Just Out Of Portland

When I first came to Christ, it was the hard way. It was an intense, Pauline like experience that I don’t think I can forget. Ever. It hurt, it smashed my pride, my self-perception, and I had to admit to a lot of wrong ideas and misinformation that I had filled my own head with.

That is what set me on the path to where I currently am, in a parking lot at midnight, doing communion in a vehicle with about a quarter to my name, but so filled with joy I could just about cry. He’s good. Jesus is really that good.

It’s not about me. None of it. We hear this said by others and think “Oh, we’re back to that nonsense,” but once you realize that you no longer exist outside of the Spirit of God within you, it cannot be about you. By definition, it must be all about Him. Every moment after that is properly detailed as being about your Father’s business.

For those who do not know, we are travelers. That is not the Travel Channel kind of traveler. They vacation. We are peripatetic. We have no fixed address, we are also called homeless, transient, and some less than savory names. We are Celts, but we are technically peregrini, traveling ministers. Saint Patrick was one. So was Saint Columba. So was Saint Dyffrig, of whose order I personally belong. All point to Jesus, all strive to demonstrate our King, the King of Kings.

You find interesting people and situations out here. There is heartache, longing, pain, and the kinds of woes one never sees in white picket fence American Christianity. The first time you give away your Communion roll to another homeless person who is hungry, you realize that Christ is in you, and He compels you to action, to literally be his hands and feet.

Among some Jews (I know this from formerly being one, as I was a Breslov chassid when I was confronted by Jesus) there is the legend that Jesus was equitable to a rabbi of the Talmud named Rabbi ben Pintura (not sure I agree, but bear with the story). The question as recorded in the Talmud is that two men are stranded in the desert a day’s journey from the nearest water source. They both have a certain amount of water, but not enough. If both travel, both will perish. Unless they combine their water. Then one person can make this journey.

Where ben Pintura and the rest of the rabbinic mass part ways is in who gets the water and why. Some say they should just risk it and die together, like some Thelma and Louise venture, but the majority declare to wrest the water from the other, that God prefers self-preservation. Rabbi ben Pintura stands everything on its head and says in essence that one should give the water to the other willingly, as self preservation goes against true Godly love.

He loses. But that doesn’t stop the fact that he was right.

We are in our current position because we were supposed to be working in only two days from the previous post, but it turned out that it was in fact a week. So we have been waiting for the work to get to us for a week. We start back tomorrow.

Some think that we are funded, like many other missionaries are funded. Our difference is that we were not sent by a mission board. We were sent by the King. We literally gave up everything we owned and just left. We knew for a few years that it would be something like this, but really couldn’t envision it, or validate the reality of it until the circumstances all aligned themselves. Then we realized what the Divine part of this was.

Stories like this are all through Genesis. One thing we find is that we are different, very different than we were as megachurch Christians with the nice house, fence, and $60K a year job. At this current job, the amazement is that I am here, but not a felon, sober, drug free, and one boss commented that he was amazed I had all my teeth. Not sure why that was important, but he was quite astounded.

But it’s easy to smile at people and love them when you have nothing, because Jesus is what you have, and when He’s right there with you, it doesn’t matter so much.

We truly are blessed.

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