Answered prayers . . .

I'm so behind on my blog posts for this week. There has just been so much going on -- the seminars that last all day and events into the night -- that I haven't been able to keep up. But I did want to get this one in. That radio show that I was on this week . . . well it'll be streaming live tonight on http://www.znsbahamas.com/ at 9 p.m. So if you get a chance, log on.

It so happened that I, and two of my seminarian colleagues, Michael Hunt and Lance Eiland were asked to be on the radio program Vision, which is a broadcast by the Methodist Conference of the Caribbean and the Americas all over the Caribbean and even in New Zealand. The show, which is a 30-minute weekly program gave us an opportunity to share a little of who we are, how we were called into ministry and our thoughts on this past weeks seminar. For me, it was a answer to one of my prayers to God. And it was evidence that all my skills and desires to use my journalist tools and pursue my radio dreams in ministry have been heard.

I didn't think I would go international so soon. But that's what I get for putting God in a box.

My heart was strangely warmed . . .

I've experienced the unusual gift of hospitality here. I say it's unusual because it's just a type of hospitality that I haven't really experienced before. It could have something to do with the fact that I'm in a tourist town and tourist towns know how to keep its tourists coming back. It could be the fact that I am a minister and ministers are given special privilege. But I would like to think it's something more -- it's just who the Bahamian people are.

Upon hearing that I was coming to the island of Eleuthera, the Methodist ministers between that island and the island of Spanish Wells and Nassau worked out a plan that would allow me to stay overnight in Spanish Wells. Now get this: Spanish Wells isn't exactly a place most blacks hang out. Now you will see a few on the island. They have students who attend school there. But they don't live there. In fact, many years ago, blacks weren't even allowed to spend the night there -- at least that's what the native Bahamians tell me. I guess that's why some of the Bahamians looked so shocked when I said that I would be staying over on the island until Monday, when I would meet up with the rest of my group. I've learned that Spanish Wells, which got its name from the Spanish ships that used to stop over at the primarily white settlement to get water because of the islands many wells, is pretty much still all white. Fishing is its dominate trade. In fact, it's the Spanish Wells fishing house that provides lobsters to the U.S. Red Lobster restaurants.

But I can now say I stayed there. One of the pastors, who also welcomed me into his home for dinner and conversation later that night with his family, put me up in his apartment. Even offered to rent a golf cart for me so I could get around the next morning. I was even asked to speak to school-age children on their return back to school at their morning assembly. As I sat in that apartment, (which was really nice!) I wondered what this opportunity was all about. I so much wanted to share it with my other colleagues. I wanted them to be there. I wanted them to experience the Bahamian people within their own communities and on their front porches like I had the opportunity to do.

But then I was reminded that there are some things I must do alone. This was one of those times.

For the Bible tells us so . . .

I didn’t even have to tell him I was a minister. The Bible I was holding did it for me. And I didn’t even deny it when the gentleman asked. I said I was a minister-in-training. But that didn’t even matter. He heard minister and that sat well with him. I was someone who could pray for him and that’s what he wanted – Prayer. I had seen the gentleman on the Bo Henghy, the ferry that would take me to the island where I would spend the day, and noticed him watching me as I talked out the sermon I would deliver later that morning. It so happened he too was riding on the smaller fast ferry to Eleuthera. He wears the title superintendent. He’s in charge of a number of law enforcement districts around Eleuthera. He has about 160 people he’s in charge of and he wanted prayer for his continued safety. I have this thing about taking requests to pray later – I don’t like to do it. If you ask right then, why not do it right then. So I did. Right there on the boat as we prepared to head to Eleuthera. At that moment, I remembered Professor de Souza sharing how we should look for opportunities to share Christ. The funny thing about this is that I really didn’t do anything. My Bible did it for me. It opened the door . . . and I walked in.

PREPARING FOR 11 a.m.

I really didn’t want to sing. I never do, least all by myself. Remants of the proclamation from Sister Lillian telling me in front of the entire second grade class to stop singing with the rest of my classmates, still ring in my ears. She said I was just that bad. I threw the whole class off key. Words do sting and the sting is still being felt some 30 years later. So when the Lord told me that he wanted me to sing again before I went into the message, I was not happy. But I slowly walked over to the pianist and asked her if she knew the song that was ringing in my head. Sanctuary. It is my favorite and it does calm the fears . . . a little. But getting started, gets my pulse to racing and my mouth began to get dry and cakey, like I got cotton balls. But I did it, right there in front of this congregation of Bahamians. And they joined in with me. God really does give us courage to stand when we think that we cannot and like the scriptures say it is in our weakness that he is strong.

Bahamas-bound and still no sermon. . .

Okay, so my friend is driving me to the airport when he asks whether I am excited about my trip -- this journey that I will be taking to the Bahamas for the next 10 days to study evangelism and mission. I say that I am, a little. Honestly, I’m still stressing over the message I am to deliver tomorrow. It’s not done. I have snippets and bits of information that I feel God wants me to share, but the overall message, I’m still struggling with. “Seeking Jesus in the Midst of Chaos” seems to be the theme that God has me dealing with. I'm trying to figure just how the Magi in Matthew 2:1-10 teaches us how to look for the light and hope in the midst of darkness. I'm pretty certain this is what God wants me to talk about. For one, I can relate being that I too am in sort of a dark place. I'm a firm believer that the message is always for the messenger first and the people second. But yet, I struggle. Am I understanding the text the way I should? Will it speak to the people and meet the needs of what they are dealing with as they move into this new year? Will they receive me?

A weeks ago, another friend told me that knowing my audience really didn’t matter. He said that I simply needed to trust God. Easier said than done. Even a friend of mine who has strayed away from the Lord told me that. I’ve been trying. I’m usually done by now and have the outline of the message pulled together. By this time, I have rehearsed the message a number of times and even read it to my mother to get her feedback on its delivery and flow. On this one, my first international ministering experience, I feel alone. This uncertainty makes me nervous as I want to deliver the message that will meet the people’s needs. My colleagues tell me things will be fine. It’s going to be a long night . . .

PROBLEM SOLVED . . . AROUND 9 p.m.

As it would turn out, the night wasn’t as long as I thought. Instead of me not going to bed at all, I fell in around 3 a.m. (I had to be up and ready by 7 a.m. to take a 2-hour ferry ride to Spanish Wells so I could catch another ferry to the “Bluff” to get to the church.) Had it not been for Rev. Charles Lewis, I can’t rightly say what would have happened. I was so moved by his offer to welcome me into his home so that I could finish and print out my sermon for Sunday. It was just what I needed. As soon as I got there it was as though the message just poured out on the pages. God does work behind the scenes and goes before us. Now why I can’t seem to remember that or why that doesn’t just rest me with me, I don’t know.

Grace and mercy following me

There is something to be said about grace and mercy. I truly give it credit for helping me through my first semester. Cause it really wasn't me! I'm glad to say I ended it -- a week ago -- with two A's and a B- (you know this had to be Old Testament! There was that time I went on that reading strike, remember? Never really did quite recover. When you lose ground here, it's almost impossible to regain your footing. You just pick up from where you are.)

Just four short months ago, I was wondering if I would even make it through. My head was dizzy from trying to remember the two accounts of the creation and flood stories and how they relate to the Ancient Near Eastern accounts, the make up of the Holiness Code, the Sinai and Davidic covenants and which Biblical scholar said what about Joshua and the battle of Jericho and whether the walls of the city really did come tumbling down. The teachings of Martin Luther King, Jr., Ghandi, Walter Wink and his perspective on the Powers and their place within the Domination System fought for space in my brain as I struggled with doubt, battled insecurities about my intellect, my writing ability (if you can believe it) and waivered in my faith.

I sat in classes not knowing what the hell people were saying, barely slept at night and produced papers, almost consistently, at the 11th hour. And even now, I wonder if anything really stuck. Some say it'll make sense by my third year. Let's hope so!

In the midst of all of that, I've attempted to make sense of where my new found ministry -- the homeless and destitute -- will lead me. I question how my experience there will manifest itself in my overall ministry. I wonder if I should already be designing some sort of ministry. And I battle with feelings of angst and disappointment at the current systems which seems to perpetuate what I see rather than offer solid solutions. The encounters prompt me to want to act. Maybe because I've come to realize they could be me. Maybe because I realize they -- at some point in their life -- was someone like me. They just fell on hard times. In seminary we recognize these calls to action as an epiphany of recruitment -- the point at which you feel compelled to respond to a need of humanity. And lately, my sensitivity meter has been so keen that it's had me nearly crying in Publix at the site of deli workers tossing hours old Rotisserie chicken in the trash.

Now that I think about it, maybe that's what part of me being here is all about -- learning how to recognize the voice of the world calling for help and me being prepared to respond. Maybe it's not really all about which stories in the Bible are fables, sages or short stories, a narrative or whether the event happened in the postexilic or exilic period. Maybe all of this is really about the overall ministry experience, a preparation for what is to come. I used to think I knew where God was leading me, now I'm not so sure. But after what I witnessed this semester, I know at least grace and mercy will be on the heels of my tennis shoes.

I'm counting on it to be there when I stand in that pulpit on January 4 in the Bahamas. Cause at this point, only God knows what I'm going to say.

Breezing through the night . . .

People think when you're in school you have time on your hands. You really don't, but I took some time last night to do something out of the ordinary -- at least for me. In the late night hour, around 10:30 p.m. (after I left work) I took off on a motorscooter with one of my seminary friends flying . . . or riding high through the streets of downtown Atlanta and it felt GREAT!!! There I was in the cold of the night making my way, rounding curves down Ponce de Leon when I thought to myself, "I am actually riding on the back of this thing on my way to I have no idea where." For a moment, I thought about the reading assignment I had to complete for my 9:30 a.m. class and the radio interview I needed to listen to. I thought about how this had to be one of the craziest things I've done. And in the next moment, the thoughts vanished. This ride, which was supposed to last 45 minutes turned into a 2 1/2 hour adventure. We stopped by a place to watch the rest of the Cleveland Browns football game and the Portland basketball game. We later drove to Barley's to shoot two games of pool (I'm pissed that I lost!) before jumping back on our bike to ride out again.

It was a freedom I haven't experienced in a while since being here. For just those few hours, I forgot about the responsibilities, the obligations, the late night hour and even the cold breeze of the dark night and just lived. For just a few hours, as James Baldwin suggested in his novel Fire Next Time, I took notice of what everybody else was doing and went in the opposite direction.

And it felt sooooo good!

Obama win means . . .

Here is what I know for sure now that Obama is President:

That today, I ceased to be invisible because when the world looks at Barak and Michelle Obama, they will see me.

That today, I ceased to be irrelevant.

That today, my voice is no longer inaudible.