In 1 Kings 19 God commands Elijah to "Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of God, for God is about to pass by." I can only imagine what must have gone through his mind. What did he expect?
I read stories in the Bible about the awesome power of God. The power to hang stars in the sky, to make mountains and valleys, hold back the waters, and even bring dead to life. I remember the first time I read the story of the crucifixion and was awed at the idea of the earthquake following the death of Christ. In my mind this is a scene of power, a temple veil torn from the bottom up. I can see it in my imagination like a $200 million dollar hollywood epic.
I guess if I were told to go stand on the mountain and wait for God to pass by, it's these ideas I would expect. If you recall the story, you know that these things happened. First a wind comes, so powerful rocks are shattered. The wind is followed by an Earthquake. In the pictures of devastation from Haiti, do we need any evidence of the terrible power of an earthquake.
Following the earthquake comes a fire. The folks from southern California can tell you about the rage of fire. But yet, in all of these, the wind, the earthquake, the fire, God isn't in any of them. I guess that's where I kind of hoped he would be at times.
No, in this story, God is found in the gentle whisper. A light breeze, an almost imperceivable voice on the wind. When I think of the awesomeness of God, it just strikes me a little strange that this is how he reveals himself. In the quietness, in the little voices in our heads, the words of friends, the kindness of a loved one. God can be found in the little things.
This was a hard week. As you can imagine in ministry, one of the challenges is facing disappointment. In a very real way, the disappointment that I have encountered as a missionary is much greater than anything I realized in previous employment. While before I might lose a sale, or have to stay late for work, I never really felt like I dealt with the disappointment that has more to do with eternity than a few bucks.
In ministry I have realized that I have to be careful. I tend to be somewhat sensitive, and I really hurt for people. While on one hand it seems to be a good thing, I find too that it's equally at times more of a curse.
Coming to Hungary has been both the most exciting and perhaps excruciating thing I've done. Honestly though, sometimes, in the quiet of our apartment, I long for the days of old. I reminisce about the days when the hardest thing I had to do was sit behind my desk calling dealerships trying to wholesale a Silver Nissan Pathfinder with a puke-colored interior. At the end of the day, it was just money. Here it's people, and souls.
Sometimes it's hard to see God here. This country is so spiritually starved. I have to confess to you that at times I've really wondered where God is in Hungary. This week has been that week. It's had moments of hope, but mostly moments of just hanging your head and crying. It's been days of trying to quickly think of the right words to say, to simply realizing that you have nothing left to say. You can only sit and watch people walk away, meanwhile you scream with all your might within the confines of your skull "GOD DO SOMETHING".
I feel like "God, lets see the fire, bring the fire! Write it on the walls, blow some people over with mighty wind, shake some foundations....help us out here!" But just as it was for Elijah, God didn't manifest himself that way. Most often God is found in the background, yet somehow, he always can be found.
Thursday morning I was on the metro heading toward language class. I'll admit I was guilty of a little pessimism, and I found myself actually begging God to show himself. "I just need to know you're there today," I said in the corner of my head. I looked up from the floor and saw a young woman sitting a seat away on the black vinyl benches of the metro car. My first thought was "so many young people here Lord, we have our work cut our for us."
Then I noticed her book. On her knees was an open Bible. I detected from the page heading that she was reading the book of Luke. Just as fast as I noticed her, the metro pulled to a stop and she was up and out the door. For a second, amidst the screeching subway tracks, I felt God say, "I was here all along." I couldn't help but smile, and I actually prayed for that girl, whomever she was, all the way to my subway stop.
As nice as it would be sometimes to think God should be in the fire, the fact is that's not how he choses to operate. It would be nice for an attention getting crack of thunder or lightning, but God seems content to silently whisper in their ears. A cosmic versions of "Pssst, turn around, you're going the wrong way."
More than anything I want God to use us. Not to scream and explode and such, but to gently and passionately show people everyday who he is. I want to be His ambassador. Sometimes that means watching people walk away, and realizing that it's up to God now, I've said all I can, and can only pray. Sometimes it's listening to someone relate terrible stories of heart ache. Sometimes it's praying for a Grandma or loved one.
This is what I realized this week. Let someone else worry about dollars and cents. This is where I want to be. This is the front lines. Sure it hurts, but some days, when you're riding a subway, and you get really quiet. You just might hear God in the tunnels of Budapest.
From the Eastern Front,
Jonathan
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