Those Peculiar Johnsons

On My Way to Work

I turned the car key and gave the gas pedal a few pumps, expecting it to reliably do what it has done several thousand times, or so it seems over the past few years. I was in no particular hurry as I had awakened in plenty of time, read my Bible, bathed, and dressed and had even taken time to shine my shoes. I wanted to look my best for this 8:00 am meeting. It was important that I make it on time so a 6:30 am wake up and being fully prepared by 7:15 left me in good stead.

Everything, every bird in the sky and dog on the compound had cooperated. I even noticed that the electricity had not been cut so I could have a hot cup of coffee to go with my freshly made smoothie of mangoes and pineapple. I was ready to go. I was pumped, and so as I pumped the gas pedal, I knew the car would be as kind to me as all of nature had proven so far.

The car engine gave a brief heave and then kind of sputtered. I knew how it felt actually. It was a bit cold even for Nairobi, somewhere in the low 50 degree Fahrenheit range. The engine whined at me this time, as if to say ‘not now please.’

The morning meeting was scheduled at Good Shepherd Church with some of the pastoral staff to discuss the ministry of The Least of These. From there I would head straight to Saint Mary’s Hospital to start my 9:30 surgeries and then on to my afternoon meetings by 4 pm. I had it all figured out as I gave the ignition key its third turn and noticed that, the dashboard remained unlit and the engine continued to ignore me. I made the executive decision which many husbands in Kenya do every day. I would call my wife to come push the car.

Kay had just come to the back door to remind me of some other details and errands I had to run. She had this puzzled look on her face, wondering why I was sitting still in a quiet car. I rolled down the window and shouted “I need a push!” She smiled. She had seen this thing played out before.

Typically, the man steers the car, while the women passengers push to get the clutch engaged, once there is a good momentum. (This is how you start a stalled manual car for those of you who drive only automatics.) That is usually because the man is the one who really knows how to drive, but also women do a great deal (some say most) of the manual labor. For some odd reason, I just have not gotten Kay to agree to this division of labor after almost 15 years in Africa. As she got behind the wheel and…, well you get the picture. I still wanted to be on my way to work so there was no negotiating this.

Fifteen minutes later, with the help of three of the men on our compound, we got the car started. I called ahead to inform the pastor of my late departure and anticipated 30 minute late arrival. ‘No problem’ he said. ‘We will move on and just get your report when you arrive.’ I felt relieved as I did not want to hold up the proceedings.

Halfway to the church, I had to climb a hill in the midst of heavy morning traffic. This is not so bad if you have a reliable car, but on the other hand…, yes, you guessed it. The car stalled. Now this hill is notorious for the size of the potholes and the volume of traffic during the rush hours. If you are not careful, you can very easily lose a tire, or break an axle in one of the holes and if you break down, you have a rather large group of irate drivers and passengers saying unkind things about you, your lineage, forebears, and heritage.

Several men who were along the broken sidewalk decided they would lend a hand, directing traffic around me, so that I would not collide with other cars as I rolled downhill to pop in the clutch. The drivers were declaring me ‘an unrighteous Philistine’ and other unkind things. I ignored them and with the clutch engaged again, I was enroute, to my morning meeting. The meeting was fruitful and encouraging as Good Shepherd pastors agreed to become even more involved with the orphan and street children ministries. It was time to go on to my surgical cases and after a good push by the pastor and two members, the car started and I was again on my way to work.

So far, this is not a bad morning. I have had three stall outs and I am only 40 minutes late. As I head towards the hospital, I decide to take a less crowded road, just in case I have another breakdown. I couldn’t take the idea of having drawing another unfriendly crowd. I cruised along the road at about 54 km (30 miles) per hour, just as a goat ran across the road, causing the two cars in front of me to stop and of course, me to stall again. This time was not so bad. There was a shoulder to drive on and though people were not happy with me being an obstruction, they had an alternate route by which they could pass me and give me those pitiful stares. Again, a few fellows on the roadside pushed me to the side, but for some reason, they could not get enough momentum to start the car. I called the hospital, informing them of yet another delay. I cannot imagine what they were really thinking.

‘Just tell the truth and say you got up late Johnson!’ I could hear John the in-charge laughing at me.

One of the ‘good Samaritans’ pushing me happened to have a taxi and after a bit of negotiating and calling the mechanic to pick up my car, I agreed to the fare and we were on our way. Or were we? Just two minutes from the site of my breakdown the taxi motor stopped and he drifted over to the side and looked at me sheepishly.

“What is wrong?” I asked.

“I am out of gas. I have to call for someone to bring me gas.” He did not look the least perturbed or surprised and so, I had no choice but to believe him.

Putting in less than ½ gallon of gas in a car is routine in Nairobi. It is one of the security measures people use against car-jackers. That is, if someone gets your car, they at least must be inconvenienced enough to stop within a few kilometers to fill up. Who knows, they might get stuck behind some guy stalled out on a hill and run out of gas there? Anyway, this security measure worked well and we sat as the driver borrowed my cell phone to call for someone to bring him gas. Within 15 minutes, a young man runs up with 4 liters of gas in a vegetable oil bottle, pours it into the tank and the driver turns the ignition. This car is automatic and it has no clutch to pop, and there are no women nearby to push.

To his dismay, and my expectation, the battery was now drained from his constantly trying to crank the engine.

“I have to call for someone to bring a battery.”

I just looked at him and handed him my phone.

What would you say in this situation? A look is all I could do.

Fifteen minutes later, another guy comes with a battery and some jumper cables and before we know it, I am on my way to work again. Not to be surprised again, the driver stops enroute, and puts 100 Shillings worth of gas into the car. Now I am confident. I know we should make it with at least one and one half gallons of fuel, the hospital is only 18 km (10 miles) from where we are, and all security measures are in place.

I arrive, unscathed for my surgical cases at 11:30. I praised God for the adventure I had, on my way to work, and cancelled my afternoon meetings. I had used enough grace to cover the challenges of the day. This added meaning to, “…sufficient today is the evil thereof.” Matthew 6:34

How to use Jesus

Jesus can perform many functions in life and can be used in many convenient ways. Here are just a few examples of how you can use Jesus, as demonstrated by many contemporary American Christians.

1) Jesus as a tax exemption.

Just using the name of Jesus can allow you to help add line item deductions to your tax return. You don’t have to believe on His name, or even pretend to worship at His church. Just tell the government that along with the school loans, house mortgage and flood damage in your basement (next time remember to turn off that faucet), you gave a lot of money in Jesus’ name and you are guaranteed a better tax return. This is not true with regard to taxes in other parts of the world. America! You gotta love her!

2) Jesus as a ‘Handi-Wipe.’

This one is one of the all time favorites. When Jesus says He would wash us from our sins, this works out well. You don’t have to get thoroughly soaked in this faith, just clean enough for the next sinful adventure. You can appear to be washing away the dirt in a very religious way, but no deep cleaning is necessary. Go to church, carry a Bible and be nice to people. This is good as it gives the appearance of righteousness, without all of that holiness stuff.

3) Jesus as a political ally.

Whether you are bleeding heart liberal or cold hearted conservative, Jesus is a great tool to advance your political leanings. He adds just the tinge of compassion and a touch of conviction to make both sides of any political debate justifiable and believable. This can make your politics and your faith coincide with your desires to sway people to your point of view, without feeling any remorse or second thought of your true motivations.

4) Jesus as a career builder.

In many circles today just saying you have a religion is a good thing. The Christian religion still works in many parts of America, as it is seen as a good way to move forward in Christian ministries, from broadcasting, entertainment to writing books. Just use the name Jesus and royalties are pretty much guaranteed as those who claim to know Him like to sing songs and read books about Him, more than getting to truly know Him.

5) Jesus as a pick up line.

This is another favorite, especially for guys and girls looking for ‘clean and safe’ relationships. Given the present scare of sexually related diseases, just saying you know Jesus as your Savior, can allow the potential pick-up to take a sigh of relief as you head off to do whatever you put your mind to.

6) Jesus as a fashion statement.

This is never out of season, except when you want to travel incognito. That is, Jesus can be very useful, especially on Sunday when you are around people who claim to know Him. You can put Him away in the closet, as you put your Bible on the book shelf, until the next Sunday. That way, He does not need to be dry cleaned, pressed or even covered in plastic. Then on Monday through Saturday, you can live your life without the risk of getting any soil on Him at all.

7) Jesus as a money launderer

This is a bit harder than tax exemption. In fact, you may have to build a church, or even a mega-church for this. Once you have built this edifice, just convince all who come to worship you, (I mean worship with you) that all of the money they give in this life will guarantee they have a church pew, special hankie and prayer cloth or will benefit some snotty nosed, fly filled face orphaned child, in some nation on the other side of the world, (far away enough that you never see them).

So, as you see, there are many ways one can use Jesus. This is just a short list, off the top of my head. I am sure that with some imagination, we could come up with many more.

Suffice it to say, you don’t have to believe on Jesus to use His name.

There is one very important disclaimer I must make note of here, however. I remind you that Jesus is rather ‘touchy’ about these techniques and using them will put you on a collision course with Him in this life and the life to come.

Even though you may know all of the right code words, right causes and even some of the right people, if you are just using Jesus, as in the examples above, you will undoubtedly hear Him say; “This people draw near to me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me Matthew15:8” or “Depart from me, you workers of iniquity, I never knew you Luke 13:27”.

Be careful, and let Jesus use you and not you use Him. It works out better that way both here and hereafter.

Let’s Go Get Stoned!

This is a song by Ray Charles, that takes on even greater meaning in the Biblical context.

Barbara, Kara and Jamie are three very fascinating women. Barbara Oolman is a family practitioner, serving in East Africa for over 10 years now. Kara Fisher and Jamie Bearden are fourth year medical students from Philadelphia College of Osteopathic Medicine who have served with us in Kenya for the past six weeks. They have all been willing to go get stoned while serving in Africa. They actually served in areas where, churches are being burned and there is genuine open resentment to the Christian faith.

As they relate their stories, it is clear that they were definitely in danger of getting stoned as they visited areas which were hostile to Christians, in hopes of ministering to predominantly Muslim areas of Kenya. Christians around the world are being stoned, burned to death, shot and persecuted everyday in our present world. This is very current news if we would be willing to know of it.

Getting stoned is actually a longstanding Christian tradition. The religious leaders of the day tried to stone Jesus, and of course Stephen, the first martyr for the church got stoned as did Paul, whom they left for dead. My friend and colleague Phil Renfroe who serves at Tenwek Hospital, made note of how many Christians got stoned during the church’s early history and he said the impact of stoning depended on how big a ‘hit’ was taken to the head.

Suffice it to say, we must be careful in the present day use of words and take the Biblical translations in the context of the times. We don’t like the old context of suffering, so we deny suffering for our faith to be of any value whatsoever, unless someone else is doing it.

Very few if any of us are willing to be stoned for our faith, nor even suffer the slight of being embarrassed for what we believe. We deem tithing and sitting through a hour and half church service enough torment and torture. Giving to missions or even going on missions is beyond our mindset and ‘after all, that was for the old church.’

However, the Bible does tell us we should become filled with the Spirit, as opposed to being drunk with strong drink (Ephesians 5:18). It is this same Spirit with which Stephen was filled as he looked up into heaven and could take a direct hit to his body, and his head and lay down his life for his faith (Acts 7:55).

Getting stoned may cost you money, reputation, time and in some instances your health and life. While we may have sacrificed as much to be filled with the things which give pleasures to our bodies, how big a hit are we willing to take to advance the Kingdom of God? Would you listen to the Lord if He told you: “lets go get stoned?” What would you give for your faith? What are you willing to really sacrifice so that others may come to know Christ? How big a hit are you willing to take to your head and heart?

Fall on My Face at a Beggar’s Feet by Kay Johnson

His feet were just inches from my face.  That’s right!  Ugly, scarred, deformed and a bit dirty from the dust of the sidewalk and worst of all, they were just inches from my face.  It was not the position in which I would have assumed to find myself just a few minutes earlier, but here I was, lying prostrate with my face staring at the atrophied, disfigured limbs of a Nairobi street beggar.  What were left of his lower extremities were not really feet.  For that matter, even the hands which he extended to help restore me to my upright and dignified position were not really hands.  This man had lost hands and feet in a fire and all he could do was to extend the ‘nubs’ of support, which I desperately needed, but was too embarrassed and too ‘whole’ to accept freely.

How did I come to fall on my face at a beggar’s feet, you might ask?  It wasn’t easy.
 
I had just left the very upscale offices of a downtown lawyer who was handling the legal affairs for Tenwek Hospital.  It was my duty during those years to oversee the financial, legal and insurance matters for the hospital.  In doing so, I would make frequent trips to Nairobi, which required me to look and act professional.  I carried my brief case containing important documents and wore my best attire for business, which that day included a ‘smart’ dark colored skirt and jacket suit, with a light colored blouse, nylon stockings, and high heel shoes.  Having completed the tasks for the day, I took the elevator to the ground floor of the high rise building and proceeded from the entrance towards the car which I had parked nearby.
 
It was a sunny day; the streets were busy with the usual vendors, shoppers and people of great importance such as…, I, for example.
 
The sidewalk was really crowded at this particular corner, as people made their way around some obstacle in their path.  It was the corner just opposite from where I was standing, so I steadied myself and I clutched my brief case and continued.  I did not want anyone to think I was not familiar with walking in the big city, even if I happened to live in Bomet at the time. After all, I am from Philadelphia where a crowd at mid-day is the norm for center city.
 
The pedestrians surged forward from the corner and I moved along with the tide, as though their avoidance of the obstacle was an example of their own ‘un-city’ like behavior.  All of a sudden, he appeared.  I was just about in the middle of crossing the street, and I saw this ‘poor creature’ this man of about 50 years of age, sitting on the sidewalk begging.  Practically all of the passerby’s did just that…, passed by.  A few threw a coin at his plate without bending down to make sure it hit the mark and moved on as the man ‘pawed’ at the gifts to make them into a collectible pile.  A cup would have been more difficult to get a coin in with a quick toss, and a greater challenge for him make good their bad aim.  I slowed my stride as I watched.  A bit of pity and a bit of horror seized me and caused me to slow my pace a bit more and then to actually miss the curb, trip and then fall at the beggar’s feet.
 
His reaction was quick, kind and deliberate.  He probably did not have many ‘sophisticated’ American women fall for him. 
 
‘Oh, I’m sorry mam, I am so sorry, I am very, very sorry!’  He kept at it as he tried to offer a ‘helping hand’. 
 
My tightly held brief case hit the ground, opened and the papers flew out onto the sidewalk around him.  I could feel a sharp pain in my one knee as I knew I had scraped it on the pavement, and torn my nylon hosiery.  I looked up at the man’s face.  He displayed genuine concern and compassion.  He knew exactly what it was to be in this position and have people walk past him.  He knew just how I felt, vulnerable, embarrassed and dependent.  The crowd continued to pass us both.
 
‘Thank you, oh thank you so much’  I responded repeatedly to him.  I quickly gathered my papers shoved them haphazardly into the case, swallowed my pride and dusted the dirt off of my business attire.  I moved away from him as quickly as I could, lest someone think we were partners in his small time venture.  Within a few minutes I was in my car, and far from the scene and ready to reflect on what could possibly have been on God’s mind by allowing me to be so utterly shamed.
 
I never really got it, until I started to relate this story to others.  It is times like that which serve to remind me that we are all what we are by God’s grace.  I was born in a time and a place where the only opportunity I have thus far had to lie prostrate in humility before God and before people was at the feet of a beggar. 
 
God has brought me into this work of missions by His grace and I am kept by His grace.  I dare not boast of anything, because I could surely still be lying on my face at the feet of a beggar.
 
1Co 15:10 But by the grace of God I am what I am: and his grace which was bestowed upon me was not in vain; but I laboured more abundantly than they all: yet not I, but the grace of God which was with me.