Spring

Autumn is my favorite season. As someone who has not much interest in flowers and plants, I have traditionally had little use for spring. But I've welcomed spring with a new joy in the past few years, and it's not just because the winters are incredibly long in northern Europe.

Several years ago, when we lived in Germany, the country's meteorologists reported that due to historically rainy weather patterns, they had recorded the darkest winter since they'd been keeping such measures of sunlight. As someone who is afflicted with mild seasonal depression when I lack consistent exposure to sunshine, this made for an awful winter. It was unfortunate that at the same time, I was using a new migraine-prevention medication that I did not realize had depression as a side effect.

For the first time in my life, I experienced what clinical depression feels like. Since I didn't realize it was medication-related, or that the winter was going to have much less sunlight that usual, I had no idea why I was depressed or if it would ever end. My only desire each day was to go to bed and stay there. I longed to simply be unconscious. I had no pleasure in anything (except eating sugar and, thankfully, running/walking).

I struggled to go to work, and to think clearly about my tasks, and to concentrate long enough to complete them. All day I thought about my bed, and each night I went to bed earlier and earlier, because there was nothing I was interested in doing except sleeping.

In March, we traveled to Colorado where we planned to spend two months on a speaking tour in churches. I eagerly looked forward to being in my home state, which boasts 300 days of sunshine a year. I also had learned about my medication-complication and adjusted that accordingly.

However, spring had not yet come to Colorado Springs when we arrived. Having been gone more than 18 months, I had forgotten how brown and dry and desert-like the city is in winter. There was no color anywhere. It was so ugly and depressing.

I was walking one day, in early April, in my parents' neighborhood, praying to God about my depression and longing for some kind of change. I noticed that buds were starting to appear on the trees and bushes. The brown branches were becoming a bright green. Flowers were poking up from the soil in people's yards. Everywhere, I saw the signs of life and spring. As clear as if someone were standing next to me, I heard the words in my mind, "I can do the same for you."

I knew in that instant that God had spoken to me, and He was giving me a promise that this difficult season in my life would pass, and I would experience new life. I was filled with awe and wonder at this very unusually clear message from God. His voice to me is often much more subtle.

I clung onto that promise for weeks until my depression ended. And I continue to remember that encounter with the living God who sometimes, for His own wise and good reasons, allows suffering, yet promises and gives new life, new creation, in His own perfect timing.

I also take comfort in the fact that our God is a God who has chosen to suffer, to experience hurt and heartache and loss and grief because He chooses to be in relationship with fallen humans who continually hurt and reject Him. And thus, he suffers with us when we suffer, and does not leave us. When I suffer, I realize I am not suffering alone. I know that going through that winter of depression has made me a more empathetic person, and also has helped me learn a bit better how to face and push through suffering, rather than try to run away from the pain or ignore it.

As the trees and flowers are again blooming here in Manchester after another long, sometimes dreary winter, I am reminded of that day in Colorado when God spoke His promise to me, and delivered. I know I can trust God, and I know He is with me.

-- Gina

Aisha's story

A few weeks ago, Andrew and I traveled to the Middle East to visit local Nazarene leaders, hear their stories, and also offer a short writing training. During our visit, I visited several refugees. Here is my account of one of the stories I heard.

Aisha* is a Syrian refugee who has invited me to her home to hear her story. I have no idea of the dramatic escape and near-death experiences she and her husband are about to tell me.

She is a smiling, plump woman with a friendly, round face wrapped in a dark grey head scarf. As we walk to her neighborhood, our friend Manila*, who will interpret the interview, says, “We’re going into a (slum) area, so don’t take any pictures until we are inside her house.”

We dodge passing vehicles and weave through double-parked cars along the curbs. Manila tells me that these slums are home to a mixture of many different nationalities, Egyptians, Syrians, Armenians, Iraqis and Lebanese. They are all poor, and the impoverished area has the expected amount of crime. The road is broken asphalt, covered in fine, white dust. Someone has put the remnants of an old Turkish rug into a pothole to soften its impact. The streets are closely crowded in by tall apartment buildings, with businesses on the ground floors. Electrical cables stretch chaotically from building to building. Here and there a large cross is suspended among them. It’s a busy Friday afternoon, and many people are out shopping or selling.

I ask Aisha where she comes from in Syria. She answers in Arabic: the countryside, near a large city.

“We had a very large house, very spacious, two floors, and a lot of land. We grew many things, and we had a lot of animals. In the end we even bought a camel,” Manila interprets for me. “Two days ago friends sent us pictures of our house, and it’s all destroyed. Everything is gone.” She says this matter-of-factly. “It’s nothing, all the wealth of Syria is nothing compared to finding Jesus here in Lebanon.”

Tears spring to my eyes.

“Now I am faithfully following Jesus,” she adds.
 
We turn off the sidewalk as Aisha opens a door in the wall between shops. We go up a flight of tiled, dirty stairs. In Aisha’s first floor apartment, we come through a narrow passageway, almost too tight for me with my backpack, into the one main room that she shares with the 10 other people in her family.

The square room, with unnecessarily high ceilings and scuffed walls, is encircled on the floor with three twin mattresses and a futon. A window in the wall is marred by a web of cracks radiating out from a central punched-in spot.

A large, round man, wearing a black track suit, is lying on his side on one of the mattresses. Two small children – a boy and a girl – are on another mattress, engrossed in smart phones. Smiling, the man, her husband Amir*, stands up to shake our hands and welcome us. They gesture for us to sit on the futon.

I realize that all 11 of them sleep and live in this room. I think about the contrast between the large farm they left behind, their two-story house, and now they’re living in this city slum, crammed into one room. I can’t imagine how difficult the transition has been for them.
 
After we are all seated and comfortable, Manila tells them why we want to hear their story and asks if they have any security concerns. They only don’t want their photo taken, “because we will get killed,” Amir says.

“Our life in Syria was beautiful, simple,” Aisha begins. “We had a farm with all types of animals, a two-story house. It was on nine acres – 9,000 square meters. The house, on its own, was 1,000 square meters. The land, we inherited from our parents and grandparents, but the house we built. We built it when I was pregnant with Farah* (who is now 14 years old).”

“At the beginning of the war, someone offered us $400,000 for the house and land, but we said no because we didn’t think we would leave the house. We didn’t want to sell,” Amir says. “When the planes started to bomb, we just left. We didn’t take anything with us, neither the house or car, not even one cup of tea. We took nothing.”

They had a second house some distance away and so they fled with their children there. They lived there for a year and a half, but Amir said it was like being “primitive people.” They couldn’t use their electricity, because if they turned on lights at night, planes would bomb the house. They had an electric pump for their water well, but couldn’t use it. So they lowered pails into the 60-foot well and raised them up by hand.

“We wanted to be warm. We would find anything: plastic bags, old wheels and put it in a tin and burn it to be warm. So life was a daily struggle.”

After 18 months like this, the war moved into their area, so they decided to run to Lebanon.

It was 7 a.m. They hired a taxi for $5,000 to carry their large family to the border of Lebanon. All along the road, there were military checkpoints controlled by different warring factions, or by the government army.

“I was crying all the way, covering my eyes, saying, ‘Oh Lord, oh Lord, if we pass an opposition checkpoint, he could say, ‘take one of the girls,’” Aisha says, covering her face at the memory.

According to the couple, it seems that militants were said to claim girls and young women as they tried to pass through the checkpoints.

“I was afraid for my daughters,” Amir said.

At one checkpoint, a guard was examining their identity cards and then said he wanted to see their 12-year-old girl. “Her picture looks older,” the guard said. “She doesn’t look 12.” While he studied her ID, another soldier came to the car and tried to goad Aisha and the other family members into saying something against the government, perhaps as a pretext to arrest them. The family refused to answer.

Fortunately, the soldiers let them go, and the family passed through many more checkpoints, the taxi driver going as fast as he could. They traveled 14 hours to the northern Lebanese border.

“I was so relieved when we reached the border,” she said.

However, at the border, the Lebanese soldiers tried to turn them away, although Amir said they had been invited by family who were already in Lebanon. 

“Where will [they] put you, 12 people?” the guard asked. “You can’t enter.”

Yet, the guard continued looking at the names on the list of family members. He stopped when he read the name, “Issa,” which is the Arabic name for Jesus. “Who is ‘Issa’?” the guard asked.

They showed him the young boy. The guard then said, “For his sake, I’m going to let you in.”

They were finally out of Syria. But the worst was not yet over. Fighting had broken out in the Lebanese northern city of Tripoli, which they had to pass by to get to Beirut, further south.

“This happens sometimes, in Tripoli,” Manila explain.

The traffic was bad because everyone in the area was trying to escape the fighting. Many roads were closed. Their youngest child, a 6-month-old boy, began vomiting.

“We hadn’t eaten anything that day, the driver was going very fast to escape the armies,” Amir says. “And then we came and there was also fighting in Lebanon. I thought, ‘We won’t make it through this day alive.’”

The taxi driver tried to take the road that hugs the coast along the Mediterranean Sea, south toward Beirut, but now it was 9 p.m. and everything was dark. He got lost and somehow wandered into a Lebanese army checkpoint. Amir says he thought the army was about to shoot them because they were trespassing into army controlled territory. But the driver frantically explained they were refugees trying to get to Beirut, so the soldiers redirected them and the family reached Beirut at 3 a.m.

Aisha takes up the story. “We came to my sister’s house [in Beirut]. She has five boys, so there are seven people in her house. And we were 12. We were too many people in the house for a long time.”

Her sister, Yasmin*, had reached Lebanon just four months before. Yasmin's husband, who had gone ahead of his wife and children to Lebanon, ended up abandoning them for a woman he met in Lebanon. Yasmin came alone, afterward, with the boys and has been raising them as a single parent since.

For one year the two families were crammed into a one-room apartment, about the same size as the one we are now sitting in. They divided the room, so each family had half. 

That was three and a half years ago, in 2013.

Yasmin was struggling to care for her five sons. When she heard that an evangelical center run by the Baptist church was distributing food packages to refugees, she went to receive one. Aisha went with her. While there, some of the people said, “We want to pray for you.”

Aisha was surprised. “I know how to pray, I don’t need you to pray for me,” she told them. “I’ve come for the food.”

But Aisha became curious about these Christians.

“I would like to know how these people pray, how they act,” she thought to herself. “Also, my husband was sick and wasn’t able to work. I needed help.”

So, she began to visit the center every Saturday. There she met Jabir*, the Nazarene pastor of a Syrian congregation that has been formed near Aisha’s neighborhood. She saw that there was a women’s group that would meet and pray for each other, and talk about their experiences of how God was answering their prayers.

“I became curious to know who is this Jesus? What are these women doing?”

Aisha attended regularly and asked many questions. “Why do they say we need faith in Jesus even if we do good works? Are good works not enough to save us?”

Amir was concerned about his wife’s visits to the group. But he didn’t forbid her, and Aisha enjoyed the meetings, so she kept going. Encouraged by the other women, she also began reading the Bible and prayed with them. Eventually, Amir also trusted the group and Pastor Jabir.

During this time, Amir became more and more ill. He says that doctors told him blood was disappearing from his body. Manila and I aren’t clear on what he means, but we think he was having internal hemorrhaging.  The hospital had run tests on him, and when Aisha returned to find out the results of his tests, the doctor asked, “Where is your husband now?” She said he was at work. The doctor said, “How can he be at work? He should be on a bed, dying.”

Until then, Amir was still getting around, but he would become so weary after walking just 50 meters he would be forced to sit and rest. He was always exhausted. The doctors urged him to the emergency room, where the staff gave him blood transfusions. But he kept mysteriously losing blood, although there was no obvious blood loss that anyone could see.

Aisha continued meeting with the believers, although she herself did not yet believe. “I would tell them, please pray for my husband. I was asking all the Christians to pray for my husband.”

When Amir seemed at the point of death, he was rushed to the hospital, and given four pints of blood. But now his body was refusing the blood. The doctors decided to insert a scope into his abdomen to look for internal hemorrhaging, suspecting that Amir had some type of cancer.

Aisha sat outside her husband’s room and began praying, her faith in God strengthened by meeting with the believing women and Pastor Jabir.

“I forgot everyone around me, I was praying, ‘Lord, they say cancer. I believe your word and I know you’re stronger than this and I trust in you.”

Amir says that at this same time, “I was lying there, and the doctor was looking at the test results and rubbing his eyes. I thought, ‘That’s it, I’m a goner.’ Then the doctor said, ‘What type of human are you?’” Amir asked, “What do you mean?” The doctor replied, “It’s as if someone has taken all the old stuff in your body and made everything brand new. It’s as if you just exited the manufacturer. The picture shows there’s nothing wrong with you.”

The doctors decided to test Amir’s bone marrow to look for other diseases, such as a blood disease. The test would cost $600. They didn’t have $600. They could go to an alternative clinic where the procedure would cost $300. They didn’t have that, either. So the doctor told Aisha to take her husband home. “Create a nice, romantic atmosphere for him,” he told her. “In two to three days he’s going to die.”

“I brought him home. I was depressed, I felt like I was choking. There was no solution,” she says.  She was a young woman, only in her 30s, with nine children. She was also a destitute foreigner, and now she would lose her husband.

Aisha went to the evangelical center to see Jabir. She told him that the doctors had lost hope.

Jabir said, “Do you trust God can heal him? Let’s pray for this.”

“I was choking,” Aisha recalled. “The words of the doctor were ringing in my ear, saying, ‘Take him home. There’s no hope left for him.”

Then, a man came and took Amir back to the hospital, giving the $300 for the bone marrow test. It was so painful that Amir filled the room with his screaming. For 15 days he waited at home for the test results and ate nothing. The test result wasn’t even expected back before 21 days and everyone thought he would die before then.

“I sat by my husband at home and told him not to give up hope,” Aisha says.

Jabir came many times to visit.  He asked Amir, “Do you believe in the Lord?” Amir answered, “Of course I believe.” Then Jabir told Amir about Issa and how He saves. “I thought about this, and thought it makes sense,” Amir says.

Aisha continues: “Jabir told me we should pray. Up until then, I would go to the meetings, but I wasn’t a believer. Now, I knelt down and prayed the salvation prayer. I said to Jesus, ‘I accept you into my life. I give you my life and my husband’s life.’ I felt my husband was also giving his life to Jesus.’ When we gave our lives to Jesus, Jesus gave His blood to Amir.”

In a few days, he began to feel better. When the results of the test came back, the doctors reported that they found nothing wrong with him. Baffled and intrigued, the doctor asked if he could do another bone marrow test for his own satisfaction, and would pay for it himself.  Tired of the tests and experiments, Amir refused, and yet he continued to recover and was fully and inexplicably healed.

I remember their story about how the guard let them into Lebanon because they had a son named Issa. I ask them, “If you didn’t believe in Issa before, why did you name your child this?”

“It’s like God chose this name,” Amir answers. Before Issa was born, Aisha had given birth to a son, followed by five girls.

“We were sitting and we were reading … at home. My [oldest] son said, ‘I need to go to sleep now.’ He fell asleep, then woke up in the morning and came to us and said, ‘Mom’s going to have a baby and you should call him Issa.’ I said, ‘Your mother only gets girls, it seems.’

Their son replied, “I had a dream where a guy wearing a white robe came to me. I asked my grandpa, ‘Is this Moses?’ He said, ‘No, it’s Lord Issa.’ And then Issa touched my shoulder. I felt a burst of colors, like a rainbow.”

Later, when Aisha became pregnant, she gave birth to a boy. So the parents named him Issa.

“We believe Issa will come at the end of days and be the judge of the earth. We didn’t know we need to believe in Him now so that when He comes as a judge, He will take us with Him,” Aisha says. “Now we know that He came for us and was crucified for us. We believe that through the blood of Christ, we can be covered. And we know that our eternity was not secure before. Even if we did good deeds, we didn’t know if we will go to heaven or hell. But now, through our faith in Christ and believing His word, we know that we have eternal life. We have a weapon we hold and He protects us from all evil.

“I don’t mind that we lost all our wealth. We found Jesus, which is priceless.”

Aisha and Amir say that it’s not even enough to know Jesus themselves. They feel compelled to share this with others who don’t know Him. She has begun serving with Pastor Jabir in the church he has organized out of refugees who have also decided to follow Christ.

“Once, when we had a big meeting at church, I went up and shared my testimony and said, ‘Me and my family, we want to serve the Lord,’” Aisha says. “And now I’ve been for a while sharing Christ with others, talking about Christ. I want to tell people about Christ, not just know Him personally.

“Two days ago I saw the pictures of the buildings which are broken down [their houses]. Although we were sad because we lost our houses, we thank God, because He has have given me back what I have I lost, repaid me with His Word, with God’s Word. God has repaid us of all the riches in Syria, all our treasures in Syria, He has repaid us with His Word, and God’s always with us, whenever we need anything. God is with us.”

*Names and specific details omitted for security

Thank you for your support

My mom told me a really astonishing story while I've been home in Colorado waiting on my new visa for the UK. She has always been involved in our local churches' support for our denomination's mission endeavors. Part of her work for decades has been to encourage local church members to partner with God in His mission to the world through sacrificial offerings that are pooled with other local churches globally to expand the mission. Much of these offerings go to support missionaries so they can focus more time and energy on actually doing the work and less on fundraising.

My mom said that she recently recalled a time, more than 30 years ago, when she promoted this offering at a district gathering. She told them: "My hope is that someday, if my daughter were to hear God calling her to international missions, that this fund will be there to support her so she can obey God's call and go. I want to know that our church will be there to support her in her ministry."

Mom couldn't have known then that I would indeed be drawn toward cross-cultural ministry off and on throughout my life, and that God would eventually send Andrew and me to cultures outside our own for the past 7 years.

We are so grateful to be part of a church that believes so much in God's mission to reach the world with his transformative love that this same church has made it possible for us to answer God's call. We are grateful that we can spend so much more of our time in ministry than we could if we went independently and needed to raise ALL of our support each year. We are grateful for a church that raises funds specifically for our health care.

We are grateful for a church that believes in us, prays for us, and continually shows us its love in many more intangible ways.

Thank you for your faithfulness in supporting God's mission, and missionaries and workers like Andrew and me.

Meeting refugees

On a recent Sunday afternoon, Andrew and I had the privilege to meet two young men who are asylum seekers in the United Kingdom. Many people fleeing war and violence, or religious persecution and threats against their lives, have left their countries in the Middle East and parts of Africa to seek safety in the United Kingdom.

As a result of complex laws here concerning asylum seekers, some of these people are legally prevented from working or even having a permanent address. Thus there are hundreds of homeless refugees in Manchester who live on the streets while waiting for their cases to proceed through the quagmire of the legal system. In many cases, they wait years.

At our local Nazarene church there are a number of these asylum seekers who come every Sunday and have become part of our church family. Some are Christian and some are still members of other faiths, but enjoy the warm, welcoming atmosphere of our worship services, and being able to have relationships with people who care about them.

Sunday we met two asylum seekers, homeless men from the Middle East, who are still part of another faith, but are attracted to the love and care they have found among us. It was their second Sunday. One of the men has actually been an asylum seeker for 8 years. I'm not sure about the other. In spite of their difficult situation, they are both cheerful, friendly and positive, and we enjoyed laughing and talking around a meal together.

Our local church is part of a network of churches in Manchester that partner with Boaz Trust, an organization that provides food and shelter for these homeless asylum seekers. Every night of the week a different church opens its doors so the men can sleep inside the building where it is dry and warm. The church members provide a hot meal, and volunteers eat with the men and spend the evening with them, also sleeping in the building overnight for security and companionship.

Besides these two men, there are other asylum seekers in our church who have fared better. One woman from Zimbabwe shares an apartment with another woman and rides the bus to church every week. She is a sweet older lady who loves to worship God and is thankful for how He has provided for her needs in spite of her being forced to leave her country and family to live in a foreign land. Another young man came to the UK to study, but encountered Christ through members of our church while he was here. After he decided to follow Christ, too, his family back home threatened his life and he could not return. He had to file for religious asylum seeker status with the UK government, and has been proceeding through the complicated legal system to gain permanent residency here. Thankfully he has gotten far enough that he has been granted permission to have a job, to drive and to have a home. He is growing deeply in his faith and was recently elected to our church board.

For us, refugees are not faceless, nameless groups suffering far away. They are in our city and we meet them face to face and hear their stories. Allowing refugees into one's country is a complicated issue with many different perspectives, with uncertainties and risk. However, we believe that when we encounter refugees among us, whether or not they are Christian, God calls His people to love them and come alongside them. Through these interactions, many refugees are actually deciding to follow Christ, too.

We heard in church on Sunday that 300 refugees who have been living in the "jungle" camp in Calais, France, just across the English Channel, are being accepted into the UK and will be resettled in Stockport, a community just 10-15 minutes from the college. Many of these refugees are teenagers who traveled alone to Europe or somewhere along the way became separated from their families.

Please pray for these new refugees, for the many asylum seekers still living on the streets as they wait for the government to review their cases, and for the millions of displaced people this winter, as cold temperatures descend and families and individuals face the daily desperate search for the means to survive until the next day. Pray that God protects them from trafficking and new forms of violence. Ask God to help them encounter Christians who will show them true love and journey with them in their suffering.

About 50 people from across Eurasia met for a refugee conference in October, in Greece, to learn how our church can come alongside refugees at every point in their journey and serve them in the love of God. Read the story in our November newsletter: www.eurasiaregion.org/where-worlds-meet-november-2016

Critical thinking when listening to the news media

Note: I recently posted an edited version of the below on my Facebook feed, and a lot of people said it was really helpful, so I am reposting it here on our blog so that it can be shared more widely.

Many Christians are concerned with social justice, but seem to have a serious blind spot where the news media is concerned. Yet, the news shapes our awareness and understanding (or lack thereof) and attitudes toward many serious issues, and our trust or lack thereof in our world leaders.

If power corrupts, consider the massive power (and money) that the media hold and ask yourself why we don't consider that members of the media can be corrupted or pressured or manipulated, or, being that journalists are as human as the rest of us, at least mess up sometimes.

While one part of me this year was watching U.S. news shows which repeatedly stated that the refugees coming out of the Middle East were all "single young men of fighting age," another part of me was listening to people I know personally working in refugee camps who said that most people they met were families, the elderly, or women with children. Any single men they met said they were going ahead of family to secure refugee status and housing in safe places so they could bring vulnerable family members to join them later. For many people who didn't know someone working in the camps, what they heard in the U.S. media would have wholly shaped their understanding of the refugee situation in a way that I believe did not reflect the complete reality.

One day I watched a morning BBC news program here in the UK for several hours, and at least 5 different times in the span of the program, a single 5-second clip of Donald Trump was played in which he said something that sounded alarmingly extreme. But never then or anytime since have I seen, when casually watching BBC like most people, any reporting on the serious corruption and injustice charges and alleged criminal actions plaguing his presidential candidate opponent Hillary Clinton.

While it is certainly right for the first clip to be shared (although I would argue a longer clip would be more helpful), it is against journalistic ethics regarding balanced reporting for similarly alarming information about the opponent to be ignored in the same broadcasts. In doing so, they deliberately or inadvertently shape public opinion in the UK about the US candidates.
 
These are just two of many examples I can point to where sometimes what is reported in the media -- or not reported -- causes me to question whether I can trust those who claim to be objectively reporting the news.

Having served as a reporter at two different newspapers myself, I know firsthand how easy it is for us imperfect humans to make mistakes or even be coerced or convinced to omit some information while highlighting others in an unfair way.

As Christians, it's important that we use our God-given critical thinking when we consume news media so we are not deceived or uninformed. Yet, I don't think many of us realize we need to. Busy people put a lot of unwarranted trust in what they hear in news broadcasts, and don't spend time following up with more reading and research. We run the danger of being complicit in social injustices.

In my view, the media perpetrate some of the great social injustices (while also successfully battling others, so it's a complex issue), by:

1. failing to make the public aware of countless great injustices occurring around the world on a daily or weekly basis (when you regularly spend time with people from around the world and they inform you of things happening in their country THAT WEEK or over many years and you realize you have never heard a thing about it, you recognize the media have seriously failed);

2. disrespecting the intellectual capacity and critical thinking of the public by presenting complex and multi-layered controversial issues as overly simplified with only one or two possible viewpoints, reinforced by featuring the most extreme views in interviews and soundbites, robbing viewers of the opportunity to employ critical thinking and to recognize there are many different possible views on an issue, not just one or two, many of them more moderate or reasonable than those that have been presented (i.e. the recent Brexit vote in the UK;)

3. exaggerating issues in order to whip up public frenzy and manipulate opinions and reactions to the news, which directly translates into increased ratings, which means more advertising, which means more money;

4. allowing themselves to be pressured by powerful forces (i.e. advertisers, politicians, mobs, corporate owners) to leave out key facts and information the public need to understand the news, ignoring important stories about corruption, injustice, slavery, abuse of power, war and many other wrongs in our world (read CBS reporter Sharyl Atkisson's book for more on how this happens);

5. being complicit in slander and character assassination, destroying reputations in order to achieve certain ends such as increased access to certain groups or individuals, to boost ratings or revenue and to mislead the public about certain public figures due to editorial bias.

To be a responsible Christian member of the public and to fight social injustice effectively (and to avoid participating in injustice), one should never take all the information presented in the media at face value, but employ critical thinking and investigate the stories and issues for oneself by examining various different opinions and sources for information.

Ask yourself:
1. What is the possible agenda behind the way this news was reported?
2. What have they not told me that could possibly change the way I feel or view this?
3. Is this issue more nuanced and with more angles than the media have led me to believe?
4. What stories have not made it into my local or national media today that are important and I need to know about?
5. Who might have been hurt by this story or by the lack of reporting of a story?
6. If you have noticed that the media has spent a lot of time reporting and analyzing a situation or current event, then suddenly stops, pay attention and ask yourself why. Has the political leadership changed? Does silence on this matter benefit anyone?

This is not a "hate media" rant, as I have been a member of the media, some of my best friends are journalists, and I know that journalists are human and many do their best and many times simply make mistakes despite their best efforts (I made my fair share). However, I also have seen the many times the media have not only failed to examine injustices, but have also perpetrated injustices through unconscious bias, sloppy and lazy or deliberate actions. This is simply an appeal to think for yourself where the news is concerned and question what you hear.

Employ your own critical thinking, and don't just accept what you hear or read as the whole story and the only stories worth your attention. Watch many different news stations. Read many different newspapers and websites. Don't participate in injustice by being deceived or misled or uninformed. Speak out when the media ignore injustices -- or perpetrate them. Write polite letters/emails. Make polite phone calls.

It's not just politicians who need to be held to account.

'Hermits United' in Edinburgh

As part of my doctoral program, I am strongly encouraged to participate in a 'community of scholars' directly engaged in my particular field of study. Not only does this present an important opportunity for professional networking, but also contributes to a healthy balance in the otherwise rather isolated life of a full-time scholar.

'Hermits United', though, would be a good way of describing it. This week, I attended the Ecclesiastical History Society conference on 'Church and Empire' in Edinburgh, Scotland. It was a highly enjoyable time of meeting other scholars studying various aspects of Christian history. I presented a paper that formed part of a recent chapter in my thesis, and got a positive response from the eighteen or so experts and research students in the room. Timothy Barnes, whom I consider the top person in the field of study related to the Roman emperor Constantine, sat in as a guest and listened to my presentation. I had earlier learned that, although retired, he held an honorary professorship at the University of Edinburgh, so I leapt at the opportunity to invite him to hear my presentation. Meeting someone whose work I admire a great deal was easily the highlight for me.

I also unexpectedly had the opportunity to represent and explain the Church of the Nazarene to several others attending the conference. I had the pleasure of seeing a couple guys I had connected with earlier this year in Cambridge: one of them an Anglican priest, and the other an atheist studying Welsh poetry who is nevertheless friendly toward Christianity. I also met a Roman Catholic priest from Washington, DC, an evangelical youth-worker from Australia, and a pair of Russian Orthodox scholars, an Italian from Milan who is doing a Ph.D. in a second language at the University of Nottingham, and a self-described 'radical political theologian' whose worldview, except for our shared Christian faith, is almost completely different than my own. Finally, I met another high-calibre historian of late antiquity, Gillian Clark, whose grandmotherly demeanor and smooth aristocratic accent immediately won my heart.

I intended to advertise myself as connected with the University of Manchester, thinking it quite likely no one knew or cared about Nazarene Theological College. However, my name-tag said 'Nazarene Theological College' anyway. It was actually quite the conversation starter! Quite a number of people -- including the above individuals -- asked about the college and the Church of the Nazarene. Most had already heard either of the college or the denomination, and had very positive things to say. This was also a top highlight, explaining briefly and simply our denomination's 'place' in the body of Christ as related to our history and our emphasis on holiness.

Our travels often present us with opportunities to explain some aspect of our faith to people we happen to meet. In the UK, it is most often our American accents that start conversations: 'You're not from around here, are you?' is often followed by 'What are you doing in the UK?' We go on to explain her job, my research, and the church connection immediately gets inserted with those. People are almost always interested in hearing a bit more. Gina also had a similar conversation with the young lady who hosted us in her home for the week: she's a rather talented visual and performance artist, and has a general interest in and respect for all religions but self-identifies with none in particular. These personal conversations do not immediately result in any conversions: however, we do believe that, in such moments, we are part of perhaps a long 'chain' of people in someone's life through whom God reveals his love to people. We believe that if someone is having a positive interaction with us on any subject relating to Christ, the chances are high that their hearts will be drawn closer to him in the process.

Many of these people we have met, we may never see again. But we crossed paths once. We pray we will be able to do so again in God's kingdom.

Squirrel War of 2016

While other friends were relocating to Africa as missionaries, where they would post photos on social media of monkeys or other undomesticated creatures that managed to sneak inside their homes, we didn't think we had to worry about such things when we moved to England.

We were wrong.

The squirrels in Didsbury are quite aggressive. We have been told they're actually American grey squirrels that somehow got to England, bred out of control and dominated the native red squirrels to near extinction.

Anyway, we have a top floor, one-room studio apartment on the campus of Nazarene Theological College. We're actually in the undergraduate dormitory, where Andrew serves as the resident assistant for all the students living on campus. When we first arrived, there were warning signs posted throughout the building about invasive squirrels. We thought it was a joke.

Each summer we battle the invasions of the squirrels, competing with us for the food in our own kitchen. I feel truly sorry for those little red squirrels.

In Europe, most residents do not have screens on their windows. If it's hot or you want fresh air, you open your window wide and there's nothing standing between you and whatever is out there, waiting to come in. My biggest concerns is usually about mosquitoes and spiders. There have been few of those. But the squirrels are another thing entirely.

If we open our windows in the summer, because it can get pretty stifling on the top floor on a warm, sunny day, these cunning critters will just come right in. Sometimes they poke their head through to watch and see what we're doing. Once I was exercising vigorously to a video on my computer just a couple of feet from the window and a squirrel peered in and watched me, and even tentatively started putting its paws inside the frame as if testing the boundaries to see what I would do. If we're not looking or we happen to leave for a few minutes, or even go into the bathroom and the squirrels think we're not there, they waltz right in and start finding treats and then hiding them in other places in our flat.

Just last week, we had already been raided 3 times when we accidentally left a window open while we were out. But we thought that it would be OK to have them open overnight to make it more comfortable for sleeping.

At 6:15 a.m., we were violently started awake by a loud noise. We bolted upright and looked around, but could see nothing that had tipped over or was out of place. So, we tried to go back to sleep for a little while longer. Then, Andrew heard something and looked over to see a squirrel standing on our kitchen table. He leaped up to shoo it away, but in the blink of an eye, it had vanished. We looked around for a while, and then finally peered behind a large piece of furniture and saw a bushy tail in the shadows. We opened a kitchen window and then moved the furniture to prompt the squirrel out. The squirrel leaped on the table again and then jumped out the window.

Other incidents involve squirrels finding my hidden bag of chocolate under my side of the bed and hiding truffles and other pieces of chocolate around our apartment, I guess to come back and get later. I've found an unwrapped truffle underneath my laundry basket, a small chocolate bar inside a shoe, and strangest, a truffle tucked underneath the corner of the fitted sheet on our bed when I changed the sheets. They also like to eat hamburger buns.

I did try to put up mosquito netting on one window to see what would happen. The squirrel pushed right through it to raid our kitchen once again while Andrew was blissfully unaware, studying on the bed with headphones in, listening to his music. I came back to find crumbs all over the kitchen floor.

Cheeky!

Suffice it to say, this is an unexpected aspect of "missionary life" in England.