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Archive for the ‘Reformed Parish Mission (RPM) Posts’ Category

On Saturday, made some more progress in my S. Providence district. Hoping to get it finished before it gets too cold.

Balcom St. has a lot of history for me. It was there I met a Liberian who seemed like he was just waiting for a fisher of men to come after him. In the same building now is a refugee family of the Karen tribe from Southeast Asia. One of the young Liberians in our church had invited the daughter, a good friend of hers, to church some time back and came for a number of weeks. And a Congolese family that live next door, very dear Christian people, worshipped with us regularly for some nine months. They are living stones amid the rubble of sin and misery.

Prayer_in_Cairo_1865Saturday was no disappointment. Above our Congolese friends is a small Somali family. The young man, a Muslim, was very polite and listened to the Gospel of the “Lamb of God” who takes away the sin of the world. Above them we met a single Iraqi woman, also Muslim, complete with prayer carpet and ornately decorated Qu’ran lying out. She was clearly needy, in more ways than one. A lonely soul who needed friends, and of course, the Friend who sticks closer than a brother. We spoke of the story of Joseph (“Yousef” as she recalled from the Qu’ran), and how he was lonely and abandoned, yet not abandoned by God. And we shared that he was a picture of the Christ to come, who would be abandoned by his friends that He might die and redeem them. We got her contact information and hope to follow up with her on some practical levels – and hopefully she continues to be open to the Gospel.

Please pray for our new Muslim friends. Pray that God would open their hearts to Jesus, the True Asylum from those on the run.

Please also pray for a special evangelistic meeting we are holding within walking distance of their homes on Nov. 3. It will be held in English with Spanish translation.

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Sowing_seedWent out in my nearby Lakewood parish Friday. Very encouraging overall. First, approached a couple of fellows who were talking in their driveway. Not wanting to interrupt, I handed them my literature. “Don’t let me interrupt you … unless you’re open to talking religion!” Well, they were. The one fellow, a 40-something biker type with a braided beard, told me that Christianity was suspect, having come down to us through the ages through oral tradition. He didn’t mention the telephone game illustration, but that was the gist of it. I explained to him and his friend the radical concern the early Christians had in bearing witness to the truth. Eventually, I gave the great ‘for instance’ in Saul of Tarsus. Open enemy. Jihadi type. A card-carrying, high profile Jew who hated the Christians. Then he claimed he witnessed the risen Christ, then began “preaching the faith he once destroyed.” At the very least, we should sit up and take notice. I invited him to church, and he indicated that I would probably see him someday.

Another fellow was on his phone, standing outside of his car. This chap professed to be a Christian and named a local, evangelical church where he had attended. But life had got in the way and his employment wouldn’t let him off to worship on Sundays. In the course of the conversation, I admonished him about his duties to follow Christ all the way. “Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy.” I told him I was rather concerned about his soul and that he was really taking a gamble spiritually. He took it well, but I fear not well enough.

My third talk was a briefer one. The fellow was on his way, and I try to be courteous. But we did talk long enough to hear a similar story to the neighbor above, though this one was Roman Catholic in his background. I did urge him to consider the call of God, “Seek ye the Lord, while he may be found …”

Last, the second ‘none’ (no religion) was a 30-sometime white lady. Very nice, but had her doubts about God. I began to speak to her of reasons for God, when her husband/partner came up, asked what all this was about, and tried to wrap things up. “Could I possibly finish my thought?” As I did, it seemed as though a chord was struck. Something in the first none’s eyes told me that the second none was getting in the way of something important. Someone important. The One who is All.

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One day several years back, I was making my way door-to-door on a short dead end street in my South Providence district. It could very well have been an unremarkable day – no one answering the door, or just short interchanges. Thanks, but no thanks.

Then I knocked on the door at the end of the block, a typical three level, three household rental home in urban New England. A short, dark fellow answered. When he spoke, it was clear he ‘weren’t from these parts.’ Of course, then again, neither was I! Henry (not real name) was originally from Liberia. After we spoke some, I invited him to church. He was very interested. Now, I’ve heard that before. But sure enough, he was there at church the following Lord’s day – only, we had to make arrangements to get him there since he didn’t have his own vehicle.

His family soon began coming as well. A sweet, quiet wife, and two special children. Eventually, he got his own car and came without our help. They worshipped very consistently with us for about six months and were a joy to have. It did my h800px-Africa_(satellite_image)eart good to see our congregation reflect something of the multi-colored army of the Church Triumphant. And I admired their willingness to be different in a very different kind of church.

Sadly, they fell off for whatever reason. I eventually lost track of him, when at one point his number went out of service. And when I went to his apartment, I realized they had moved.

But after perhaps a couple of years, I thought I’d try to find Henry again. It was probably futile, like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack. But I had a contact with connections with many different African communities, so I called her up and told her my story. She said she’d see what she could do. Later that evening (!), she called back. “I have found him, and I have his number.” “What? That fast?” I exclaimed. She explained that she knew a leader of the Liberian community – and refugee communities are tighter-knit than others. Of course he knew Henry and had his new number. So I called. When he answered and realized who it was, I could hear the big smile on his face. “Ohhh! Hey, Revreh!” (=Revrend)

Since then I have invited him back to church, and he has come a couple of times. I’ve also gone to visit him in his home, sometimes with my family and sometimes on my own. We’ll visit, then read the Scriptures and pray. For a while, he was getting mixed up with the Mormons. Now I’m not sure he’s attending anywhere. He professes Christianity, but as I see it, his profession is shaky at best. But we’ve forged a connection. And I still have his phone number.

Liberians are beautiful people. Ever since I went there some years back, it has had a special place in my heart. I’m glad I’ve got a little Liberia to visit back here.

Please pray for Henry, that he will develop a deep hunger for the Word of God and its faithful preaching. Pray for his wife, who has dealt with difficult health issues, and for his children, that they may become children of the Most High.

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I’m beginning a new series of occasional posts on my ‘parish’ outreach efforts in R.I., mostly vignettes from door-to-door district visitation. If you would, please pray for these efforts. New England truly has ‘rocky soil’ spiritually – but we know that stones stand no chance before Jesus. More at ‘Reformed Parish Mission‘ page.

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Last Friday I was doing outreach in my neighborhood in Warwick, R.I. A number of doors remained closed, one after the other. Some days are busy, some are slow. Nearing the end of my time, I approached a house with a car in the driveway – plastered with secular, left-leaning bumper stickers. You know the type. Would this be a clash of two very different fundamentalists?

Not surprisingly, the fellow who came to the door fit the bill. He sported an armful of tats, his head shaved on the sides with a shock of purple hair flowing down, and a black shirt with pro-science imagery. We talked for a good while, his two children occasionally interrupting. He told me he was a science teacher in a middle school and was an atheist. A former Roman Catholic, he had given up on religion, though he didn’t tell me why.

John (not his real name) was rather polite. Kind of nice, for a strident atheist! After some discussion, I engaged him about whether there is any transcendent value or worth to human beings. Something that justifies our shared belief that we should treatCharles_Darwin_aged_51 them with dignity. We cut down trees for our benefit and harvest wheat for our consumption. Why wouldn’t we do that with humans? What makes some matter more valuable than other forms?

We eventually wrapped things up after I shared a verse with him summarizing the Gospel, “But we see Jesus, who was made a little lower than the angels for the suffering of death, crowned with glory and honour; that he by the grace of God should taste death for every man” (Heb. 2:9). May the Fisher of men save one of Darwin’s footed fish!

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