Phillip's 2003 Journal Letters

Click here to read Phillip's Journal Letters from 2002 and 2004

Chepsekunya Visit

Journal Letter #253

19 April 2003

I last visited Chepsikunya Church of Christ in August. I had hired a lorry to carry members from about 10 churches along the road up to Chepsikunya, which is fairly isolated by distance from other churches (something I have never done before). The church there has historically been weak—struggling to function on their own and always asking for handouts, but I hoped that the fellowship would encourage them to stand up on their own. When we arrived, the self-proclaimed elder of the church was sick at home and unable to sit up by himself. After the other church leaders gathered around him and prayed, he got up, walked to the church, and worshiped with us. But evidently God’s mercy did not touch his heart, because he asked for money before we left and has not even been showing up for services since then.

Today (Sunday, April 13), the crowd was small. I counted 16 adults, and eight of them rode in the car with me from other places. Two young men were trying to lead the church in the absence of the “elder.” After the lesson, nine came forward for prayer. I was surprised and encouraged that only two had physical problems; the others wanted greater faith, forgiveness for sins, and prayer for strife in the home. One of the two young men leading the church got on his knees and asked for God to anoint him to serve the church, help in overcoming anger, and forgiveness for his sins. I called the other church leaders who had come with me to join me in praying for him.

There was truly a different atmosphere in the room after we finished praying. People were smiling, clapping, and praising God! I had seen two children wearing charms (to protect them from childhood illnesses, demons, etc.), so I stood up with my Leatherman scissors and offered to cut off any charms and replace them with prayers for God’s protection rather than reliance on local spirits. The mothers of both babies quickly brought them forward, and I cut off six charms and tossed them aside. Both mothers were smiling and seemed to be full of faith that God was enough to protect their children.

Please pray for the church at Chepsikunya. The land is semi-arid, and most people do not farm. They used to keep cattle, but Karamojong raiders have stolen their cows. Now their main source of livelihood comes from cutting down thorn trees and turning them into charcoal. The whole area seems dry: spiritually as well as physically. But the central cluster has been sending evangelists up to this area, and three of them came with me from Mbale. With their ministry and renewed obedience and prayer from the members at Chepsikunya, I believe that something good is about to happen. God can make streams run in the desert.

Copyright Phillip & Laura Shero 2003
 

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Timothy's Testimony

Journal Letter #248

15 March, 2003

I hear some really fantastic things in the village. My African brethren constantly challenge my thoughts on how big God is and what he can do. As we sat around Zakaria’s and Agnes’ table, my trekking partner, Timothy Wamalwa, told me his own personal testimony—how he came to know Jesus Christ. Timothy is one of the most trustworthy church leaders in the Kitale area. Shawn had no qualms when he appointed him and Peter Simotwo to visit all the churches in the region to teach FTF (Foundational Teachings of Faith—the first two-day seminar in our church curriculum), and I agreed wholeheartedly with his choice. I hope that you will not think him strange when you read his story, paraphrased below to the best of my memory. I have heard dozens very similar to it. May it challenge you as well.


“I was a very bad man in my youth. I smuggled cigarettes and marijuana across the border from Kenya to Uganda. I ran with a very rough crowd. I knew that if the police ever caught me, I would go to prison. So I decided that if I were caught, I would shoot and kill the policemen before they could bring me in.

“My family was not Christian, but I knew what I was doing was wrong. But I was making too much money to stop. I began doing worse and worse things. Then one day, my mother went mad. People came and told me that my mother was insane. When I got home, I found that it was true. She would run away and be gone from the house for a long time. Sometimes she would take off her clothes and run around naked. We took her to every doctor we could find, but no one could help her. We even took her to the witchdoctor, but she did not get better. I really loved my mom, and it tore me up that she was mad.

“One day, my brother came to tell me about a man who was in our area (circa 1981). People said that when he prayed, sick people got well and even the insane were cured. I would do anything for my mother, so I went to find him. When I found him, he preached the gospel to me. He said that he would not even come to pray unless we accepted Jesus. I did not know if he could cure my mother or not, but I was willing to do anything. So I accepted Jesus and got saved. I wanted him to come to our home, but he said it was enough if he prayed from where we were.

“As I was going home, I got news that my mother was well. I could not believe it! When I reached home, she was wearing clothes and speaking normally. Then I really knew that Jesus was my Lord. I fellowshipped with some believers in my area for a while after that, and I changed my business to selling seeds instead of cigarettes. I was also baptized.

“A short time later, I had a dream. In my dream, I was told to go to a friend who lived several miles away and worship with him. The dream was very strong. So I got up the next day and went to find him. He lived about 20 miles from my home. When I reached there, he said that he had stopped leading the church because of a quarrel. He was now just sitting at home. But when I told him my dream, he agreed to go back to the church. I prayed from there for a long time and even began preaching.

“At one conference, I heard a man preach on James 4:1 that not many should presume to be teachers. I had been teaching a lot, but that lesson convicted me that I should not teach. That lesson disturbed me for a long time. Then later, I heard about a mission that was working in Kitale. They wanted people to come and be trained as teachers in their program. All the church members in my church told me that I was the one to go. At first, I was not willing to go because of the scripture that said I should not teach. But they forced me to go. I said in my heart that even if I go to learn, I will never teach.

“But at that course, Shawn Tyler and his coworkers taught us so well (c1984). I learned so much and wondered if I might really teach again. When I got home, the church members convinced me that I was called as a teacher and was not presuming to teach. So I began from there to teach and preach the gospel in many places.

“That is how I came to know Jesus and began serving him.”

Copyright Phillip & Laura Shero 2003

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Baptisms at Bulobi

Journal Letter #243
8 February 2003

The trip went much faster on the improved sandy gravel road out to Bulobi, one of the most distant churches in Bugisu. Dad drove with Eddie Stinson in the front while Mom, Marilyn, and I squeezed into the back seat. We began looking for a church-like structure as we passed the signpost for Bulobi Primary School. Though the church began in 1998, this was my first time to visit them since they moved their building to a new plot.

There was no one in the building when I walked up to check if it was the right one, but I could tell that someone had been there earlier in the morning to sweep and unlock the bright blue wooden doors and windows. Their new shelter was nearly twice as big as the first one and neatly plastered. On the back mud wall was a hand-written sign that read: “NOTICE BOARD.” Below it were several tracts from our office in Mbale and a schedule for church meetings. I was surprised and pleased to see that they were using their building almost every day—several Bible study times a week plus prayers for special groups (moms) and the regular service times.

We walked across the narrow gravel road to watch some local men making bricks. Two were in the back stomping sticky black mud to mix it. Two were slapping mud into wooden forms and packing it down, and two were digging up fresh dirt and mixing it with water to make more brick mud. As I was explaining the process to Eddie and Marilyn, Saferio (one of the church leaders at Bulobi) walked up and greeted us. He told us that most of the workers were Christians from the area—one from Bulobi church of Christ.

Soon, several other church leaders were gathering, and we enjoyed hugs, handshakes, and reunions after our four-month furlough. Joseph Watulo reported that two more churches had joined the cluster in my absence. Saferio told me about a new church plant and several recent conversions. Many had come on this day for a final lesson before their baptisms.

I taught a lesson Shawn developed entitled, “Seven Reasons to be Baptized,” using hand-signs to help them remember the points. Baptism is a sticking point for many new believers because so many of them were “baptized” as infants in Catholic or Anglican churches. There is also an almost sub-conscious knowledge that baptism signals a real commitment and a change in lifestyle. For that reason, many families will allow family members to participate in “church” in every way as long as they are not baptized. They know that once someone is baptized, he or she will not continue in pagan rituals of remembering the dead, circumcision, and others.

In spite of the obstacles, 11 people were immersed into Christ following the lesson. Many of them will be going back to school on Monday and will need your prayers to remain faithful to their new Master. One woman also brought her two-week-old daughter for dedication. Her husband is not a believer, so I encouraged her with God’s word from 1 Corinthians 7:12-14. The church leaders gathered around and placed their hands on mother and daughter as I prayed for God to protect little Lillian from Satan, sickness, and injury.

While we were down at the river, the youth group’s goat gave birth to a kid. Harding Academy and University students raised money last year to buy goats for Ugandans. The youth group at Bulobi received one of the goats, and they were ecstatic that it had “produced” while we were there. They saw it as a sign of God’s blessing on our visit and teaching (the same way they viewed the blessing of rain that “interrupted” my lesson for half an hour).

…I have to agree with them that God blessed the day!

Copyright 2003 Phillip & Laura Shero

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Armies of the Flesh

Journal Letter #267
26 July 2003

Many of you are aware of the terrorist group, Lord’s Resistance Army, that has spread fear and destruction indiscriminately over much of northern Uganda. Funded out of Khartoum (Sudan’s capital), this band of thugs routinely raids villages—burning huts, stealing livestock and household goods, raping women, killing randomly, maiming others, and abducting children to be re-programmed into cold-hearted soldiers. Though they have not been able to operated as far south as Mbale, many of our churches live within their reach. And lately, the Christians have not escaped the destruction of the LRA.

Below I’ve copied a letter we received from a delegation of church leaders in the districts north of Mbale. Our immediate response to them was a smallish aid package of $250. It is difficult to know how and when to help at this point, since the LRA has been raiding widely outside of its normal territory. We don’t know whether it is safe to go up and help yet or not. We still have some funds on hand for terrorism relief efforts, so this is not a plea for help (though any donation will be put to good use). Nor do I wish to alarm you about our safety (we have no reason to believe that they will ever reach Mbale). Rather, my purpose in writing is to solicit your prayers and to make you aware of the suffering of your brothers and sisters in Uganda (Hebrews 13:3).

The Missionaries
Churches of Christ
P.O. Box 1790
Mbale Mission Team

RE: REQUEST FOR ANY HELP:

Dear brothers in Christ, we greet you in the Lord’s name.

On behalf of Christians of the above mentioned areas, we write to ask for any assistance as the churches have suffered in a problem caused by Kony rebels who came and surrounded the villages and even abducted young children of 8-15 years of age. These rebels took the households
[possessions] almost in every home, e.g. saucepans, clothes, plus goats and hens.

Some children have been abducted in the following churches:
1.In Odukurun, 1 have been abducted.
2.In Akello church, 6 have been abducted.
3.In Obalanga, 4 have been abducted.
4.In Agigiroi and Omaria, the number is not yet known.

The churches whose names don’t appear in this letter could manage to escape with their children to Soroti Town whereby the situation is very difficult.

*We ask for your prayers to help our brother, Pastor Owino John from Obalanga NTCC who was caught, beaten, and taken for 2 days but escaped.

Signed by:

[16 church leaders from at least 4 districts]

NOTE: I asked today (12 Aug) if any of the children had escaped or been found, and they said that the local "home guard" militia had rescued some children, but 14 more had been abducted--no count on how many church members rescued or abducted in the second raid.

Copyright Phillip & Laura Shero 2003

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All the News that’s Fit to Print

Journal Letter #269
9 August 2003

Cultural differences are obvious out in the village. Men hold hands as a sign of friendship. Women kneel to greet a visitor. And children are strapped to their mothers’ backs with a short piece of cloth all day. But Uganda is developing so rapidly in the cities that some cultural lines are beginning to blur. Internet cafés are almost as common as gas stations in the capital city, and fashions are blending more and more towards the West. However, a cursory look at the national newspaper
quickly reminds me that we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto. Here are a few of the headlines and stories from the August 7 issue of THE NEW VISION that illustrate the difference between Ugandan and American worldviews…

Homo Bishop Splits Church (front page)
I’m sure that most of you have heard that the Episcopal Church in America (a branch of the Anglican Church, which is represented here in the Church of Uganda) recently consecrated an openly practicing homosexual as a diocesan bishop in New Hampshire. But I bet you didn’t read or hear the word, “homo,” in any news report in America. Most East Africans still regard homosexuality as aberrant and offensive. Homosexual behavior is a criminal offense in Uganda that is punished
severely up to the present day. The article reported that, “the COU [Church of Uganda] bishops had already written to the Archbishop of Canterbury warning that they would not have any fellowship with a diocese that allows consecration or ordination of homosexuals and homosexual marriages.” The paper went on to cite bishops with similar views in Australia and Asia—indicating that Ugandan views towards homosexuality were more representative of world opinion than American views, a position that is likely supported by the facts. While many Christians in America have been so overwhelmed with “alternative lifestyle” propaganda that they feel helpless, Christians in other
parts of the world feel differently and are adamantly opposing the legitimization of homosexual behavior.

Boda boda attack thugs (page 3)
This article is not quite clear as to who killed who or how many died, but it does report that two thugs stole a motorcycle from a “boda boda” (bicycle taxi) man. His fellow cyclist rioted. At least one thug was killed. Either the thug or the hapless boda boda man was set on fire, and the police had a gunfight with the whole melee for about two hours. Vigilante justice and police brutality are both much more serious problems here in Uganda than in America.

Letter to the Editor (page 9)
A man from Kapchorwa District (just north of Mbale) wrote to complain that the new road construction in his area did not go all the way around the mountain. He claimed that the rains make the road nearly impassible and that most children had never seen a car. He groused that an airplane passenger could get to London from Uganda faster than a person in his area could reach the border less than 30 miles away. But what got my attention was his next statement, “I fear to die during the
rainy season because none of my friends from other places will bury me.” Believe it or not, this is his most serious complaint. I laughed at his airplane comparison, but I imagine most Ugandans would be nodding soberly at the problem of people not being able to be at his funeral. After all, the mourners affect his eternal destiny.

Work halted on Nebbi road (page 17)
A road construction crew was left with nothing to do after thieves
broke in at night and stole a $7,500 piece of equipment essential to
building a bridge. The project manager suspended work because replacing
the equipment would “take us sometimes.” Just another reason why there
are so many potholes in Africa.

Beauty in the eyes of society (page 22)
An article on the upcoming Miss Uganda pageant lists qualities prized
by different tribes as beautiful: big calves, a gap in the upper teeth,
stretch marks from weight gain, and physical strength.

Ntenjeru sprouts from vanilla seeds (page 30)
The article begins by describing the dramatic economic changes brought
about by vanilla farming in a rural area. Vanilla is a relatively new
cash crop to be introduced into Uganda, and it yields an incredible
amount of money for former poverty-level farmers. Positive changes
mentioned are: brick and mortar houses replacing mud and grass thatch,
parents being able to pay school fees for their children, and going to
pop music concerts in the capital. One man was quoted saying, “Let’s go
and party, after all vanilla has changed our lives.” Negative changes
are also cited: homes breaking up, men marrying second wives instead of
investing their wealth, and people drinking beer day and night.

Copyright Phillip & Laura Shero 2003

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Ladies on the Loose

Journal Letter #270
For the week ending: 16 August 2003

One by one, women waved goodbye to their husbands and children and boarded taxis, climbed on bicycles, or just began walking towards Mbale Thursday morning. They were coming for a special training seminar to learn how to teach other women in their area churches. Since the beginning of our mission work in Uganda, our team has emphasized training and empowering men to serve in almost every capacity that we ourselves serve. But discipleship with women is a bit more complicated. In Ugandan households, men hold all the money and are usually the only ones to travel outside the homestead and local market. Men have the bicycles, the education, and the finances to reach Mbale for leadership courses—women typically don’t. Women do all the cooking, cleaning, and child-rearing, which makes their absence from the home for three days a major crisis for the unprepared husbands. But after petitioning Heaven and pleading for guidance, Laura attempted something that I have not heard of in any rural African mission work before: equip a large group of women and send them out to teach in other churches besides their own. This is the report she gave to our team… Report on Women's Training Seminar, August 14-16 Nineteen women attended my invitation-only training seminar on the first 4 lessons of the Jesus: The Way to God lesson series. This lesson series follows the Fruits of the Spirit series. Five tribes and six languages were represented: Bagwere—3, Teso—1, Japadhola—1, MCC--3 (1 Mugwere and 2 Ateso), Bagisu—10, and Kenya—1. Every woman that I invited attended the meeting, without exception. Since this was not a for-credit MTI course, I paid for the food, and all the women paid their own transport to and from the meeting. Not one request was made for transport! The meeting went well and everyone had a positive attitude. Language was a slight difficulty. I taught in English, since all the women spoke at least a little (I printed the lessons in all their own languages). Discussion times were translated back and forth between the various languages. The discussion times were, in my opinion, the best part of the seminar. The ladies were open and sincere with each other. They shared freely their past struggles and praised God for victories he had won over sin in their lives. Their stories were encouraging both to me and to their fellow Africans. During the seminar, we made plans for the 2003 Ladies Meeting, which will be October 9-11 at MCC. I will be teaching one lesson, and the ladies have asked for Alfred to cook, but otherwise they will be in charge of the schedule and teaching. They agreed that normal registration fees and transport policies should apply! Eight clusters were represented at the seminar, and the ladies who attended have agreed to be responsible for teaching the other designated teachers in their clusters. Clusters not represented (Kakoro, Iyowa, Tororo North, Busiu, and Bwikhonge) have already had someone from the seminar assigned to them. This takes a large part of the teaching burden out of my hands and frees me to do more lesson preparation and printing. The ladies’ major request was to have teaching materials in their language in their hands. They said they feel confident to teach and are willing to teach if they can just be given the lessons. My plan now with my lightened teaching load is to work on getting the entire lesson series translated and printed. The ladies were very thankful for the teaching and food and declared the meeting a great success.

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Church of Christ Refugees

Journal Letter #271
For the week ending: 23 August 2003

Whole families passed me going the other way—caravans carrying children, cassava in sacks, and metal trunks on their backs, on their heads, and on their overloaded bicycles. As I neared Soroti Town (60 miles north of Mbale), the road closed in with pedestrians and bicycles in slow-moving chaos. Some were fleeing the overcrowded township for impromptu refugee camps further south, others were busy carting foodstuffs to sell to the thousands of displaced families who were suddenly without their equivalent of an American pantry—their gardens and fields. You may have heard about the so-called “Lord’s Resistance Army” (LRA), a terrorist group led by Joseph Kony, in northern Uganda. Or perhaps you read my journal letter about them a few weeks ago (#267). This past Sunday I drove an hour on paved roads up to Soroti to investigate what was happening. Particularly, I wanted to find any of our church members who were affected and connect them with a group of children who arrived on our church doorstep in Mbale unannounced and bewildered Saturday evening. I had been invited to visit a new church in Lira District (two hours further north), but the army had not yet secured the road, and I was strongly counseled against going. Indeed, a taxi was shot up and the passengers murdered on that road two days after I would have traveled it. My truck was full: David Obote (a church leader from Lira) in front, Difasi Wamayi (rural church leader) and Patrick (teenage son of an Mbale church of Christ member) in the back seat with three other teenagers, and seven younger children with all their luggage in the bed. Their father and mother had not come with them or sent a letter to us, and we had no idea what to do with them. As we drove through Soroti Town, every church, school, and government building had been turned into a campsite for hundreds to thousands of refugees fleeing Kony’s terrorist army. Ugandan soldiers and military vehicles were everywhere, but no one seemed to be in charge of the homeless masses of humanity. I decided to start at the police station (Difasi Wamayi is a reserve police officer in Mbale). After we explained our purpose, a policeman got in the truck with us and led us to five different camps looking for anyone the children or we knew. At the fifth camp, we found some people who knew several of our church members. I unloaded the kids and left Patrick with them to wait for our Christians while I took the officer back to the station. When we arrived, he gave me the phone number of an MP (Member of Parliament—similar to a congressman) who was supposed to be in town. In fact, he was in Kampala, but the President himself and many other MP’s were in Soroti. When I called the first MP, he put me in touch with another MP who invited me to meet with him. Difasi and I went to the MP’s hotel after we dropped David at the bus stop so that he could get back to Lira. We met the MP with the RDC (equivalent to a governor) and several of their senior staff members. Their official count included 119,000 Displaced Persons in Soroti Town. They estimate three months minimum before people can be re-settled. While the Ugandan Army is working to secure all the refugee camps and population centers, the villages are deserted. I believe that ALL of our churches in Kaberamaido and Soroti districts are in Soroti Town. That means approximately 500-1,000 church members could be refugees. New camps open daily in town. The officials listed their top immediate needs: sanitation (latrines and clean water), food, blankets, medicine (malaria, cough, skin), health workers, and mosquito nets. They fear outbreaks of malaria, diarrhea, and skin infections as more and more people overwhelm the limited facilities in Soroti. They are also afraid for the deaths of the elderly, children, and infirm—they have no place to bury them (Ugandans bury their dead on the homestead). Later on, they will need home items to replace those burnt or stolen and building materials to rebuild homes. I took down several phone numbers and plan to coordinate our help by communicating with the Disaster Management Committee as well as our church leaders. Though the government is working as hard as they can, no one is in charge—chaos reigns everywhere. There are just too many people to manage. Though I was amazed myself at the appalling conditions, I made no promises except the following: to use our small refugee funds remaining to help, to ask for more from help from our supporters, and keep in contact with officials. This could eventually open a huge door for us in Soroti area. As I left that meeting, one of our church leaders (who is, ironically, under discipline for mismanagement of church funds and divisive behavior) met me at the gate of the hotel. He led us to the camp where many of our church members have settled. I was able to go and get the children from the other camp and settle them temporarily with other Christians. But the situation is dire—they have no way of getting food except for others to bring it in from the outside. Pray for your brothers and sisters in Soroti.

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Rakai-Awesome!

Journal Letter #272
For the week ending: 30 August 2003
 

Night Jasmine is the most exotic natural fragrance, rivaled only by Robusta coffee blossoms. As we walked down through the valley, the aroma wafted on the breeze and then surrounded us. Blocky stones littered the slopes of Kyiya, "prayer mountain," ahead of us. Half an hour later, sweat soaking our shirts and running in rivers down our cheeks, we reached the top of the highest point in Rakai District.

The wind rushing across the hilltop reminded me of the presence of God's Holy Spirit as we sought his favor for our efforts. Nine church leaders and a lone white guy clasped hands in a circle and prayed for the future of Christ's Kingdom in Uganda. If that future bears any resemblance to the past five years, it will be stunning to see. In 1998, Laura and I were the first missionaries from Mbale to visit Rakai. Since that time, several from our team have come, but most of the labor has been done by Ugandan missionaries sent by their home clusters in partnership with the missionaries.

When I arrived this time, Stephen and Herbert had already been hard at work for a week. The day before, they had chosen to visit a new area instead of resting. Before they came, there was not even one church in the whole parish. Now, there are 16 baptized believers and 30 others who accepted the message as true.

The last half hour of our hike down the mountain was in total darkness. Scattered clouds hid the sliver of moon that barely allowed me to discern my dockers from the dirt path. Several Christians from
neighboring churches had arrived early for the cluster meeting the next morning, so we all made our beds in the mud and grass church building. They were amazed at the contraption I pulled out of a small sack--my one-man sleeping tent (with mosquito netting) created quite a stir when I set it up. One elderly man said, "If I saw that in my garden, I would turn and run!"

Kerosene shadows jumped and stretched on the walls while the church leaders sat in animated conversation. Stephen and Herbert have truly grown in their missionary role: both of them have had to learn a new language, Luganda, in order to minister in this district far from their homes. I couldn't understand a thing, but they were deep in discussion wih the local brothers.

When the talk subsided, my copy of the New Vision (newspaper) provided the main entertainment of the evening. Stephen passed around handfuls of roasted maize to snack on.

Just as I was about to drift off, my host informed me that my bath was ready. Outside, I found a basin with about a gallon of warm water sitting in the grass 15 feet from the church building and five feet
from the path. I bathed in the open (thankful now for the micro-moon) as my host stood watching in case I needed anything. All I needed was to keep my boxers on!

Before we reached Lusolo that afternoon, we had driven down to the Tanzanian border 10 miles to the south. A few small shops and an open-air customs office barely interrupted the endless flow of grass to make a political statement (this side is Uganda--that side is Tanzania). Without any papers or questions, I walked across the border to stand on Tanzanian soil. Already, our evangelists have five churches to visit on the TZ side, and they are busy planting more. Someday, perhaps, I will drive across and see what God has done with the seeds we've sown in "good and honest hearts."

Shawn says that the more distant works are healthier, and I believe I agree. Rakai churches get almost no benevolent help from Mbale. We do help them with some of their transport to Mbale for leadership courses, but they have to pay the first 8,000/= Uganda Shillings (about 2-3 days wages). One example of this healthy independence is Lusolo church of Christ's building plan. They have already expanded their tiny church building to twice its original size (now 12'X35'), but that is still
too small for them. On Monday, they will dig the foundation of a structure nearly three times that size. They asked no help from me, but I contributed $7.50 to transport firewood to burn the bricks they have made themselves.

I was pleased to worship with about 70 others in the cluster meeting Sunday morning. And it was a real joy to share the Lord's Supper with them--a sign of their growth from a "candidate church" to an "infant church." On our way out, I dropped the preacher off in a trading center so that he could reach another preaching point where we hope to establish a church.

There is so much more I could tell you, but this will sufficed for you to know that God is good. He has done great things.


Copyright 2003 Phillip & Laura Shero

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Restocking the Storeroom

Journal letter #255
For the week of: 3 May 2003

This spring I have been blessed with the opportunity to take two graduate level classes from Abilene Christian University. I attended the first course on campus for five intense days at the end of our
furlough this January. Drs. John and Wendell Willis (no relation) taught Biblical Exegesis eight hours a day, which is (as my three-year-old would say), “all the exegesis we need!” Over the next few months in Mbale, I researched and wrote two papers to complete the requirements for that class.

But while I was still on campus, I picked up an ACU t-shirt. All my ancestors going back almost to Abraham attended Abilene, and I kicked up a few waves when I enrolled at Harding in that “other state” to the east of Texas 10 years ago. I quickly confess that I love the geography and populace of Arkansas. Harding is still the number one school in our brotherhood in my book. But I did take delight in returning to my father’s and grandfather’s alma mater. I also enjoyed confusing our summer interns: donning Harding apparel one day and ACU the next!

I attended my second class as an electronic student. Dr. Ian Fair (former African missionary) taught Revelation for a school in Texas from his home in Colorado to students in such distant realms as Eastern Uganda. Sitting at my computer terminal, I read his lecture notes, completed my homework assignments, and fired off discussion questions to the whole “class.” I must admit that I learned much more about Revelation than I had expected, and I ended up with an “A” for the course. But I truly missed the personal interaction of a physical classroom. My previous professors can attest to my enjoyment of asking questions that ensure extended detours from their notes. How else could I learn what they weren’t planning to tell me? (What would the author of the seven letters to Asia think about email?)

These two classes brought me closer to my goal of earning a Master’s degree in theology—a project I began seven years ago in Ft. Worth. There are several reasons for me to continue this academic pursuit, not the least of which concerns qualification to teach in the Christian University we hope to see established in Uganda. But before and beyond that, I never want to stop learning or considering myself a student. Rigorous, academic Bible study challenges me in unique ways and opens my mind and spirit to new understanding.

Another reason perhaps goes without saying—graduate school studies make me a better teacher and missionary now. Jesus said, “Every teacher of the law who has been instructed about the kingdom of heaven is like the owner of a house who brings out of his storeroom new treasures as well as old” (Mt 13:52). Even teachers need to be instructed so that their storeroom does not get stale and musty.

I have certainly enjoyed bringing out some new treasures lately. One of that has been very helpful in addressing a particular concern here in Uganda. And Revelation continues to influence my prayers and preaching in ways surprising to me. (Not to mention how it has helped me deal with the modern day persecuted church in Northern Uganda and Sudan.)

From the very beginning, our sponsors have given me approval and encouragement to continue my studies whenever possible. Our first eldership responded to my request to take grad courses by saying, “Phillip, we would be more upset if you didn’t!” I am thankful for their vision. May we all never stop sitting at the feet of the Teacher.

Copyright 2003 Phillip & Laura Shero

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Extending the Bible School

Journal letter #273
For the week of: 6 September 2003

Extension Campus "What can we learn from this experience?" Whenever you hear that question, you can guess that the experience was not quite what you had expected! Such was the case this week when Laura and I went out to teach a course at Mayenze. When we first came to Uganda, all of our courses were taught out in the village--in any structure we could commandeer: churches, schools, gov't buildings, warehouses... You can imagine our excitement in 1999 when we finished construction of a multi-purpose auditorium (35' X 70') in Mbale Town. Our total attendance at any one course increased dramatically, but we lost many students who could either not afford the transport or understand the languages used in town. After several years of increasingly more organized and successful courses in Mbale, we initiated this year the extension campus program. Our desire was to give village church leaders the same chance to learn as those who had more money and education. Mayenze was our guinea pig. Since our funds are limited, we decided not to subsidize extension courses, believing that the savings in transport costs and food (cheaper in teh villages) would offset our own "scholarships." That part seems to have worked well. Mayenze hosted the course without any help from the mission: feeding and housing all students with the small fees they collected. This is a major step forward towards independence from the white missionaries. However, not everything went so smoothly. 62 people had signed a list saying that they were coming to learn, and dozens more gave verbal promises. We printed 120 student notebooks to meet the anticipated demand (Mayenze had hosted courses in the old days that exceeded 100 students). But on Thursday when we stood up to teach, only 14 people were in the room with us. Five or six more joined us before lunch on Friday. Though we usually start by 2:00p in Mbale on the first day of teaching, we didn't even stand up to sing until 4 o'clock in the afternoon. And after lunch on Friday, the whole course broke up for over an hour to go and attend the burial of an infant who had died the day before in a nearby village (daughter of a church member). On the positive side, we had one representative each from three of the other four clusters in Mbale District, and one man came all the way from Tororo Town. they all learned material that is potentially life changing for their homes and churches. Mayenze church of Christ had done a good job of physical preparation including borrowing 18 desks from a nearby school. But on the negative side, Laura and I would not have given up three days to teach less than 20 people a course (when we normally have 80-110). Not that we are too important, but there were many other ways that we could have used our time more effectively. So, what did we learn from this experience? I'll talk to Stephen (one of the Mayenze church leaders) next week and ask him the same question. We continue to pray, try our best to meet the needs of the people, and entrust our efforts to God. Nothing we give him is ever wasted. Copyright 2003 Phillip & Laura Shero Permission is hereby granted to: forward this email, post it to a website, print it for church bulletin boards, re-print it in church bulletins, or re-print it in other non-profit missions or church related periodicals. All other rights reserved.

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Help Wanted: Youth Ministry In Africa

Journal letter #274
For the week ending: 13 September 2003

Are you hungry to serve Jesus in such a way as to touch thousands of lives and homes? Are you ready to pioneer a completely new way of reaching out to young people? Are you dreaming of a ministry that would change the destiny of an entire nation? Are you looking for a spiritual challenge that will take everything you've got and then force you into total daily dependence on the Lord?

If you felt stirred as you read these words, perhaps God is preparing you to minister to the youth of Africa.

Here in Mbale, God is pushing us out of our comfort zones to consider the generational needs of our mission field. Traditional church of Christ mission works in Africa have focused on church planting and leadership training. Both of these are critical to the development of indigenous African churches. However, there has been very little ministry directed squarely at the single largest sector of the East
Africa population: youth.

This is a startling oversight on the part of most of us missionaries. But it is one we can no longer afford to ignore. The median age of the entire Ugandan population is around 15. That means that nearly half the people living in the country now are teenagers! And in Uganda, a boy or girl is considered a "youth" until he or she is married (usually early 20s for girls, late 20s to early 30s for boys).

Many of these young people are looking for work or trying to finish their education. They were born during or just after Amin's and Obote's reigns of terror. Many of their parents were killed, and many have since died from the AIDS epidemic that swept Uganda during the years of chaos. They were raised by aunts, uncles, grandparents, or no one at all.

Young people 12-25 have generally not been taught the mores and manners of their own culture. They do not know the traditional ways, and they are ignorant of behavioral expectations that were normative just a generation ago. They are caught between two worlds--increasingly enticed by the money, power, and sexuality of the West but without the social constraints of a cohesive culture or extended family.

Many of these young men and women have been thrust into positions of responsibility and leadership in their local churches. They are often raising younger siblings or cousins at home. If they are able to get a job, they are expected to provide for older relatives in the village.

Spiritually, these youth are adrift. Though witchcraft and animism in general are still pervasive in Uganda, the youth have weaker ties to and knowledge of their own cultural practices. But neither have they latched on to Christianity. They are spiritually hungry, but they have absolutely no idea where to go to satisfy that hunger.

To be frank, most of our mission efforts are missing these young people. Our longer-term efforts are geared towards whole churches (where the focus is easily steered towards constructing a building and developing the assembly) and training for preachers and other primary church leaders. Our short-term and campaign efforts may occasionally reach the youth, but they are inconsistent and, well...short. Christ's church is in desperate need of people who have a heart to reach out to
these African youth, feed them solid food, and find out what they need.

Initially, this need could be addressed by several Youth Ministry graduates from some of our brotherhood schools coming for 1-2 years to discover the needs of youth in Uganda and the best ways to meet those needs. Additional workers would could follow in their footsteps with (hopefully) longer term commitments on the field.

We in Mbale already have a great team of co-workers and a well-developed missions strategy. New workers could easily integrate into our existing team without many of the headaches and struggles
faced by new mission teams. Logistical needs like housing, utilities, shopping, etc would be easy to learn from a team already on the field. We could provide spiritual and emotional support through times of cultural adaptation.

Our town church has a developing youth group led by Ugandan believers who would love to have more training and partnership with a dedicated youth worker from the States. Our village ministry has hosted two 3-day youth seminars in town and needs to be developed much, much further. If you think God might be calling you to do the job (or you know someone who might be), write our team and ask for more information.

Please forward this email to any youth minister, youth worker, or college Youth Ministry professor you know!

Copyright 2003 Phillip & Laura Shero

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A Hole in the Road

Journal letter #275
For the week ending: 20 September 2003

There’s a hole in the middle of the road.
There’s a hole in the middle of the road.
There’s a hole.
There’s a hole.
There’s a hole in the middle of the road.

Village ministry is not the precise sort of business that conforms neatly to Daytimers and Palm Pilots. Though we do our best to plan village visits in advance: dates, times, directions, who to pick up on the way, informing the local Christians…we nevertheless fail to achieve that gold standard of predictability. Days are sometimes double-scheduled, church leaders get sick, directions that seemed clear on Tuesday in the office turn vague and misleading on Sunday, a “big man” in the village dies and draws everyone in the whole county to his funeral (effectively canceling “church”), and the list—alternately hilarious and unbearable—goes on.

This Sunday was one of those “unpredictable” days.

Due to a communications snafu, I was expected in two different churches (more than an hour apart) at the same time. That generally being difficult for me to accomplish, I did what you might expect: drive around in circles looking for someone else to go in my place. I did manage to pick up a young man from the town church who wanted to go with me (but who had even less of a clue where we were going than I did). Finally, I decided to go back home and get my detailed village map.

Just before I got to my gate, I met Vincent Wekesa who was, praise the Lord, already headed out to the general area of one of my appointments. He agreed to stop by and visit that church for me. And on the way out of town, I met Pulisi Mesusera (Police Methusalah), who happened to be from the area where I was going and could direct me—Hallelujah! Though I was already 35 minutes late, the score was: God-2, Devil-0, and I was feeling fine.

Two and a half hours later, I was not feeling so fine. The church leader who was to meet us on the road and direct us in was nowhere to be found, so we had been forced to pick our way along—village to village—asking, “Do you know where Kakosi is?” Bumping over the worst roads I’d driven in months, we did finally reach Kakosi, which turned out to be deserted. We stopped at the church building, where only four men were gathered. They informed us that all the churches in the area
were having a fellowship at Bumoya—20 kilometers away through the bush. By the time we reached Bumoya, my healthy half tank of gas was drained down to only a few liters. I ignored the sinking feeling in my stomach and went in to enjoy a wonderful church service.

Four congregations (over 150 people!) had gathered and were almost ready to dismiss for lunch when we drove up. Instead, they stayed put for two more sermons and a rousing worship! After lunch, they told us the faster way back to Mbale (only 45 minutes as opposed to the 3 hours we drove on the way in). I seriously doubted that we had enough fuel even to reach the nearest pump. And I had absolutely no cash on me whatsoever (I had used the $5 in my pocket that morning to recharge my
cell phone). I prayed more in the truck than I did in the church building!

We were only three kilometers from the main tarmac road when the hole appeared. It was on a downhill slope, which hid its telltale shadow until we were only a few meters away. It was narrow. It was deep. And it stretched almost all the way across the dirt road.

With a spine-shuddering WHAM!, my front tires entered the hole, and our forward progress ceased with remarkable expediency. Reverse gear was ineffective, but locking in the hubs proved that man’s ingenuity conquers nature’s perversity…or so I thought.

Upon closer inspection, I conceded that nature can be nasty. The upper ball joint on my front left wheel was sheered off—we were going nowhere. Glancing down, I winced to see “NO NETWORK” in my cell phone’s display and climbed up on the hood of my truck to reach for one of those invisible waves of modernity. A passing breeze brought me a few bars of connectivity, and I called home…“HELP!”

A local man pedaled me the final two miles to the road on the back of his bicycle ($0.50) where I waited for Ian and a wrecker. The ancient Land Rover “Breakdown Service” pickup could only manage 45mph on the highway from Mbale, so it was a long wait.

The Three Stooges’ Ugandan cousins climbed out of the “Breakdown” and began chaining my 4WD to the contraption welded in the bed of their pickup. I winced again as they TIED the chains together with a square knot and winched my front tires off the ground. I cringed from my view in Ian’s front seat every time they struggled through a pothole, dragging my truck behind them.

Back on the highway, they could only scrounge up 20-25mph. Our interminable boredom was finally interrupted when the wrecker had a flat (all four tires were bald to begin with). Amazing to no one but
the wrecker crew, their spare was flat, too. Ian put it in the back of his truck, and we drove a few miles down the road to the ONLY service station to have it fixed. The station took so long to repair it that the wrecker guys had time to air up their flat with a borrowed bicycle pump and limp to the station behind us. They quickly mounted the spare and left us with the other flat to fix while they moseyed towards Mbale.

Fortunately, there were no more incidents, and we got home just after 10p. We were able to drop my truck at the local garage on the way, and it was fixed by Wednesday. At the end of the day, the score was as follows:
 

Who could have predicted that?!

Copyright 2003 Phillip & Laura Shero

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Eyes to See

Journal Letter #276
For the week ending: 27 September 2003

“Blessed are those who have eyes to see…” I am thankful for the two good eyes in my head—even more so every year when George and Diana Franklin come to Mbale to give out eyeglasses in Jesus’ Name. This past week we spent in Kenya, testing eyes and distributing glasses in five village churches as well as the Kitale Children’s Home. We left behind over 500 people seeing better than they did before we came! Of all the clinics, I remember Kapsokwonyi the best. Almost 7,000 feet up the side of Mt. Elgon, Kapsokwonyi is surrounded by living utility poles—eucalyptus trees, ramrod straight, towering over our heads. The combination of elevation and shade dropped the temperature down to a delicious low 70s—with an occasional breeze to boot! The church building was constructed entirely out of rough timber planks: smooth on one side and curved on the other. Inside, it was dark and cavernous. Six small windows and one door at the back grudgingly admitted a few feeble rays of light. Some missionaries come to build churches, but on Thursday we came to tear them down! After getting permission from the church leaders, we attacked one wall with a hammer and tamping bar until we had knocked out a door-sized hole up near the pulpit. That portal became our light source for the eye charts as well as the entrance to our clinic. I suppose we were quite a “spectacle” to the crowded villagers who came to watch and then to SEE. Many grey heads and canes and squinty eyes came through that door, and many smiling faces walked out the back. George and Diana have recently organized their 10-year-old ministry into a 501c3, non-profit company called SEE Ministries. This is their sixth trip to Mbale to support the evangelistic work of our team with the compassionate mercy-ministry of giving sight to the blind and visually impaired. SEE Ministries is without doubt the most effective way that we have seen to truly help the less fortunate without fostering dependency. Their service opens doors of opportunity for the gospel and compliments the church’s witness to our loving Lord who saves and heals. Many unbelievers sit in the Franklins’ examination chairs, including a good number of Muslims. On Saturday, one of the local preachers came to me during the clinic and said, “Brother, thank you so much for coming. This clinic will help us so much in evangelism. We purposely invited non-Christians today so that we could share the gospel with them after they get glasses.” Later on, when we had run out of time to see more people, he gave up his own chance to get glasses so that an elderly man could sit in the chair and SEE again. Please remember George and Diana Franklin and SEE Ministries. We consider them to be a part of our “Mbale Extension Team,” a group of people scattered over the globe who come along side us at various times to support our work. If you have a chance, please invite George and Diana to visit your church or missions committee and share their report. You can also stop by their website at: http://members.3lefties.com/see4ever While you’re surfing, visit us, too at: http://www.UgandaMissions.org/Mbale

Copyright 2003 Phillip & Laura Shero

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Raising Kids in Africa

Journal Letter #277
For the week ending: 04 October 2003

“To INFINITY!!! and BEYOND!!!” A blur of high-speed 3-year-old arcs from the couch to the living room floor. Buz Lightyear (aka Malachi Shero) flys past me, out the kitchen door, and across the lawn at Warp 7.

There is sometimes a stigma attached to MKs (Missionary Kids) in the States. Some people unconsciously assume that children raised outside America cannot quite be normal—especially if they grow up in an impoverished African country like Uganda. (Before we moved here, folks even asked us if we were going to live in mud huts.) Our experience, however, has been quite different from what you might have expected.

Our two sons, Malachi and Israel, are pretty typical American boys in many ways. Malachi loves Veggie Tales, Blues Clues, Dora the Explorer, Rescue Heroes, and yes, Buz Lightyear. He has a swing set and tree house in the back yard. He loves to turn on the water hose and soak himself and everything else in sight (a year-round attraction since it is always “summer” here!). He sings (and talks) all the time—making up words and tunes when he runs out of ones he knows. And he can work the mouse on his computer to play “Blues Clues Birthday Party” all by himself.

Israel is going as fast as he can to catch up. He’s walking everywhere now, except when he’s on his knees pushing one of several toy cars and trucks around the floor (he makes an astonishingly accurate engine noise for an 11-month-old). He can put away an enormous quantity of Cheerios, especially if he sits still long enough (Baby Einstein videos do the trick). And he’s learning to talk.

Our boys have two big dogs, eat hot dogs and spaghetti, take naps, quote Dr. Seuss, and play with Legos. They swim in the pool at a hotel in our neighborhood. They are learning to say, “Please,” “Yes
Sir/Ma’am,” and “Thank you.” Yes, they are quite normal…

…except that they also understand a good bit of Lugisu and Luganda (African languages), know what to do when the power goes off every evening, and love the Ugandans who work in our home and compound. Most of the time, I feel like our children have a better childhood here than they would in the United States.

For example, in addition to being friends with our teammates’ children (and other ex-patriates in Mbale) Malachi and Israel play with several African friends. They only watch the videos that we select for them (instead of being bombarded with the weird shows that pass for cartoons in the States these days). They also miss the commercials of American TV, which may explain why they don’t seem to ask for stuff as much as I remember doing myself.

Malachi and Israel’s Mommy and Daddy are home a lot more than we probably would be if we lived in America. We have sturdy family rituals that rarely change or are interrupted by outside busy-ness and appointments. Our teammates form a consistent “extended family” unlike what most children have had since the Industrial Revolution. And when they are older, they will get a top quality education from the Christian teachers that come over for a year or more to work in our team’s school, a mix of home-school and more traditional education. They will sit in class together with an international medley of children that has included Americans, British, Italians, South Africans, and Ugandans. They will get lots of individual attention because of the small class sizes and committed parents.

Is there anything they don’t have here? Well, yes. There are some things that they are missing. We live a lot farther from Laura’s parents than we would like (my parents are some of our teammates
here—an unusual blessing for most MKs). Even though our visits with PatPat and GrandDaddy are longer than they might be if we lived in the States, they are less frequent. And our boys only see their “real” aunts, uncles, and cousin every two years. And every two years their lives are thrown into chaos for three months as we travel on furlough and stay in other people’s houses.

Malachi misses the big Sunday morning Bible class he gets to attend at Richland Hills while we are on furlough. There are fewer children his age to play with here than there would be in the U.S. And it is unlikely that our kids would ever get malaria* or other parasites in Texas (though they might get West Nile!).

Still, I haven’t mentioned the fact that crime is much lower here, children don’t bring guns to school, drugs are almost unheard of (except for runaways who sniff rubber cement), and sex is not plastered
over ever billboard, screen, and magazine cover.

Some missionary kids may not have it so good, but ours are doing fine. There are harder places in the world to live than Mbale, Uganda. In fact, you may live in one of them.

Love from our family to yours,

Phillip, Laura, Malachi, and Israel

* In case you were wondering, neither of our children have had malaria. They do not take medication, but they do come inside at dusk and sleep under mosquito nets.

Copyright 2003 Phillip & Laura Shero
 

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Mbale Ladies Meeting

Journal Letter #278
For the week ending: 11 October 2003

The 7th Annual Mbale Area Ladies Meeting stands out from the previous 6. This year, for the first time, Ugandan women carried the primary responsibilities for planning and hosting the meeting. This marks a growth in maturity of the women and should prove to be a landmark in the Mbale Women’s Ministry.

Ever since Sandi Piek hosted the first 3-day ladies’ meeting in January 1997, we have been praying, strategizing, and adjusting our meetings to try to find the best means of serving and teaching the village women. One of our primary struggles is the language barrier (our ladies come from 6 major language groups and several minor dialects). Unlike men, many women have never had the chance to learn even one of the two national languages, English and Luganda (see educational stats below). At the ‘97 meeting, the ladies sat in groups and sub-groups all around the main teacher, with translators for every different language. It must have looked something like the day of Pentecost—without the advantage of perfect and instantaneous language skills!

Since then we have tried every means possible to hurdle this obstacle, even hosting multiple meetings to cater to the various language groups (a fatiguing proposition for the missionaries!). But as long as the women continue to be passed over for educational opportunities, we will struggle with multiple language barriers. Pray for us to find creative solutions and for Christ’s love for all people to raise the status of women here in Uganda.

The size of the rural women’s ministry has outstripped my ability to visit and teach every church. In fact, I can’t even visit every cluster often enough to allow the main curriculum load to rest on me. As Rural Women’s Ministry Coordinator for our team, I ask each cluster select mature, responsible women who would serve as teachers (see JL #270). I bring these women into Mbale, mentor, encourage, and teach them. Within the space of a few days, we cover a couple months worth of curriculum. Then they carry these lessons back and teach them to representative women from each church in their cluster. (My job is now to write and print curriculum, train teachers, and continue village visits for communication and encouragement.) It was this group of leaders who met to plan the 2003 Ladies Meeting: theme, lesson topics, teachers, and schedule—they planned it all.

They chose the theme: The Christian Woman and broke it into three categories (The Christian Woman and Her Society, The Christian Woman and Her Family, and The Christian Woman and Her God). Their choice witnessed to me of a perceived need for teaching on practical Christianity. How do you live and function as a Christian woman in the world? I learned better what kind of ministry they need by letting them lead.

2 Ugandans, 1 Kenyan, and 2 Americans taught at the meeting creating another first: the African teachers outnumbered the missionaries. (One of the prerequisites that I gave to the ladies planning the meeting was that I would teach no more than one lesson.) They did so well that I know this has set a precedent for future meetings. Once the women begin to grasp fundamental Biblical principles, their ability to apply them to their own culture far outstrips that of us Americans.

One disappointment of the meeting was attendance. While we usually host around 100 women for each meeting, this year we had just under 50: half of our expectations. Asking around, I discovered that communication concerning the meeting had been poor. News about the details of the meeting had spread slowly (and incorrectly in some cases). Next year, I’ll make sure that the PR is still my job. And though I had specifically planned the meeting after harvest so that the women would have money to travel to town, I later learned that many husbands had been unwilling to pay the higher costs of transport and registration this year (we still subsidize the meeting 50%).

One exciting aspect of attendance at the meeting was that 7 women came down from Lira District, where Kony and his rebels are creating havoc—pillaging homes, kidnapping children, burning crops, destroying lives. One woman’s husband accompanied them on the trip because he feared for their safety. They urgently requested our prayers as they returned home on dangerous roads. Their presence reminded us that our ministry is significant enough for women to confront hardship and danger to participate.

I’d like you all to join with me in thanking God for the growth of the women’s ministry and the successes of this year’s meeting. Join me too, in petitioning God for my wisdom and strength as I seek to share the gospel with women who often have little else going for them. The task is both daunting and joyful!

Let me close by sharing with you a few statistics about the women who met last week that illustrate the difficulty of their lives (and the difficulty of ministering to them).

73% of those who came were in their 20s and 30s. While this is partly an indication of who is interested, it also points to the very short life-expectancy of women here in Uganda. Many never reach the age of 50. Life is tough, and labor is hard and physical.

51% of the attendees had 4 or more children. One had 11. Almost without exception, those with 3 children or fewer were under age 25, which means they just haven’t finished having children or are still single.

Only 25% of these women continued school beyond elementary. Only 15% actually finished their equivalent of high school. 11% had never attended any school at all. Most of them can at least read their Bibles, though few of them read with ease. Many were unable to communicate with each other at the meeting because they spoke only their own tribal language and no trade language.

Copyright 2003 Phillip & Laura Shero Permission is hereby granted to: forward this email, post it to a website, print it for church bulletin boards, re-print it in church bulletins, or re-print it in other non-profit missions or church related periodicals. All other rights reserved.

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“Rebuke with all Authority”

Journal Letter #280
For the week ending: 25 October 2003

"Rebuke" is not a word we hear today unless someone is reading the Bible, and even then it seems to make us uncomfortable. However, I have discovered the ministry of rebuking, and it is absolutely essential to obeying the Great Commission—especially the part about “making disciples.”

Perhaps because of our cultural avoidance of confrontation, we have forgotten what a rebuke is and why anyone would ever want receive or (Heaven’s, No!) give one. Merriam says rebuke is: “to criticize sharply,” but I prefer my own definition: “a rebuke is a word of correction with a moral umph at the end.” A rebuke says, “You did wrong, you know better, and you can do better.” A rebuke recognizes the recipient’s free moral agency. It gives the offender the dignity of agreeing with the rebuke and making the necessary corrections himself. Criticism, on the other hand, is unlikely to produce anything except resentment on the part of the recipient.

As I spend more and more of my time working with church leaders, I am often faced with situations that call for a rebuke. It is not my job to beg, cajole, criticize, or condemn. The former responses condescend to the leader as if he were a child—the latter ignore his capacity to feel remorse or make corrections. A rebuke is an invitation to repair a mistake while still maintaining relationship.

In college, my accountability group frequently referenced Psalm 141:5, “Let a righteous man strike me—it is a kindness; let him rebuke me—it is oil on my head. My head will not refuse it.” I can truly say that my closest friends in this world are those who have rebuked me and whom I have rebuked. In America we think that conflict creates distance, but our fear of confrontation actually drives us away from each other—away from the genuine engagement that produces satisfying brotherhood. A
heartfelt rebuke is an expression of love. The giver cares enough to correct his friend without worrying about the reaction.

In fact, Jesus commands us to love each other this much. He said, “If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him” (Luke 17:3). But in our churches, we seem to prefer the more politically correct, “If your brother makes a mistake that anyone in his situation might easily make, ignore it or at least sympathize with him so that he doesn’t feel too bad.” Our failure to rebuke one another may be at the heart of our epidemic of habitual sin among professing believers. Perhaps if there were more tearful rebukes we would have less divorce, pornography, biting gossip, factions, and quarrels in our churches.

God does in fact love us enough to rebuke us. Jesus said, “Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest and repent” (Rev 3:19). We learn how to give a loving rebuke when we receive one from our Heavenly Father. God has had many opportunities to rebuke me, and though it was painful, I loved him all the more for correcting me.

As a missionary and a disciple-maker, I am called to “rebuke with all authority,” “rebuke sharply” those who go beyond sin to rebellion, and not be harsh when I must rebuke an “older man” (Titus 2:15, 1:13; 1 Timothy 5:1). It is in my job description to “correct, rebuke, and encourage—with great patience and careful instruction” (2 Timothy 4:2). If I fail to rebuke, I will be like the permissive parent who reaps rebellion from his children.

Rebuking is not fun, but it is rewarding. I often have tears in my eyes or a sick feeling in my gut. But I sincerely praise the Lord whenever someone I rebuke changes his behavior and produces fruits of
repentance. And someone who can hear a rebuke and make a change shows greater strength of character than someone who goes for years without making a visible mis-step.

May the Lord produce such character in us that we can hear as well as speak a godly rebuke.

Copyright 2003 Phillip & Laura Shero
 

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Stuck in Traffic

Journal Letter #281
For the week ending: 1 November 2003

Driving back from Kabale yesterday was as severe a test of my nerves and patience as I have endured in a while. On the way through one of the smaller trading centers, we collided with a man on a motor scooter. (He was crossing the road and then doubled back into our lane.) By God’s grace alone, he was lightly injured. We carried him to the local government health clinic where they salved an abrasion and gave him six stiches—no one in our car was hurt. An hour with the police resolved
the issue as his fault, and we limped on to Mbarara with one crooked front tire.

An alignment and lunch later (much later than we had planned), we motored towards Kampala, believing we had already met our quota of misfortune. That was before we stopped for Israel’s measles shot and some time after Malachi caught a 24-hour intestinal bug.

While we were locked behind an interminable line of cars, my back seat buddy threw up his on-the-road snacks twice. Israel wailed about the injustice of injections (made more insufferable by a day strapped into his carseat). And our carry-out pizza (a special capital city treat) cooled and congealed on Laura’s lap.

I had planned to drop off Laura and the boys at the guesthouse before taking our other passengers (Lynn & Ashley) to Ellen’s. But a loose terminal had prevented my battery from charging, and our car would not re-start. Lynn and Ashley’s vigorous pushing was unable to convince the engine to turn over.

When Africa and the devil conspire against you, you either laugh or cry (or get mad and take it out on everyone around you—which is probably the intended result). Being helped by the Lord and the following list, we chose to laugh.
 

10 Possible Explanations for Traffic Not Moving At All (in Africa)

1. A taxi driver ran out of gas and left his car on the road.

2. Fifteen more taxis ran out of gas waiting for the first guy to get back.

3. By the time those 15 taxi drivers got back with more fuel, someone had jacked them up and stole all their tires.

4. The traffic officer at the intersection went for a “long call.”

5. Somebody bought a copy of the “New Vision” from a roadside paperboy and is still waiting for his change.

6. Toyota sponsored a “How-Many-People-Can-You-Fit-In-A-Taxi” Contest…and they’re still getting out.

7. World Cup Rugby is on the TV, and everyone stopped to watch through other people’s windows.

8. Uchumi (the supermarket) has a Blue Light Special on Blue Band (margarine).

9. It rained hard and the neighborhood kids are having a swim party in the potholes.

10. Walusimbi opened a new auto garage…in the left lane.

Copyright 2003 Phillip & Laura Shero

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Not Needed

Journal Letter #282
For the week ending: 8 November 2003

Sunday in the Southeast Cluster

They didn’t really need me this Sunday.

Oh, I’m sure that my presence was encouraging—they told me that several times. And I did bring a TV/VCR and generator so we could show the youth a film on abstinence. But they didn’t really need me.

I arrived late because of an African detour. Another cluster had checked out the video unit to use in evangelism last weekend. Then the taxi drivers went on strike, and the church leaders were unable to
return the machine. I swung wide through the Bugisu hills to pick it up before continuing on to Mufutu church of Christ (hosts for this month’s area-wide church meeting).

I used to carry lots of people in my car to cluster meetings. But now they are content to walk or ride bikes long distances every month by themselves—whether I come or not. There were already over 200 people crammed into the church building when I got there.

The service had already started, and it was time for baptisms. I followed 100+ church members on the 4-mile round-trip hike to the river. No one asked me for help as they immersed 23 souls into Christ.

I admit that I did get up to push “PLAY” on the VCR, and I did give a brief word of exhortation to the youth and parents (twice interrupted by thundering rains). But there were a dozen men present who could have easily preached in my place (not to mention pushing “PLAY”). It was not my fault that nearly 300 people showed up.

I sat quietly while they gave the announcements and encouraged the believers from every church to give generously towards the construction of a training center in their district. And they insisted that I remain seated following worship as the church leaders got up to serve lunch to everyone in the building—food they had not asked my help to buy.

Though I’m sure I would be welcome to come, they did not ask me to consult my calendar before they scheduled their next meetings.

As I drove home through the drizzle, I asked myself, “Am I done, here?” I don’t think so—not yet. There are still many clusters that are not as mature as the one I visited today. And there are many more leaders who need to be mentored and discipled. But our work is moving into a different phase. While our team’s area of influence grows wider and wider, we will need to narrow our focus to a smaller and smaller group of people—faithful men and women who will carry on the Kingdom work.
And there are bigger dreams to dream: like a Christian University to equip generations of Christ’s servants in every field of life.

But they don’t really need me at Mufutu anymore.

Copyright 2003 Phillip & Laura Shero
 

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Evil Suspicions

Journal Letter #283

For the week ending: 15 November 2003

We can't go on together with suspicious minds; And we can't build our dreams on suspicious minds.We’re caught in a trap…

Roy Orbison (or Elvis Presley, depending on which recording you prefer) hit the nail on the head. Suspicion is a deadly disease to relationships. It spreads a cloudy cloak of vague evil over every interaction. It turns your interests in on yourself as you ask the unanswerable question, “Am I being wronged?”

Suspicion is a little devil I met in Africa. Before moving to Uganda, I never thought of myself as a suspicious person. I generally believed the best about people. My mother-in-law affectionately called me, “Phillip the Lighthearted.” So I was surprised at the strength of my own emotions when I began to guess that I was being cheated.

Our first house was unfinished when we moved in, and there were regularly crews of painters, plumbers, electricians, masons, carpenters, and others with no identifiable skills going in and out our doors the first several months. I was afraid of them losing or damaging my precious tools (brought from America!), and I watched them carefully. But it wasn’t long until some of them were MISSING.

I know for sure that I lost a $.50 line level, and I caught a guy trying to swap his cheap local tape measure for my hefty 12’ Stanley tape. But most of the things turned up again—after, of course, I had blamed and suspected everyone who came through the house. I was ashamed when I found my square up in the attic (I left it there during a project). And I reddened again when I found my rescued (and then lost again) Stanley tape in the back of a drawer.

But it wasn’t just things—I became suspicious that people were pulling the wool over my eyes all the time. Gas station attendants were not resetting the meter before pumping my diesel. Shopkeepers inflated prices to gouge the ignorant mzungu (white person). Visitors to the office claimed multitudes of people ready for salvation so they could get me to their home and squeeze me for money. Everyone was out to get me.

So I vowed to become cleverer than my adversaries. I spied on the pumps, inquired of prices surreptitiously before buying, and assumed every church leader guilty of lying and false motives until he was proved true. And inexorably, my love died—killed off by the cancer of suspicion. [It took a forceful and humbling correction from the Lord before I changed.]

Paul warned Timothy of this danger. To reinforce his picture of a godly evangelist, Paul described his antithesis: the un-minister of the gospel. The Un-minister undoes all the good work of God in the name of God, and his attitude promotes (among other things) “evil suspicions” (1 Tim 6:4). Maybe it wasn’t on your top ten list of evils, but Paul says that suspicion is anti-gospel! [Not accidentally, Paul notes that the Un-minister is overly concerned with money and things, while the “man of God” is content with food and clothes and knows he will take nothing from this world when he leaves.]

The sad truth is, many people in Africa are out to get me. They want my things, my connections (“get me a white wife from America!”), and most of all—my money. And how could it be otherwise? They are poor; I am rich! They do not yet know Christ; I (by God’s grace) was raised up in Christ from my birth. There is a great physical and spiritual inequality between us, and fallen human nature seeks to correct that through the satan’s methods: steal, kill, and destroy.

Speaking of the satan reminds me of the source of all suspicion: it comes straight from the mouth of the accuser. Something goes missing and he whispers, “_________ must have taken it—you have suspected him before.” A rumor reaches my ears, and instantly he is at my side accusing and pointing fingers, playing on my baser thoughts.

But God’s methods are quite different. He says queer things like, “If someone takes your coat, give him your cloak as well” (Mt 5:40). And, “Why not rather be wronged? Why not rather be cheated? (1 Cor 6:7). Well really, why not? Who am I that I should escape the fallen nature of the world? And who am I to rise up in anger and defend myself. There is a righteous judge who will correct all wrongs (including mine).

I was forced to remember all this again when two sums of money disappeared recently—not too much, but enough to hurt. I felt what I thought was righteous indignation because in both cases the money was not “mine,” but “God’s.” It was money set aside for the ministry here—money that would have helped people. My first question was, “Who did this?!” Was it the people who work in my house? Was it a church leader tempted when I stepped away from a desk drawer at the office? Everyone became a suspect; everyone became a potential enemy.

But Jesus anticipated this problem. He told me (in the context of giving away my stuff) that I should love my enemies. While his knowledge of human nature meant that he did not “entrust himself to any man” (John 2:24), he did spend a lot of time trusting people and expecting the best from them. Judas—a thief—kept the moneybag. Peter—the liar—preached the gospel truth first. John—the thunder-head—wrote the gospel and epistles of love.

And love bears all wrongs. It believes all things. It hopes for the best (even from those unlikely to give it). And it trusts. It trusts without suspicion. It trusts right in the guilty face of the red-handed criminal that God can change him and make him better than he is. And it is willing to be cheated rather than give up the chance for that transformation to reach one more suspicious-looking soul.

My Stanley tape is missing again. But my love is right where it is supposed to be.

Copyright 2003 Phillip & Laura Shero
 

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Up North

Journal Letter #285

For the week ending: 29 November 2003

I made sure that I had a full tank of diesel and airtime on my mobile phone before I drove up to Soroti Town yesterday. I wasn’t really worried—the rebels are not strong enough to attack the town itself (although there have been nighttime raids on refugee camps outside the city limits). The back of my truck was full of Bibles, medicine, and clothes for the believers who have fled from their homes.

George William went with me to help me find our people. There are dozens of camps scattered throughout and around Soroti. The last time I was here, people were living in schoolrooms, church buildings, and on the verandahs of government buildings. I couldn’t have found anyone without guidance.

In fact, the huddled masses of two months ago were busy turning themselves into hutted masses. Thousands of mud huts were going up…everywhere. Once I left the main road, I wore out my arms steering and squeezing the truck through the narrow spaces between houses of sun-dried mud bricks. I am normally able to retrace my path from any village, but by the time we reached the mango tree where the church leaders had gathered, I was hopelessly lost!

Thanks to a generous donation from the World Bible Translation Center in Ft. Worth (16,700 Bibles!), I was able to give an easy-to-read copy of God's word to every one of our refugee church members. They were so excited! One of the leaders, Michael Edonu, had been unable to attend his graduation ceremony from our Bible School last week in Mbale, so I brought his framed certificate with me and made a big to-do over it. I was thankful God had given us reasons to celebrate in the face of so much suffering and uncertainty.

I also left behind 200 rounds of malaria treatment and enough worm medicine for hundreds of people. We bought over $300 dollars of food and entrusted the gathered church leaders with the responsibility of distributing it to their members and the needy. I was embarrassed to be served sweet potatoes and tea for lunch--embarrassed because they have so little themselves.

We closed our brief meeting with prayers for God to intervene in the course of history and enable these people to return to their homes and gardens in the village.

While I was in Soroti, I stopped by the Land Office to check on an offer the government made to us earlier. The Land Board is meeting next week to consider allocating a big piece of land to our churches. If it goes through, we will put up a temporary building on the land. At the moment, Christians from about 15 of our village churches are living in Soroti Town, but they are scattered in several camps. With the land, we could gather them in one place, give them places to sleep or construct temporary housing, and enable them to meet together for worship on Sunday. Currently, the ones who are able to walk are meeting in other churches' buildings--but the other churches are becoming increasingly resistant to this arrangement as they are pressed more and more by their own members' needs.

One of the church leaders told me of a brief trip he made back to his home village recently. He went with army escort through the bush to see if there were any people, crops, animals, or anything else of value left at home. He reported that the rebels had knocked down, burned, and destroyed all the houses and everything else they found. Whenever this war is over, it will be a massive task to rebuild what has been lost. He did say, however, that our brick and cement training center in the war zone was beautiful and untouched. He said that the army camps around it. The Lord protects his own. Pray that he will continue to do so.

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Pedal The Portal Bike-A-Thon

Journal Letter #288

For the week ending: 20 December 2003