After seven, relatively uneventful, take-offs and landings I have come up one short of the required eight to get home. I’m overnighting in Denver, tantalizingly close to home. After two+ weeks of summer heat by travel in undone by winter snows in the great state of Montana.

It’s 2:30am, my body thinks its around noon and is hungry and eager to be active. I’m grateful for the few hours sleep I did get and the very long hot shower, a first in the same 2+ weeks. My feet ache slightly from the 71 or so miles we walked on this trip, and my back side is a bit terse with me about the 40 hours of airplanes and airport chairs it has so far endured.

My companions, whom I parted ways with in Brussels, are now tantalizingly close again. They have been put up in a hotel across the parking lot from mine after failing to make there connection home after mechanical troubles in Chicago. So here we are. Three people who have spent the better part of three weeks not separated by more than a few yards, each in our own room, with our own bed, our own tv, our own space. Though, I imagine none of us will be putting it to good use.

I can’t really reflect on the trip as a whole yet. I did spend the better part of one flight yesterday reviewing all the pictures I took on the trip though, while the memories are still fresh. Perhaps to help it set in my brain a bit before the everyday world I inhabit when I am not playing globe trotting pastor starts to film it over. It was a mix of highs and lows, but mostly highs. It was also a mix of great hope and great despair, though mostly hope.

I am am excited at the notion of seeing my kids again and holding my wife in my arms. They have been the foundation that has let me savor this experience without to much worry about what my absence is causing at home. Perhaps that is the true measure of things, relationship wise, not the time you are together but the time you are apart. I’m a much better person because of my wife. She makes things possible in me that otherwise I’m certain could not happen. Even a continent or two away she works her magic on me. I’m undyingly grateful to her for all of this.

In a couple hours I will head back to the airport unnecessarily early. I’m taking not risks on this. Though, one would think the lead off flight with Angola Air in a rat trap 737 would have been the risky part. Yet, I take nothing for granted. If things go well my son and I will still make the pinewood derby races at noon (his first!) and we will have the afternoon together as a family.

Thank you to all those that supported us on this little adventure. I think we have accomplished much, and we are bringing back much to share. Thank you for your prayers, they have been heard and answered. If something had to go wrong, this is about the mildest form of ‘wrong’ I can think of when you consider where we have been and what we have done.

God bless you all!

Today we are supposed to travel to Quessua for the opening of annual conference. However, our consistent guide and friend, Alcidies, had to travel for his regular job today. This left us without transportation or translation. I was under the impression that transportation was being arranged, but either I misunderstood or communication broke down elsewhere. Either way, it would seem less and less likely anyone is coming for us and we are left to our own devices.

This has been sort of an undercurrent to the trip. Lots of time to make your own. Not wanting to waste the experience of being here there is a bit of a burning inside of me to get out and at least do something. My traveling companions are likely mixed in their view of this internal trait of mine, I’m certain it has caused them a mix of entertainment and hardship.

Some will say that a relaxed attitude towards time and checklists is an African trait. Many who have traveled here will relate stories about schedules falling to the wayside only moments after being created. People showing up either very early or very late to appointments. And events happening when the community concedes, not when the clock dictates. This relaxed posture can seem either inviting or almost lazy to the outside, western cultured, observer. Some might be quick to embrace it as a move away from the hurried pace of normal life. But there is another side to the coin.

Though the surroundings are dusty and many, if not most, roads are dirt, the cars here are overwhelmingly clean. I have yet to see a car wash as we would understand it, but I have seen many vehicles parked next to small streams and waterways being washed by hand. Even on our trip to Kimbamba, 20 miles up a crazy dirt path, while we waited for lunch our drivers were dusting off and cleaning their cars. This, despite the fact the return trip would assuredly replace it all.

Similar with our dishes. Our meals are prepared in an outside cooking area and all the plates and utensils washed in tubs in the same place. Yet each morning their is china cups for tea, and plates to eat on. This all points to the reality that their is much more to this place than a simple lack of accurate clocks. Instead it is a different ethic, that values some things over others, just as we do in the States, but with the scales tipped in a direction other than what we typically choose.

It can, and has, been frustrating. Not because anyone is intentionally doing anything, but simply because of the class of cultures. The challenge is not to judge, which would be too easy. After all, why wouldn’t everyone have, or want, values like ours? We are the best, after all.

Kidding aside, and that was kidding, Angola is it’s own place. And though they dress increasingly like the western world, drive our cars, and listen to our music, they are also, still, there own thing. Much of the food is still their own, and much of life happens at their pace and priority. They are becoming more global, just as we are, but, also like us, in their own way.

It is not better or worse. Unless you like clean cars, then it’s better. Instead, it just is what it is. Angola will make it’s way as it always has. People have been living in this land well before people looking like me existed on the earth. New ideas and technologies will be integrated into life here, as they always have, and things will continue to be a mix of old and new. Perhaps that is best demonstrated by the fact that though we were miles out in the bush on Sunday, in a village of earthen houses with grass roofs, being called to worship by an rusty segment of railroad track, with an alter decorated with old Fanta cans, a cell phone rang out twice during the service and Mark live tweeted the whole deal. Old and new. Together.

-PS, not one, but two cars showed up not long after to take us to Quessua. Oh me of little faith.

This trip was to mean two Sundays away from normal pastoral duties. Not that we aren’t working hard. It could easily be argued that we haven’t really taken a day off since we started over 10 days ago. But, it was supposed to mean no preaching, teaching, etc. Turns out that is not the case.

Yesterday, we traveled about a million miles up an incredibly poor road made worse by a great deal of recent rain. Almost straight north of Malanje, we were heading to Kimbamba. A small community of maybe a couple dozen homes/huts just a few miles short of where the road stops. This small farming community is home to many families and a United Methodist Church that was first dedicated in 1968. Thirty years later the war would take the chapel roof and pepper it would bullet holes. Today, it stands empty and is utilized mostly by the local kids as a place to play.

Our caravan of three cars arrived carrying our team of three, three different district superintendents, about eighteen ladies who came to sing, and a couple district officials. Our presence more than doubled the local congregation, excepting maybe the large number of children.

An old railroad tie and large machine bolt made a eerily accurate stand in for a church bell. Struck twice in a rhythmic pattern it rang out for a full 20 minutes right up till the beginning of the service. Though this is a small, poor, farming community the men were dressed in classic Sunday best and the women in the same, though of a more indigenous variety. The children were, of course, a mix, though I marveled at there willingness to sit clumped together on a six by six mat for the bulk of the service.

As has been a theme of my experience of church in Africa it was a mix of familiar and foreign. They went through the motions of what we would call classical western style worship, but somehow with an energy and flavor all their own. Like the western style suits the men all wore, they at first seem somewhat out of place, but they wear them with such confidence and pride it quickly makes a bizarre sort of sense.

The singing was superb and the older man who gave the communal prayer could be given a meddle for piety above and beyond the call of duty. All the guests were introduced and welcomed, including us. The district superintendent gave a nice pep talk to the crowd saying of all the rural churches we could have visited he and the Bishop himself wanted it to be Kimbamba. Making sure they knew they were special and held in high esteem. In many ways, district superintendents are the same everywhere.

At the near conclusion of the service came the moment that my stomach had been feeling all morning. Our team had been invited to preach, and, in fairness to Mark, I invited the opportunity. I’m glad I did, though I would not say I went into it we absolute confidence. I’m not sure what I had to say to this group. My strength in preaching, I feel anyway, it making things relatable. How do I do that in a place I absolutely do not understand?

In the end two things worked in my favor well. First, our experience has been that sermons last only about 8 minutes here. And second, because all our regular translators were otherwise engaged, Kristen translated the message into spanish, with some portuguese artifacts, which we hoped would be understood. That all meant I really only needed a few short minutes of material to do my part.

All said and done I find it doesn’t matter much, to me anyway, what I said. It was a lot about Christ, and about our call as disciples to be his witnesses in word and action. More important for me though was the opportunity to stand in front of a group of subsistence farmers, in a school come chapel, next to the remains of a once proud space, and in front of an always proud group of people, and realize that even here there is good news. For someone who spends a great deal of energy debunking the myth that happiness and self respect can be predicted based on bank account size this was exactly the experience I came to Africa needing.

None of this undermines our need to be in mission and ministry in this place. It cannot be said that everything here is okay and we should leave well enough alone. However, we should also not fall into the trap of believing that people are simply standing still waiting for us to move. Far form it. Instead, if we want to be blessed in seeing God at work in the world than we must be here, being Christ’s hands and feet. Working in partnership. This is how the kingdom is built!

When we worshiped at Central United Methodist in Malanje this past Sunday the team went up, as part of the service, to receive a blessing from the pastor. Really, what we did is stand by the alter and be part of a group prayer and receive a handshake with words from the pastor. There was also, of course, singing. During the singing a basket was passed that we all dutifully dropped money in. While understated, it was a nice moment in the service.

Not to long after we were told by out host that it was almost time for the offering. What was that before? I asked. He explained that what would come is the regular offering, what we had participated in before was roughly translated as the ‘Action Grace’. Action grace? I chewed those words in my mind like fresh bubblegum for the next several minutes. Almost missing, by the way, the regular offering. Which, of course, I dutifully contributed too.

Action grace. The term just clicked cogs together in by sometimes rust internal gears. As a United Methodist we talk about God in terms of motion and activity. The gospel we proclaim is not one of a God who sits around waiting for the right magic words to be spoken. Our God is not indifferent to those who do not yet know about Jesus or the Holy Spirit. Instead, our deep Wesleyan tradition grants us a doctrine that says God is very active, very alive, and very interested in you. We call this prevenient grace. The grace that flows from God and is around every person no matter how far they feel they may have strayed.

Action Grace from an Action God.

So I love this phrase. Even if I misheard him, which is possible, I don’t honestly care. Action Grace calls us to be Action Children of our Action God. We do not sit motionless or contented because our God is neither of those things. Instead, we join in the kingdom activities that God calls us to. Different for each one of us and unique as the stars above.

Action Grace. Yes, that will do nicely.

This past Sunday we attended church at Central United Methodist in Malanje, Angola.  It is located on the grounds of the conference office and was an impressive site.  Services lasted 2 1/2 hours with lots of singing and, quite frankly, announcements.  We were asked to introduce ourselves by the local Bishop and all in all I can say hospitality is alive and well here.

The most striking thing about the service though was the noise.  It is summer in Angola so the windows are all open and the apartment building to the west was in full swing.  Children attending Sunday school were singing and the chickens that live on the property were adding their own voices as well.  Children came and went.  At one point the son of the person sitting next to me, like knee touching next to me, came up and sat on his father’s lap, who in turn promptly gave him a juice box.  It was just honestly I nice moment.

Noise from the street and children about did not distract from the experience but add to it!  And don’t understand that the Angolan church is somehow riding the wave of newer casual worship.  Though it was summer most men were dressed better than I do on your average Sunday.  Which, admittedly, is a low bar.  One lady also had the job of waking those that dared catch a couple winks during the service, or even slouch a bit too much. 

No, respect is an ever present thing.  Respect for the person speaking, respect for the pastor, respect for the choir.  The difference is that the noise is simply not considered disrespectful.  Kids will play and run around.  People will listen to music loudly.  Life goes on outside even while we are inside worshiping.  This has this marvelous effect of bridging the worship experience with real life on a basic, almost primitive, level. 

Needless to say I loved it and I cannot not wait to be out in the rural church this Sunday.  Thank you to all that made this trip possible!

Today we arrived at our ultimate destination, Angola Africa. It’ll likely be a bit before I can gain access to post this. But trust me, it is now, not whatever time in the future you are reading this.

We joked in Germany that we’d be picked up in the smallest car in the world and our luggage would need to ride on the roof. As it turns out we weren’t far off. Everything, thankfully, did fit inside, so nothing and nobody needed to ride up top. Yet, I did get very familiar with one of my traveling companions bags as it rode in my lap for the entire 5 hour drive.

Honestly, I’m not sure what to say about our first day. Yes, Africa is very different than the US. And yes, we are strangers. Yet, at the same time, everyone here is just so at home in this place its hard not to be at home also. It helps that everything is also just on a smaller scale in a way. Once we got out of the capital city of Luanda it was just small village after small village. The highway we traveled would be a two-lane back road at home. They also import most of their cars from Europe, so they are mostly small and nimble. In fact, the most out of place thing I saw was a couple of F-150 trucks.

It also helps that everyone has also been just so kind. Rev. Cassule who picked us up at the airport had to spend the night in Luanda. He also waited at the airport for a couple of hours as we cleared the many custom’s and baggage checks. Finally, we crammed ourselves and our gear clown like into our car. Yet, he was utterly gracious the whole time.

Rev. Cassule lives in Malanje, where we are staying. A larger city in the interior of Angola. He is a teacher, along with his wife, who also cares for a very rural congregation about 100km from Malanje. In, what I’m sure felt like a full on interrogation, we peppered him with questions between catnaps on the drive. One thing we wanted to know is why, in Africa, is the church growing? Overall church attendance in the United States has declined for the last 40 years. The mega- giga- churches have not stemmed the tide one bit, despite what some would have you think. The United Methodist church hasn’t grown in the US since 1968. Yet, here, growth is the norm.

Angola suffered from two decades of civil war which ended in 2002. Since that time the United Methodist church here has been involved in reconciling the different sides. Now, whats import is, that this work is not being done by some agency or group. It is being done by the congregations. Pastor’s and congregants go out to “the bush” to meet those who fought on the opposite side of the conflict. They meet with them, explain that they come form the village (the opposing side), but have come with a message of forgiveness. Rev. Cassule explains to these folks that though they disagree, they serve one God and have one Lord through Christ. The Gospel is alive in Angola!

Today, many churches are mixes of previous warring factions. They have found common ground in the church and work together rebuild after fighting destroyed so much. I am impressed and amazed by what I have heard already. I cannot wait to see what the coming days will bring.

Today was our final day in Germany before heading south. Really far south. The pace was a touch slower, but we still managed to walk a couple hundred miles or so and see some sights. Most importantly, to me anyway, we saw the Gutenberg museum in Mainz. It was, quite frankly, amazing.

Below are three of Gutenberg’s famous Bibles. Three, out of the 40 or so that exist still today. 550 year old masterpieces. I had goosebumps for real. Though that also could have been because photographing was forbidden at the Museum. Shhhhh. Don’t tell.

Gutenberg made the world smarter. He taught us to read and provided a way for knowledge to be shared in a way never before possible. It’s no wonder that around his time and after we started to traverse the world thinking we could make it better. Or make money off it if nothing else.

I’m pretty excited for what comes next. Not for the 8+ hour flight mind you. But by morning well be a true world away. One I, or good old Gutenberg, have any real reference for. We will be strangers in a strange land. I’m not sure we can make it any better. And I know we shouldn’t even try. But I a excited to see what we see and learn what we can learn.

See you on the other side of the world!

Tomorrow we continue on our journey by air to Angola. Today, we continued to adjust to the timezone change and get organized for the trip, I’m happy to report three things. First, by tomorrow the timezone thing should be behind us. Two, we have a well articulated way of explaining the trip and goals. Three, snitzel is good, even when you don’t know what your ordering.

As we wandered exploring more old as dirt churches we crossed a footbridge over the Maines river. The bridge itself was interesting, but attached to it we found hundreds of pad locks.

We each took lots of pictures but had no clue why they were there. And they were everywhere. So we wondered on, but once we reconnected with technology Google provided the answer. As it always does. It seems there is a tradition that people in a relationship come, write their names on a lock, attach it to the bridge, then throw the key in the water. It’s a pretty sweet tradition honestly. Some of the locks were actually engraved. So, not something always done on a whim for sure.

Physical expressions of unseen things are really important in life. This is one of those things. Wedding rings are one of those things. Crosses around the neck are one of those things. I’ll admit I often don’t value these things as much as I should. So seeing hundreds of locks symbolizing hundreds of relationships is a good reminder.

So that was my revelation for today. Oh, and German parks are way cooler than ours.

Evidence:

Yep, a zipline. Awesome.