The Mexico City Missive ~ spring 2017

An argument started among the disciples as to which of them would be the greatest. Jesus, knowing their thoughts, took a little child and had him stand beside him. Then he said to them, “Whoever welcomes this little child in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. For it is the one who is least among you all who is the greatest.” Luke 9:46-48

This little one having a little fun at vacation Bible school hosted by Luz a las Naciones.

In Luke 9, Jesus sends out the twelve for a season of ministry, feeds the five thousand, affirms Peter's confession of Christ, is gloriously transfigured on the mountain, heals a boy tormented by an evil spirit, and cautions his disciples about his own betrayal. But in the middle of all that's going on, the disciples, masters of impeccable timing, decide to argue about who among them would be the greatest.

Jesus being Jesus, the master of teachable moments, redirects his disciples' attention toward a child and tells them that to welcome a child like this one – vulnerable, dependent, needy – is to welcome Jesus and the one who sent him. In other words, neither brute strength, social privilege, nor political power determines greatness. On the contrary, in God's upside kingdom the one who is least is greatest.

In a world where it was socially acceptable to only extend hospitality to those of equal or greater status, Jesus instructs his disciples to resist the merely acceptable and embrace the most vulnerable. Honor the least significant, he implores them. Welcome the least welcomed. Because true greatness is not achieved through might nor show of power, but by extending Christlike hospitality to the least of these.

This bigger one having a little fun at our Superbowl themed English class at Reto a la Juventud (Teen Challenge Mexico).

Each week, the young men of Teen Challenge Mexico enthusiastically welcome Stuart and I into their lives. Whether I am teaching English, Stuart is playing soccer, or we are celebrating a Teen Challenge graduation we are truly honored by their gracious hospitality toward us.

Likewise, these next few months, Teen Challenge has kindly invited us to preach and Stuart will be ministering at Luz a las Naciones. I will share at a couple of leadership gatherings here in Mexico City as well as in Oaxaca when we visit friends and missionary colleagues, Ilona and Mike Hadinger.

Lastly, I would like to extend an invitation to you to attend one of the Indiana District Women's Ministries Regional Encounters on April 29. Personally, I'll be attending the Central West location in Greencastle, Indiana at The StoreHouse since I happily accepted the invitation to preach there that day! Find all the information you need on their website. Hope to see you there.

Stuart & Wendy Brown

serving in mexico city

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It begins with ashes

Today is Ash Wednesday. Growing up in the Episcopal Church, I knew this was the day to bow in humble prayer, receive ashes on my forehead to symbolize humility before God, and to give up something for Lent. On the church calendar, Lent is the 40 days between Ash Wednesday and Easter (not counting Sundays); a time set aside for fasting, repenting, and reflecting on Christ’s suffering.

Although we fasted individually, the church gave up something corporately as well. Traditionally, purple linens (the color of royalty, but also of humility) covered the cross, no flowers adorned the sanctuary, and we refrained from speaking or singing any Hallelujahs in the service.

Anyone who has fasted for any length of time knows the joy of partaking when the fast is over. What a pleasure to arrive on Easter Sunday morning to witness the cross victoriously draped in white, festive lilies and tulips embellishing the sanctuary, and triumphant voices raised in song: Christ the Lord has Risen Today, Ha-lle-lu-jah!

Alas, this season of humility reminds us though, that death must come before the resurrection and the cross must come before the crown. Such is the season of Lent. It begins with ashes, but it ends with beauty. I may not have the opportunity to attend an Ash Wednesday service today, but I will spend the next 40 days giving up something to remind me of what Christ gave up for me.

Originally published here.

It's not just about giving up something

"Fasting confirms our utter dependence upon God by finding in Him a source of sustenance beyond food." Dallas Willard, The Spirit of the Disciplines

Many of the spiritual disciplines I practice today, I learned as a child. For example, every year during the 40 days before Easter, my family and I fasted. But as kids, we didn't call it fasting, we called it giving up something for Lent. And while we may have given up simple pleasures like candy or gum, it still afforded us the opportunity to identify with Jesus and his time in the wilderness.

Wendy Lynn Mitchell, St. Peter's Episcopal Church, Confirmation 1975

However, long before Jesus entered the desert, the Lord has been teaching his people about fasting. The people of Isaiah’s day also fasted and anticipated God’s appropriate response to their self-denial. Yet, the Lord seemed ambivalent and inattentive to their actions: “Why have we fasted and you have not seen it? Why have we humbled ourselves and you have not noticed?” Isaiah 58.3a

Contrary to their belief, though, God had noticed their displays, he just wasn't impressed by them: “On the day of your fasting, you do as you please and exploit all your workers ... your fasting ends in quarreling and strife ... is this what you call a fast, a day acceptable to the Lord?” Isaiah 58.3b-4 

Fortunately, the Lord set his people straight about what he expected: “Is not this the kind of fast I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter -- when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?” Isaiah 58.6-7

When we humble ourselves in a fast dedicated to the Lord, we not only recognize our utter dependence on God, it also enables us to empathize with those who are suffering. As we do so, our softened hearts will desire justice for the mistreated and prompt us to act on their behalf. This idea however, is not unique to the Old Testament but manifests itself in the life and ministry of Jesus.

After his 40 day fast, Jesus left the wilderness, entered the synagogue and declared, “The Spirit of the LORD is upon me, for he has anointed me to bring Good News to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim that captives will be released, that the blind will see, that the oppressed will be set free, and that the time of the LORD's favor has come.” Luke 4.18.19

The older I get, the more I realize, fasting is a more profound and complex practice than I ever imagined. Fasting opens my eyes to see God and the people around me from his perspective. It allows me to identify with the suffering of Jesus and with the marginalized. Fasting revitalizes my faith and inspires me to connect it to my works. 

Lynne Hybels presents a challenge to us once offered to her: "Years ago a friend said that if I read Isaiah 58 for 30 days in a row, it would turn my life upside-down. I did. She was right. Try it."

In the next 40 days, let's be mindful that a true fast isn't just about giving up, it's about giving out. As a daily reading of Isaiah 58 will remind us.

Originally posted here on 2.17.2015

I know what I'm longing for, so I'll wait.

I made matzo the other day. I want to share Communion weekly with Stuart during Lent, so I made matzo last week in preparation. In my definitively un-kosher kitchen, with my thoroughly gentile hands I mixed together some flour, salt, olive oil and water in a glass bowl. I rolled it out paper-thin on my Mexican-made table. I pierced it properly with a fork. I baked it till it bubbled and browned on my handy pizza stone.

I made matzo last week, because I wanted to bring something of myself to the Lord's table this week. An offering created from my own time and effort. I enjoyed the experience. 

I'll buy the grape juice.

I wrote an order of service for our shared meal. Now, I'm all ready to wait. All ready to wait in the season of Lent as we pray and fast. Ready to contemplate the big themes of life and death. Sin and redemption. Sacrifice and obedience.

Growing up near the coast of southern Connecticut, our family spent countless days on the beach. I've walked miles upon miles on sandy coves and rocky piers, gathered a hundred pailfuls of pebbles and sea shells, jumped through a thousand plus waves crashing to the shore. Give me a blanket and a coastline and I could wait for hours contemplating life and love within earshot of the ebb and flow of the tide.

To smell the salt air, to hear the crashing of the waves, to feel the spray of the sea on my face brings a sense of belonging no other place on earth provides for me. I can wait on the beach. I can relax. I can breathe. It's there I long to remain. To wait for one more wave to crash in. 

Just one more.

Ebb and flow. The beach reminds me of the importance of rhythm in our lives. Its consistency, its constancy stabilizes me. The tide comes in. We wait. The tide goes out. We wait. We know what we long for, so we wait. 

For those of us who allow the liturgical calendar to dictate our seasonal rhythms, we notice that the Church Universal spends much of its time waiting in pregnant expectation. In Advent, we wait with hope for our Savior's birth. In Lent, we wait with ashes for our Lord's resurrection. In the days before Pentecost, we wait together for the promised Holy Spirit. We know what we long for, so we wait.

When ordinary time finally arrives, when the consistent ebb and flow of waiting and celebrating, waiting and celebrating, waiting and celebrating finally ends we may think: alas, the waiting is over. Except, it isn't. In reality, even in what we call ordinary time, it doesn't take long to remember that the Church remains in a persistent state of waiting for the blessed hope. 

Still pregnant. Still waiting. Still hoping.

The tide is still out on the final great expectation. But, in eager expectation, I'll grab my blanket, head for the coast and I'll keep a weather eye on the horizon. 

I know what I'm longing for, so I'll wait.

Another brief survey on short-term missions trips

In a previous survey, I asked for the reasons we give to others to encourage participation on a short-term missions trip. In this survey, I want to know the reasons we should NOT give to encourage people to go on a short-term missions trip. 

Thanks for your help!

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