over them. The man who was searching for his brother's language began to weep.It was the first time I had ever seen a Motilone cry. But the thought that God was dead, that they were lost, brought tears and sobs.
I picked up my Bible, opened it and said, 'The Bible speaks that Jesus came alive after death and is alive today.'
One of the men grabbed the Bible from my hand and put it to his ear. 'I can't hear a thing,' he said.
I took it back. 'the way the bible speaks does not change,' I said. 'It is like the papers of your speech that I have. They say the same word one day to the next. The Bible sayd that Jesus came to life. It is God's banana stalk.'
I showed him the page and told him that the little black markings had meaning.
'No one has ever come back from the dead in all Motilone history,' he said.
'I know,' I replied. 'But Jesus did. It is proof that He is really God's Son.'
They asked many more questions. Some I didn't fully understand. But I was sure that God had spoken through me. That night I prayed, 'god, give validity to Your Word. Make it touch these lives.' I claimed God's promise that His Word would not return to Him without any response.
Yet there didn't seem to be any response. I continued to walk the trails with Bobby, giving medicine to the witch doctors and showing them how to do their work more effectively.
One evening, though, Bobby began to ask questions. We were sitting around a fire. The light flicked over him. His face was serious.
'How can I walk on Jesus' trail?' he asked. 'No Motilone has ever done it. it's a new thing. There is no other Motilone to tell how to do it.'
I remembered the problems I had had as a boy, how it sometimes appeared impossible to keep on believing in Jesus when my family and friends were so opposed to my commitment. That was what Bobby was going through.
'Bobby,' I said, 'do you remember my first Festival of the Arrows, the first time I had seen all the Motilones gathered to sing their song?' the festival was the most important ceremony in the Motilone culture.
He nodded. The fire flared up momentarily, and I could see his eyes, staring intently at me.
'Do you remember that I was afraid to climb in the high hammocks to sing, for fear that the rope would break? And I told you that I would sing only if I could have one foot in the hammock and one foot on the ground?'
'Yes, Bruchko.'
'And what did you say to me?'
He laughed. "I told you you had to have both feet in the hammock. You have to be suspended,' I said."
'Yes,' I said. 'You have to be suspended. That is how it is when you follow Jesus, Bobby. No man can tell you how to walk His trail. Only Jesus can. But to find out you have to tie your hammock strings into Him and be suspended in God.'
Bobby said nothing. The fire danced in his eyes.Then he stood up and walked off into the darkness.
The next day he came to me, 'Bruchko,' he said, 'I want to tie my hammock strings into Jesus Christ.But how can I? I can't see Him or touch Him.'
'You have talked to spirits, haven't you?
'Oh,' he said. 'I see now.'
The next day he had a big grin on his face. 'Bruchko, I've tied my hammock strings into Jesus. Now I speak a new language.'
I didn't understand what he meant. 'Have you learned some of the Spanish I speak?'
He laughed a clean, sweet laugh. 'No, Bruchko, I speak a new language.'
Then I understood. To a Motilone, language is life. If Bobby had a new life, he had a new way of speaking. His speech would be Christ-oriented.
We put our hands on each other's shoulders. My mind swept back to the first time I had met Jesus and the life I had felt flow into me. Now my brother Bobby was experiencing Jesus himself, in the same way. He had begun to walk with Jesus.
'Jesus Christ has risen from the dead!' Bobby shouted, so that the sound filtered far off into the jungle. 'He has walked our trails! I have met Him!'
From that day our friendship was enhanced by our love for Jesus. We talked constantly about Him, and Bobby asked me many questions. But he never asked the color of Jesus' hair or whether He had blue eyes. To Bobby, the answers were obvious: Jesus had dark skin, and His eyes were black. He wore a G-string and hunted with bows and arrows.
Jesus was a Motilone."
"The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few. Therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. Go your way; behold, I am sending you out as lambs in the midst of wolves." Luke 10:2, 3
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