A Quiet Crisis

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Other

My flight to Nepal was quiet because a month earlier, on 1 February, the King of Nepal had taken special measures, dissolving parliament. The cut in communications (including a news blackout) combined with uncertain advice from Western embassies had knocked the bottom out of what was left of this year's tourist season. The king's action was in response to the Maoist insurrection which has been simmering away for almost a decade. During this time eleven thousand Nepalis have lost their lives.

A Maoist-sponsored transport strike soon followed, until 1 March. In a transport strike, travelling by road is simply not possible in areas not protected by the government; anyone doing so faces the displeasure of and penalties imposed by whoever is in control of the area. In practice, it means that no travel is possible between the major cities except by air.

What is the effect of such a strike upon Interserve Partners? For those in cities like Pokhara and Kathmandu, life goes on pretty much as usual, apart from the inconvenience of having to stockpile commodities that become scarce due to supply problems. But for those in more rural areas it is more difficult. Partners involved in community projects cannot get to them; the number of patients coming to Tansen Hospital decreases by half, and after the novelty wears off, that isn't good! But for ordinary people in Nepal it is much worse. How can you sell your stuff in the nearby town if you cannot get there; how do you get treatment if you're sick?

Fear and intimidation are part of the scene: neither side is particularly bothered about keeping to the Geneva Convention. One Partner woke to witness the authorities dealing with a suspected Maoist in the street below – being shot as he hid in a pit. There had been three murders in Butwal the week before I visited, and there was a prevailing sense of fear and uncertainty. Curfews come and go, soldiers appear at nights on the streets, even in the tourist area of Pokhara. 'This place runs on rumours,' said one Partner. So Nepal is hardly stable just at the moment.

The church in Nepal But there is one stable factor, or so it seems. The continuing presence and growth of the Nepali church is one of the most exciting realities to be seen in Nepal. One Partner told me that the church had doubled in the last five years (which of course means that half are under five years old in the faith). The thirty churches in Pokhara held a peace march and rally at Christmas (pictured). Over a thousand people marching through the streets made a big impression. I asked my friend, Grishma, a Nepali pastor, what the reaction had been. The most common response, he said, was, 'We didn't know there were so many Christians in Pokhara.' You see light in the darkest places: we met someone who told us how he and his wife found faith after surviving a Maoist attack. 'Save me, Jesus,' the man had cried as his attackers left him to bleed to death. His prayer was answered.

And there's something new. The church has always been committed to evangelism and discipleship, but I think has tended to see meeting the needs of the whole person as something that perhaps the foreign agencies could get on with. This is changing: the Nepali church has a growing desire not just to proclaim the good news, but also to demonstrate the kingdom in works of service to those in need, and to be salt and light at a troubled time. Nepali Christians are forming agencies to do just that, and the results are impressive. As the leader of one of these groups put it, 'we face real challenges just now, but we prefer to see them as opportunities'. He went on to talk of the need for Interserve Partners to continue serving alongside their Nepali brothers and sisters, sharing Christ across cultures.

Like its people, Nepal's crisis is quiet – the news blackout and special measures have seen to that. But all the time there is another hidden and secret process going on, as the yeast of the kingdom of God does its own quiet work.

Captives of Fate

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Other, Arab World

Abdullah, 28, got married about a year ago, and he and his wife are expecting their first baby. They still live in his family home, as Abdullah hasn't got a hope of scraping enough money together to rent a place of their own. They live in a small flat with Omar – Abdullah's brother – and his wife, who might also be expecting.

Not that Abdullah experiences the inside of the flat that much. He has two full-time jobs – mornings 8 until 2 and evenings 5 until 10 – and he is trying to fit in English classes in the afternoons in the hope that one day he'll get a better job. Like most of his countrymen, neither of his current jobs pays enough to cover the bills.

He's a nice guy; he doesn't smoke or chew, which saves a lot, but he's up to his neck in debt to relatives who helped pay for his wedding, and has to give back a little each month.

Abdullah prays five times a day. He visits the graves of his parents every Friday to pray for them – to make sure that they are allowed into heaven. He greets people as he walks along – there is a tradition that each greeting earns him extra blessing. He is always kind to children, and gives as much as he can to beggars. Yet despite all this good work, God still feels distant and life is still hard.

In need of blessing, Abdullah decided to go on the Hajj to Mecca this year. His evening job is at a travel firm, and they gave him a very generous discount. It felt good to be doing what the prophet commanded. Praying in that esteemed place, he could almost feel God to be close.

But life is still hard. Abdullah believes that all of life is a test and then we face judgement. All his efforts to earn God's blessings seem to be falling on deaf ears.

Fatima Fatima was worried to death about Faaris – her 15-month-old. He hadn't been putting on weight properly since he was born. His twin sister seemed able to feed all right, but Faaris just wouldn't suck properly. She'd tried all the food options: her own mother had told her to give him water to drink instead of breast milk; her neighbour had suggested mixing water and baby rusks and giving these to Faaris in his bottle.

He had become so weak that whatever he did eat he vomited. And then there was the constant diarrhoea. The stress was beginning to affect her other children too.

When he was six months old she had taken Faaris to see an old midwife who advised heat treatment – multiple small burns on his abdomen and buttocks to release the evil. It didn't work.

The foreign doctor had been useless – he just gave advice. She would have taken Faaris to see the real witch-doctor, only he was too expensive. Perhaps he was being affected by Genies. Perhaps someone had cast the evil-eye on him when he was born – the power of the jealousy of an aunt or neighbour could inflict this sort of problem. Perhaps Umm asSubyan, queen of the Genies, or some other controlling spirit was involved. A good witchdoctor could solve these problems.

Fatima was doing all she could. She had started praying five times a day and she would fast once a month – perhaps this would earn her God's favour. She hung a tiny copy of the Qur'an around Faaris' neck to protect him from evil spirits, and recited the bits of it that she had memorised whenever she was with Faaris. She would lie him down so that he was facing Mecca – if he should die, at least he would be facing the right way.

How difficult it felt. If only she had some way of controlling her destiny, and his.

More than we Anticipated

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Education

Death with the Flies

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Medical / Health

Yesterday Ruby and I went for our regular hospital visit. Once again we visited the female ward where women are dying of Aids and TB.

These thin malnourished women basically, without exaggeration, lie on their beds awaiting death. The ward has no character; just bare walls, basic beds and a dirty floor. Several kittens and their mother were playing around under the beds, oblivious to the sufferings around them. Life had just started for these kittens, with a new world to explore. These women, however, are dying in an awful and lonely place.

We continued down the ward, and there was a dead body under a dirty blanket. I thought she was sleeping or resting, but the other patients shouted that she was dead. No one was beside the dead body, no one was crying for her, no one was holding her. She had recently passed away. Ruby reminded me that a lot of these women are abandoned because they are prostitutes.

Two beds down, there is another dying woman, minutes or hours from death. Ruby said she was in a coma and her breathing was very irregular. Once again no one beside her, no one crying for her, no one holding her… only the flies on her face were keeping her company. I felt so sad and depressed; I can't express my feelings of despair. I said to Ruby that we needed to pray! I felt this need with urgency and panic. I prayed, but words are limited; it didn't express to God what I really felt. I touched the woman's forehead and she was cold; I wanted to make her feel the warmth of my hand and comfort her. There was a look of hopelessness on her face. I prayed I would see her in heaven. This is surely the worst type of death to experience, being alone in your last moments on earth. I hope to see her in heaven, without pain and being loved.

Just before leaving the ward, we saw two men with a metal stretcher coming to collect the dead body. The other patients looked on. Were they thinking, 'Am I next?'? What a way to end life.

I will never forget this day. Thank God for everything: for good health, food, clean water, family, friends, shelter, everything. I don't understand suffering; in heaven, I'll ask.

Valerie Dehaene, a nurse, went with Interserve England & Wales to South Asia for most of 2004 through Interserve's short-term programme, On Track. Dr Ruby continues to persevere as a volunteer doctor in the red light area of her city; please pray for her. Valerie is at present studying at All Nations Christian College, England.

The Next Man

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Medical / Health

Rina's father came to the hospital about two weeks ago with bowel obstruction. He is a homeopath, and had been treating himself for a month. The family didn't want to go to Rangpur Medical College for an operation – or rather, going to Rangpur (about 50km away) for an operation was as much within their world-view as going to the moon might be.

I tried to talk to them, but it was obvious to me that they just couldn't cope with the level of decisionmaking required. Left to themselves, they would have taken him home to die. I was extremely tired and very busy at the time, and couldn't give them the time and emotional energy required to talk it through so that they could make their own informed decision.

So, against all my years of experience and my better judgment, I took over and told them what to do. We tried conservative treatment for one day, with some initial success, but the next morning it was obvious that he would die without an operation. It was also a hartal (general strike), and only ambulances and bicycle rickshaws could safely use the roads.

So I continued to behave like a boro lok (a local term for an important or influential person) and sent him off with a referral letter and a LAMB medical assistant (who I simply pulled from his duties for that day), as the thought of going alone was still too much for them. I arranged for them to use the local government health complex ambulance and sent them to see Dr Murshed (the husband of one of our staff doctors) at Rangpur Medical College. I also gave them a letter for Dr Murshed asking that he make sure that they got good treatment and that I would cover all of the cost.

Rina's father was admitted to a private clinic, and was operated on by the best surgeon in Rangpur (arranged by Murshed). The surgeon also agreed to cut his fee as they were poor. Ironically, they are not poor by the standards of the patients we see at LAMB, and they had the promise of financial support from me. Despite initial misgivings, he made a steady recovery and is due to be released today.

Discomfort I sat down the day after I sent him off to Rangpur and tried to articulate my discomfort at the whole event. I had saved a life. This isn't an unusual experience for me as a doctor in Bangladesh. But this time it was because I had abused my position at LAMB, used my friends and contacts in Rangpur and thrown the promise of money around. In short, I had behaved in exactly the way I work to prevent people behaving here.

Rina's father lives today not because I am a doctor, but because I am an important, powerful, connected person, and because Rina works in my house. If she had not been related to me in this way she would not have come to me for help, and her father would have died. She came to me as her 'patron', and I obliged by behaving like one.

And yet her father had as much right to live as the next man. Dear God, why him and not the next man?

The Alter Call

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Theology / Church, Arab World

About five thousand men, that would be my guess. The meeting had all the hallmarks of an evangelistic, revival-style gathering, with preaching, meetings and a theme of 'Let's win the world for Islam'. I was visiting friends in town, and across the road from their house was an open playing field which was now the site of a weekend-long Islami (religious meeting). It was jam-packed full of flowing white Punjabis, flowing white beards and flowing with words.

So I wandered over.

I was greeted with enthusiasm, for here was someone with whom to put into practise that which was being preached. A local mullah greeted me warmly and began regaling me with advantages of the unity of Islam. Unfortunately for him, there was a profusion of different headstyles, and I asked awkward questions about why, if Islam was one, there were so many different groupings. Faced with these sticky questions, people passed me up a ladder of seniority till eventually I was sitting with a head mullah from the capital city.

So, here I am, sitting in a tent, face to face with this very pleasant head mullah. We're surrounded by an eager crowd of about a hundred faces, bearded and unbearded, all spellbound, waiting to see how this would play out. For about fifteen minutes I listen in fascination to a description of the appeal of Islam – its unity, its brotherhood and its goodness. It's truly an impressive sales pitch. He's good.

A few questions for the mullah As he ran out of steam, I began. I said that I agreed with him that our life should be oriented toward Allah and his path. Indeed, to be in communion with Allah should be the goal of our lives. A daily goal. But here I had some questions. When we say prayers, we have to wash so that we are clean and Allah will hear our prayers. 'Yes.' And at the next time of prayer I need to wash again. 'Yes.' Because in that time I will have become unclean. 'Yes.' But what if I want to stay in contact with Allah? What if I want to stay in communion with him: how long can I stay clean? 'Pardon?' How long can I stay clean so that I can be in spiritual union with Allah? (Here we get into Asian-style bargaining) An afternoon? But surely that's not very long…? A weekend like this? But what about when I go back home…?

Eventually we settle on the idea that the most disciplined, the most ascetic, holy man could stay clean for forty days.

A suggestion At this I sigh. 'Sir, it seems to me that we have a problem. We're supposed to be slaves to Allah (Abd'Allah). But it looks more like we're slaves to dirt and pollution. We want to stay clean, we want to stay in communion with Allah. But the world and its pollution touches us and makes us unclean. The world's pollution is stronger than us. Rather than being slaves to Allah, it looks more like we're slaves to pollution. It has power over us. Wouldn't it be good if maybe… just maybe… if Allah's Holy Spirit (Ruh'Allah)* came into our lives; then his holiness would be more powerful. Instead of the world touching us and making us unclean, the Spirit of Allah could flow through us and touch the world, making it clean. Wouldn't that be a freedom?'

A response Through this my whole concentration had been on the head mullah. Was he getting angry? Was I going too far? I was watching his face closely for any clues that I should back off.

However, as I spoke about being free from pollution, something broke my concentration. This something was a tangible, an audible, response from the crowd of men listening. There was a palpable sense of, 'Oh Allah, yes! Wouldn't that be good!?' The strength of this response came as a surprise to me, and I was just adjusting to it when I had to readjust to the fact that older, wiser men were chastising people in the crowd – 'Don't agree with him', backed up with a forceful clip round the back of the head.

Ah, time to ease off.

'No, no, no, you don't understand. You're a foreigner.' 'You're right, my friend. I'm just a stupid foreigner. I was just wondering… Just wondering.' After cups of tea, small talk and Salaams, I leave. Hopefully a seed was sown. Hopefully, those with ears to hear will let that seed grow into good fruit.

As I wandered off, I wondered: had I ever heard a gospel message preached like the one I had just been led to give? Not to my knowledge. And yet this is gospel, good news, to my brothers here. It's not what many of us would naturally think of as the message of the gospel, but it's a major part of the message we need to proclaim. I think of it as a piece of music. In the West, we hear the tune of the gospel as having a focus on salvation of the individual from sin by Christ's atoning sacrifice and God's grace touching our hearts; it's a message of love and compassion, with overtones of honouring God. Here, however, the main focus is on the status of Christ, his Lordship meaning he is entitled to save, and God's grace brings a freedom from pollution and gives material provision (such as food on my plate); the main notes are of honour and the overtones are of love and compassion. Played in the right way, this message can resonate in hearts in a palpable way.

Allah?

Through the ages, Christians have tried to convey the Living Word through the everyday language of the people they are reaching out to. Christians took up the words 'Theos' and later 'Gott' (amongst may others) to talk about the Creator. Both of these originally had connotations not compatible with God as revealed in the Bible. However, we now read them exclusively as 'God'. When the message goes to new cultures, we need to find terms that start where people are at, whether that's in New Guinea, Brazil or the Middle East. Do we drop this custom just for a Muslim neighbour?

'But surely there is a big difference between the understanding of Allah and the true nature of God?' True! True indeed. But we all start with a poor understanding of who God is. For some of us he was God the policeman, for others he's God the kindly grandfather. As we get to know him, these misconceptions are replaced by knowing him in relationship. The people I know who have used the word 'Allah' all their life but now know him through Jesus almost all say, 'I knew Allah before, but now I know him so much better. I see him so much more clearly and my relationship is so much deeper through Jesus.'

Very few of my colleagues want to stop using the word 'Allah' in their prayers; instead, the word is infused with new, fresh and dynamic meaning.

Sowing Seed

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Agriculture

'But a few seeds did fall on good ground where the plants produced a hundred or sixty or thirty times as much as was scattered' (Matthew 13:8). 'Thus the saying "One sows and another reaps" is true. I sent you to reap what you have not worked for. Others have done the hard work, and you have reaped the benefits of their labour' (John 4:37,38).

Ilove avocados. My whole family does. In salad, guacamole, whatever. Unfortunately we live in Nepal, where they are rare as Armenian Presbyterians.

Fortunately, near where we live there are two avocado trees, planted over ten years ago by the Smiths family. They too loved them, and so planted some seeds from which large, very fruitful trees grew. Because we are friends with their old landlord, we get to enjoy dozens of them. Fantastic deal.

The thing is, the Smiths never got to taste even one avocado from their trees. Before the trees were mature enough to bear fruit, they had to return to England. Before I wrote them to tell how much we enjoyed and appreciated their long-sighted labour, they didn't even know the trees were still alive.

Our labour here in the leprosy hospital often seems like this. We sow seeds of light and life to patients passing through our doors. Some accept, and we can see the early fruit in their lives, but they leave, returning to villages days from here with which we usually have no contact. We don't know if the fruit grows, multiplies or just withers. Some listen patiently, smile, and leave without us knowing of any change in their heart. And some just don't listen.

Occasionally we get glimpses of the harvest we have sown. Over ten years ago a young lady came in with some of the complications of leprosy. Ginnu was angry and bitter. She had been expelled from the family and village for her disease, and hated herself for the deformities in her hands and feet. Arriving in the hospital, one of her first experiences was to hear the patient fellowship singing and joyously praising God.

She angrily asked one of our nurses, 'What are these people so happy about? Most of them are worse off than I!' She remained angry for much of her time here, but towards the end her heart was softened by the ongoing demonstration of God's love and hearing the word. She left believing in Jesus as her Lord.

And that was the last we heard of her, until she returned ten years later with another complication. She was a changed person, full of joy and peace. She had been accepted back into her family, and during her time away had shared her story with many in the village, and there were now ten families meeting together for fellowship, and looking for a pastor to come and teach them more! We would never have known this were it not for her being forced to return.

Bearing fruit The fruit from some of the seeds we have sown is plain to see. Binja, a bank manager, came to us decades ago with signs of leprosy, and during treatment he had a severe drug reaction which almost killed him. He steadfastly refused to listen to the gospel, but enjoyed teaching other patients to read. Responding to a young lad's request to read the Bible to him, Binja was convicted by what he read and turned his remaining life over to the Lord. He eventually became the principal of the Bible School and spent several years teaching the gospel to many men and women from distant areas. What a fantastic harvest!

I suspect that life for many of us is like this. We sow seeds during our day-to-day lives; we may be privileged to see some of the fruit, but much of it we may never see. When we read the story of the farmer sowing seeds, we assume that he will see the fruit of his harvest, and soon. That is the nature of farming. In Canada now, the farmers often sow winter wheat, which lies underground for the long dark winter months, only to sprout the following spring and bear fruit in the summer.

Words of truth we speak and acts of love we do may not bring about a response for a season or two. What joy for us to see the sprouts arising in God's timing. Or, because life is not always like grain farming, we may be sowing apple or avocado seeds, where the fruit takes many years to come. In today's mobile world, we may be sowing without ever seeing the tree, let alone the fruit. In this we need faith in the Lord of the harvest, who watches over all of the seeds that his farmers have sown.

Of course, this assumes that we are really sowing seeds! The seed is the Word of God, nothing less. If we spend our lives sowing other than the true seed, the chance of a harvest are zero. However if we are faithfully sowing seeds wherever God has placed us, we can rest assured that God will do what is needed to bring in his harvest. Perhaps others will fertilise, and yet others prune and weed. Be encouraged: his word will not return empty!

We have planted an avocado tree in our back yard. With a six-year time to fruition, it is unlikely that we will ever taste the fruit from it. The reward, the blessing, will be for others to enjoy. But really, the important thing is that it will be bearing fruit.

The Partner serves as Medical Director at the leprosy hospital in Nepal. He and his family (pictured below), are seconded from Interserve to International Nepal Fellowship.

The Middle of a Story

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Medical / Health

Rani Bala and her eight-month-old son Bikash are nowhere to be seen when we approach their bed on the women and children's ward. Neither is her songi, who might have been able to explain their absence. Most mothers have a songi, a female relative, with them most of the time when they are in hospital. She cares for their basic needs, helps with their child, does their washing and provides their food. In fact, Rani does not have a songi.

A nurse goes in search of Rani and she finally enters through the curtain which divides the women's ward from the men's. She is tall and slim and holds herself erect. She sits on the side of her bed and places her son down on the bed for the doctors to look at. He had been admitted with a chest infection and has been treated with antibiotics. His infection is now almost better, but other things about him and his mother cause us concern. Bikash is thin, malnourished and listless. He allows examination without any resistance and Rani sits impassively by, with little care for her son – so different from most of the mothers, who cradle their children in their arms as they sit cross-legged on their beds. She answers our questions in monosyllables with an emotionless face, looking at us with big, round, sad eyes. Something is very wrong here. What is it?

What's going on? We turn to Bikash's notes and find out that he has been fed on formula milk from birth. This is very unusual here where breast-feeding is almost universally the norm – for financial reasons if nothing else. We find out, with some difficulty due to Rani's unwillingness to talk, that Bikash is still fed formula milk and has some family diet – rice, dahl and so on – as well. We are dubious as to how much he has, as he weighs only just over five kilograms, way below the average for his age. We then enquire about what Rani and her child have been eating while in hospital. Feeding patients is not a hospital responsibility. Food is brought in by the patient's family, or bought by the songi at the gate (there are several roadside cafes just outside the hospital entrance) or from the food supplied by the kitchen here. Little food had been brought in for Rani and her son during their stay, and so it was not surprising that Bikash's weight was falling still further since admission. Had he had any food in the three days since admission? A food slip can be provided to folk such as Rani so that she can buy hospital food cheaply. We provide her with such a slip, encourage her to use it and walk away. The look in Rani's eyes made me uneasy. What is her story?

The next day we come to Rani and Bikash's bed and once more find it empty and we have to find them. Bikash has not gained any weight, and both he and his mother look listless. It transpires that Rani refused the hospital food. I take a nurse aside and try to find out Rani's story – and then I understand. Rani looks to be in her mid-twenties but is, in fact, only fourteen-and-a-half years old. She was married at thirteen years and bore her son, Bikash, ten months later. Her husband has deserted her, and she has gone back to living in her father's household; probably not a happy situation. No wonder that she is depressed.

No kind of ending We return to thinking about what can be done for Rani and her child. We find that they do not live far away but it is not in an area where the LAMB Project has clinics. Then, the doctor has an idea – perhaps Rani could bring Bikash to the Rehabilitation Centre each week for weighing and could receive help, advice and support while there. It is all we can do except encourage her to eat nourishing food and give some to Bikash. He is nearly ready for discharge as far as his chest infection is concerned, and we can't keep him in for ever. Once again we walk away. We can do so little to help in such a situation. I feel tears welling up in my eyes.

At lunchtime I make a point of going through the ward and am encouraged to see Rani feeding Bikash with some of her food, although whether it was any more than rice I could not see. I smiled at Rani and got a hint of a smile back. How I longed to be able to tell her of the One who most certainly loved her and her son more than ever I could.

The next day, I visit the ward and go to Rani's bed. It is empty, with no sign of Rani's or Bikash's belongings. I am filled with apprehension. Has she gone? I find a nurse, who tells me that Rani has discharged herself. Did she do this under compulsion, I wonder, or had she done it willingly? Was it really what she wanted? Had we been too intrusive? A sadness fills my heart. What will become of Rani and her son now? But then I realise that, though they are out of reach of LAMB for the moment, they are not out of reach of our loving heavenly Father, and I resolve to pray and trust Rani and Bikash into his hands.

Cecilia, in her early 60s, went out from her church in the UK, through Interserve's On Track short-term programme, to the LAMB Project in rural north-west Bangladesh for four months last year to help in the setting up of a children's nursing course in the 75-bed hospital there.

Integral Mission

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Other

She was 19, beautiful and intelligent, about to start her training as a medical assistant. The world was her oyster. That is, until she woke up paralysed from the waist down by transverse myelitis, a rare disease in which the body destroys part of the spinal cord. Overnight she became bedridden, unable to control her urine or stool. Her supportive family took her to local doctors, then to Kathmandu, and finally to Indian hospitals, but as the weeks went by with no improvement they began to take her to witch doctors and other local healers. Finally they gave up, and Manju was brought home. She had given up hope of walking, but was determined to get around as best she could, hanging onto furniture and walls to at least make it around her house. After a year and a half of this existence, she was brought to Pokhara to consult a Buddhist healer. By this point she was quite depressed, and had given up hopes of walking, marriage or work. She was staying near one of our nurses and thus heard of the existence of the hospital. Soon after she came we could see her stubborn determination to 'get back on her feet', both figuratively and literally. She has worked hard on using what muscles were left her by the disease, and has learned quickly how to best use them. With foot splints and crutches she began walking around the hospital, refusing help when she fell down; she has also learned to control her bowel and bladder. While here she heard about Jesus, and has made him Lord of her life. She now wonders, 'Was it God who brought me here to this hospital?' We look forward to what she – and God – will make of her life. We have arranged for her to get into a course to learn office skills, and it is such a pleasure to meet her from time to time, growing spiritually and developing as a person.

Integral mission Which change in her life was more important? The physical one, of us teaching her to walk again? The social one, of enabling one who is completely dependent on her family to become self-supporting? Or the spiritual transformation, of her finding the peace, joy and eternal security found only in Jesus Christ? We would say wholeheartedly that all are important for her as an individual loved by God. To focus on one area only to the exclusion of others would leave her as less than a whole person. Focusing on only her spiritual need without attention to her physical and social need would leave her with belief but still in a desperate situation. Neglecting the spiritual by focusing on only the physical and social rehabilitation would leave her as a monument to man's, or our, greatness, without acknowledging the One who creates and heals. Integral mission is all about effecting total transformation in people's lives, the kind of radical change Jesus and his followers brought about in the New Testament. We read of Jesus saying not just, 'Be healed', but also, 'Your sins are forgiven', with both aspects brought together in the simple statement, 'Your faith has made you well'. Integral mission means loving the whole person and wanting to see God's transforming and healing power working in all parts of people's lives. It is a love that desperately shares a person's desire to walk again, to work again, to be free of drug addiction, and at one and the same time wants to see that same person be transformed into a child of God with a hope not just for their future on earth, but for their eternal future as well.

Contrasting ways of working 'Holistic mission' is a term often used for this. While it is a good term, it has come to be associated with development work done by, or even just paid for by, Christians. When one looks around the world at what is done under the name 'holistic mission', one often finds simply 'good work, being done by good people', in which it is hard to find the aroma of the living God at work. At times, this kind of 'mission' is indistinguishable from that done by secular aid agencies. Is this really the church's mandate? The Bible is very clear on this: people without Christ are lost. To neglect telling of the great news of God's saving grace falls far short of the biblical mandate.

Contrasting with people simply doing development work are those who are involved in exclusively evangelistic ministry. While we are all called to different roles in the church, for the church as a whole to ignore people's physical and social needs would also fall short of the biblical ideal. In 1 John 3:17 we read, 'If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?' When Jesus chose to illustrate God's greatest commands, to love God and to love neighbour, he did so with the story of the good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37), an intensely practical example of what love for neighbour implies. While Jesus clearly said that to love God is the greatest commandment (Mark 12:28-31; Matthew 22:36-40), we may be surprised to find that 'the entire law is summed up in a single command: "Love your neighbour as yourself."' (Galatians 5:14; see also Romans 13:9,10). James makes it clear that to speak about faith without practical evidence of that faith in acts of love for others is hollowness: 'What good is it, my brothers, if a man claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such a faith save him?' (James 2:14). God obviously expects that a real love for him and faith in him will compel us to show compassion to the needy.

Somewhere between these two types come those who do development work as a means of spreading the gospel. This may look from the outside much like integral mission, but the reasoning rings a bit hollow. As we watch Jesus in action, we see him healing the sick, bringing people to repentance and forgiving sins all for the same motive: his deep love for them. Jesus did not perform works of healing to create an opportunity to preach to those people; he did both out of his compassion for them. This type of 'means to an end' thinking leaves us rightfully open to the accusation of duplicity in our motives, and will make many doubt our sincerity.

Development of the whole Integral mission involves development of the whole individual, as modelled in Jesus' own development as a boy: 'And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and men' (Luke 2:52). Jesus grew – in wisdom, physically (stature), spiritually (favour with God) and socially (favour with men). This is a model not only for our own personal development, but also for how Christian development or mission should look. Our ministry should be bearing fruit in development in all of these four areas of people's lives. We will seldom see all happening at the same time, or in the same person, but, over time, integral mission will bring about a radical transformation in people's lives that will make others sit up and take notice.

Interserve is involved in integral mission through, for example, its support of poor patients at the hospital in Pokhara, Nepal. While only a minority of the staff are Christian, several of the Christian staff there are there because of a real call from God to minister to the whole person. Whether or not they have heard the term 'integral mission', they are living it out daily in ministering to the disabled and those affected by leprosy in practical and spiritual ways. Seeing the lame walk again, useless hands made to work again, broken hearts made whole again, the unemployable being put to work, are all everyday occurrences at the hospital. At the same time many, but certainly not all, of those treated come to know Jesus as the One who brought about the healing in their lives, and go on to bring this good news to others in remote parts of Nepal.

We all need to be involved in this kind of mission in our home countries as well, in our churches and neighbourhoods, families and communities, bringing about change in all areas of our own and others' lives. Thinking of the parable of the good Samaritan, where is our road? Surely it is where we are, right now. And who is our neighbour? Surely those with whom we rub shoulders every day. If the people in our congregations become drawn into an active, holistic love for our neighbours, we will see a growth in maturity and numbers in our churches. Thus the 'great commission' (Matthew 28:18-20) and the 'great commandment' both will be fulfilled – or, more accurately, the 'great commission' will be fulfilled as part of the 'great commandment.' May God convict us all to such a ministry.

The family are Interserve Canada Partners serving in Nepal with International Nepal Fellowship – working as a Medical Director and surgeon at the leprosy hospital.

Not to be Sneezed At

/in /by

Other

Mongolians are generally very loose about hellos and goodbyes, but part of the traditional Mongolian greeting when you meet a friend or visit someone's home, in the countryside especially, involves the exchange of snuff bottles. They are always offered to the other person by being held in your open right hand. The other person does the same, and as the hands come together, much like shaking hands, you take the other person's bottle. Once exchanged, you can then either takes a pinch of snuff or just have a sniff of the neck of the bottle. You would then have a look at the bottle, which is usually made of semiprecious stone or wood, compliment the owner and then pass it back as he (or she) returns yours.

For the nomad who has no bank account, owning a snuff bottle is one way of carrying your wealth around with you – some of them are worth $1,000 or more; your wealth is one of the things your bottle says about you.

Interestingly, some Western Christians here refuse to have anything to do with the snuff bottles because of the tobacco implications. My personal feeling is that it's better to be accepting of the culture rather than put barriers up. A few of the older men in our church exchange their snuff bottles before or after the meetings. I always carry mine, and when one of the men offered his to my parents (when they were visiting) after exchanging with me, I introduced my parents and he told them I was his Mongolian son!

Our Christian friend Baagii is an excellent wood carver, and can make almost anything he puts his hand to. Recently he has been making snuff bottles engraved with Christian insignia. Obviously if your snuff bottle has Christian insignia on it then it says a lot about you, and will hopefully start many conversations about the meaning of the symbols, particularly in the countryside where many people still know nothing of the gospel. It is a really good example of contextualising the gospel.