As I watched the pastors sing, in Lambya, on the opening day of the conference, “Where love is, there is God,” I was struck by the power of their belief in a personal supernatural presence, that in the midst of enormous poverty and personal hardship, these pastors nonetheless chose to believe in the goodness of God, the reality of God’s enduring hesed, his steadfast lovingkindness. They were convinced, as Hebrew 11:1 tells us we should be, that faith is indeed the “conviction of things unseen:” even if we do not believe that he does, even if we have no evidence that he can, God still loves, still cares, still continues to unfold his purpose and intentions for every human being.
In addition, I appreciated how hungry the pastors were for theological knowledge. Although what we were able to teach them might fill two or three class sessions in seminary, for them it was manna from heaven, a plethora of information to which they in their geographic and material isolation simply had no access. I was delighted to share everything I could with them, and loved watching them take notes, ask incisive questions, engage in debates, and in every way indicate that they were loving the experience of learning. If only, I often thought, we had more time.
Moreover, I loved the community the pastors shared. Though they had come from many sectors of the region and did not all speak the same language (some spoke Tumbuka, some Lambya), they clearly regarded each other as valued brothers and sisters in Christ. They served each other eagerly, and repeatedly affirmed their mutual belief in the inestimable worth of the living God. I found their commitment refreshing and inspiring: far from the surplus of biblical resources we enjoy, they had established a wonderful salvific simplicity, a beautiful and unadorned vision of hope in the eternal work of Jesus Christ.
In addition, I appreciated how hungry the pastors were for theological knowledge. Although what we were able to teach them might fill two or three class sessions in seminary, for them it was manna from heaven, a plethora of information to which they in their geographic and material isolation simply had no access. I was delighted to share everything I could with them, and loved watching them take notes, ask incisive questions, engage in debates, and in every way indicate that they were loving the experience of learning. If only, I often thought, we had more time.
Moreover, I loved the community the pastors shared. Though they had come from many sectors of the region and did not all speak the same language (some spoke Tumbuka, some Lambya), they clearly regarded each other as valued brothers and sisters in Christ. They served each other eagerly, and repeatedly affirmed their mutual belief in the inestimable worth of the living God. I found their commitment refreshing and inspiring: far from the surplus of biblical resources we enjoy, they had established a wonderful salvific simplicity, a beautiful and unadorned vision of hope in the eternal work of Jesus Christ.
Bill
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