Help wanted

You know that verse, Luke 10:2: "He told them, 'The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field.'"

I never really had personal feelings about that verse until I began working for the church. Before that, the plea for workers was an abstract idea to me. Sure, I believed Jesus when He said that the world is waiting to hear that He promises the freedom, peace and joy of being in a right relationship with God. I got it that He is calling more people to spread that message, whether in their neighborhood or across the ocean. I even wanted to be one of those people who said yes. And when we got the call, eagerly we said yes.

Agreeing to be one of those workers, I started out at the Nazarene Missions International office in Kansas City. The next three years were an exciting journey of working alongside others in providing resources for local churches that were promoting the mission.

At the same time we were constantly swamped and longing for help.

In February, Andrew and I shifted our geography a bit, following the call to Buesingen, Germany (or Switzerland, depending on which way you look at it -- it's a long story). I continue my job with Engage magazine, as well as pitching in on projects for the Eurasia Region and writing much of its regional newsletter. I love what I'm doing, but so often I feel so far behind that I'll never catch up, and find myself working long into the evenings.

A new colleague, Tiki, is shouldering a huge part of the load, and it's amazing how much we are able to accomplish together. I shudder to think what my days here would be like if she hadn't agreed to volunteer for one year. Gratitude doesn't begin to describe how I feel about her sacrifice in joining the work. Then I think about how much more we could accomplish with even two more people.

Andrew is the lone man at the EuNC campus library, where he has said a time or two that another person would be a big help. With a small campus and faculty, I'm sure the college looks around at ideas, resources and classes that could be conducted with more people, but for now remain nothing more than dreams.

These days I look at Christ's plea for more workers in a slightly different light. I see not only that the harvest is ready to be brought in, but I see workers who are so passionate about the work that they put in very long hours and take on numerous projects. It's a joy to serve, but it's a joy that's limited to too few people. With more workers, those who are already working might be able to rest a bit more, have fewer emails when they return from a vacation, and be more focused and productive with the things they're already doing.

My personal bias is to find more writers for the harvest. I know they're out there, I just don't know who they are. And they don't yet know the adventure that they're missing. I'm praying God calls their name and that they answer. Consider praying with me.

-- Gina

Adventures in ice cream

My colleague, Tiki, and I decided that every month we would celebrate our completion of the region's monthly newsletter by walking to Schaffhausen for ice cream. This time, however, it was about 40 degrees, windy and spitting rain. So, we drove.

Huddled down in our coats and shielded by umbrellas, we strolled along the cobblestone streets of the old city to the little ice cream stand, determined to enjoy a cold dessert in spite of the wet, freezing weather.

At the ice cream shop counter, the woman who either owns or manages the shop greeted us. Tiki asked the customary, "Sprechen sie English?" When the woman said yes, we asked her what some of the different ice creams were that we were unfamiliar with.

One was called Quitte. The woman tried in her limited English to explain the look and color and texture of this fruit; we played a guessing game of trying to identify what it is called in English. We never did figure it out, but having gotten on a computer later, we realized it is not a fruit that is available in either Australia or America at all.

When we pointed to another one we couldn't translate, she showed us a picture of popped corn. Then she gave us a sample. Sure enough: buttery popcorn flavored ice cream.

In the end, I got a scoop each of macadamia nut and coconut. Tiki ordered the popcorn and a dark chocolate spiced with hot red chilis.

Just as always, I felt badly to approach one of the Swiss or German people and ask her if she would be willing to communicate with me in English. As a resident for one year in this country, I feel it would be respectful and appropriate to learn the language. However, as a one-year volunteer with a very limited budget, it is not possible for Andrew and I to take the very expensive language courses that would be required. In addition, they take about 3 months of full-time class work and studying in the evenings; that would only leave us 9 months for the work we came here to do. Therefore, volunteers who come to Busingen do not usually receive the opportunity to learn German.

Being unable to speak the language results in numerous frustrations, including navigating an unknown city, ordering food and interacting with friendly strangers who stop you on the street to chat. As a missionary to the area, it is doubly frustrating to be unable to build relationships with local people who are not fluent in English. I want so much to speak to them in their language, and have viewed the language difference as a barrier to begin building relationships. Therefore I often do not even try to begin.

However, Tiki showed me a different perspective. Seeing that the ice cream shop was empty of customers, she began peppering the woman with questions about how to say "scoop" and "ice cream" and "cone" and "one please" in German. She had the woman explaining the differences between masculine and feminine, and coaching her in pronunciations of more difficult vowels.

I could tell the woman was enjoying the lesson. Tiki was asking her about her language and showed a genuine interest in getting the pronunciations right and forming a sentence. The interaction resulted in a lot of laughter and gentle correcting.

If we continue in our monthly tradition of trekking to Schaffhausen for our celebratory ice cream, I believe we could develop an ongoing relationship with the woman, as each time we try to perform a little more Swiss-German and find more commonalities to talk about with the ice cream shop lady.

I realized through watching Tiki that language doesn't have to be a barrier to relationships. It can be the open door that we walk through.

Teaching Intro to New Testament

Last week, I completed my first teaching assignment, a course for first-year students titled Introduction to the New Testament. It was a very challenging, but positive and eye-opening experience!

There were four international students in my class. Pictured here from the left are Linda (Germany), Niels (the Netherlands), Keila (Argentina), and Heber (Bolivia). Each one of them brought a passion for studying God's word, insightful questions, and a unique perspective on what it means to live as Christians in the world.

The class met for two hours a day from March 26-April 21, during which time I led them through each book of the New Testament. We discussed key passages, authorship, historical background and important theological themes unique to each book and consistent throughout the NT. By far, the favorite class activity was our regular discussions. Sometimes, I would ask the students about a particular passage: what it meant to them, what concerns or questions they might have about it, etc. At other times, the students asked their own questions and often had them answered by their fellow students. I greatly enjoyed seeing each of them engaged and interacting with the Scriptures, working to understand and apply it to their lives.

Teaching was an incredible challenge. Not only because it was my first experience, but because of the responsibility of teaching the Bible. Always in my mind was the admonition of James 3:1, which says "Not many of you should presume to be teachers, my brothers and sisters, because you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly." Never have I been more thankful for my own teachers - at Southern Nazarene University, MidAmerica Nazarene University and Nazarene Theological Seminary - whose careful guidance and shaping of my life contributed profoundly to the success of my first teaching assignment.

For about a week toward the end of the session, I was sick. Fortunately, I never missed a class and was able to keep teaching. Following the end of the course, I participated in an evaluation with the academic dean in which I was able to share ideas for improving the curriculum. At the end of this evaluation, I was asked to teach the class again to a new group of students in November: an opportunity I readily accepted with excitement.

Finally, a word about the students in my class.

I am so proud of them, even as I have admiration for them. They did everything without complaining or arguing. Indeed, they tackled the study of the New Testament with passion! Their discussion, assignments and tests reflected a hunger and growing appreciation for the word of God. They were teachable without expecting to be spoon-fed. They asked tough questions, yet allowed the word of God to speak to them. They were patient with their teacher as we all learned together!

Each student at EuNC is very special to me. As I get to know them, I grow to love them. They are an amazing group of young people! EuNC has an important role to play, raising up servant leaders who participate in the work of God throughout the world. Please keep the school, the students, the faculty and staff in your prayers!

Bible study

Andrew and I have joined an adult Bible study through our church here in Busingen. It meets on Monday evenings at various families' homes.

Coming from the United States, this is probably our first time to be part of a group like this -- very international. One member is originally from the Middle East, others are Swiss or German, one person is from the Ukraine and another couple is from the U.K. Along with one other person, we're the only Americans.

One thing I really enjoy about this is being able to spend time in the homes of families who are from Switzerland. It's nice to get off campus a bit, see new faces and get to know people from other cultures in the context of one thing we all have in common -- our love for God and our desire to know Him better through reading His letters to us, the Bible.

This week we began a study of the New Testament book by James. The group really digs into it -- it took us about 90 minutes to go through nine verses. Until you begin to hear the insights of others, you don't realize that two or three paragraphs can be so richly loaded with numerous ideas, implications and truths. I learned so much from everyone.

One of the main promises of the beginning of James 1 is that when we go through a difficult time, we don't experience it alone. God is close, going through it with us, giving us His strength, wisdom and patience. The chapter also promises that God is eager to help; there's no "I told you so," heavy sighs of annoyance or reluctance. God can't wait to jump in and get involved.

Much of our time here in Europe has been full of the joy of new experiences, the beauty of a peaceful rural village and the fun of meeting wonderful new people. Adjusting to a new culture and country also comes with stresses, strains, frustration and longing for the familiarity of family and friends back home.

It was good to be reminded that anything difficult we experience here -- which is not difficult at all compared to what millions of other believers around the world must face -- is only going to make us stronger and draw us closer to God.

Witnessing History: Part 3

(This is the third part of my (Gina's) entry about my trip to Bangladesh in late March. To read the first and second parts, scroll down to the previous entry.)

The second day of the district assembly was the day when 193 new elders would be ordained. Each of them was already pastoring a church, or had planted a church while they studied in their 3-5-year Bible college program. For a district with 1,000 organized churches and many more churches that were still working to meet requirements for official organization, having qualified and trained leaders to shepherd these brand new congregations is crucial. Even this large group of new elders is only a portion of the pastors that are needed.

Sitting on the floor in the hot and stuffy auditorium, people had been fanning themselves and wiping their brows all day as they held elections, voted on proposals and listened to reports. By 3 p.m. this was all finished and it was time to ordain the elders.

Ten of the candidates at a time were called to the front and they lined up next to the platform. There were two general superintendents and two retired general superintendents standing on the platform next to regional leaders and local elders. (Our denomination has six general superintendents at a time whom we elect to this highest position in the church.) They formed a web of people, all of them with hands laid on the shoulders of the people in front of them. One general superintendent stood over an altar. They called the name of the next new elder in line, who climbed the steps and knelt before the group.

The general superintendent lay his or her hands on the candidate's head and prayed a traditional charge of anointing for ministry. Sometimes the candidate knelt beside a spouse and child. Sometimes, there were two candidates side by side -- a husband and a wife who had both completed their schooling at the same time. Sometimes the candidate was the wife, and her husband simply knelt beside her in support.

I think they had gone through about 6 rounds of this before the emotion began to set in for me about what I was seeing.

As a spouse whose husband completed 3 years of seminary just last year, I knew something of the discipline, passion and commitment these people needed to have so they could make it to this day. But I also knew they had to overcome much more than we had: squeezing in their classes and studies around working in the fields or making handicrafts to sell or driving a rickshaw to earn a little money; walking or cycling long distances to a class; studying by the light of a propane lantern late at night; caring for family and pastoring a church. I was amazed at their accomplishment.

I also considered the women kneeling on the platform to be ordained. The district superintendent had told me that we are the first church in the country to ordain women leaders. In the culture, women are not traditionally seen as decision-makers or leaders. These women would face an uphill climb in their culture to be recognized as pastors and leaders. Yet they had heard the call of God and answered.

It was all enough to bring me to tears. I had to struggle to see through them to focus my camera and continue capturing the faces of these strong and courageous new leaders as they each took turns climbing the platform steps.

At the end of the night, everyone sat side by side with crossed legs on the floor and shared communion. Men and women walked carefully between the people to pass out wafers of bread and small cups of juice. In three languages -- Portuguese, Spanish and Bengali -- leaders led the Lord's Supper. I sat in a corner with some of the women.

Following the service, some of the women near me in the corner stopped to talk with me -- only the third time this had happened during my time in Bangladesh. We couldn't say much, but we were all grinning at one another and oohing and aahing over a gift I was given from the district for my participation in the event. One of them asked me, "Husband?" I nodded and smiled. In another moment, one of them had stuck a small black dot on my forehead, between my eyebrows, and we all laughed. Another held up her cell phone, which was nice and shiny, so I could examine my new decoration in the phone's reflective surface. One woman turned me around so she could place flowers in my braid. I sensed the cultural barriers cracking some more.

A woman, gazing up at me, observed, "Tall." I laughed because I was indeed taller than basically every person I had met. Since they knew the word "husband," I repeated it and then lifted my hand another foot above my head. "Ooohhh," they all said. We laughed some more.

When it was clear nothing more could be said, one of the woman said, "Good night" and ushered the others out the door. I was sorry that there was no further way we could communicate.

The next day our foreign group made the long van trek back to the central part of the country so we could catch our flights home. I wasn't ready. There was so much I hadn't seen, so many people I hadn't talked to and so many pictures I hadn't taken. Everything in the north was beautiful and picturesque, from the rice fields to the street-side markets, from the mud-cracked huts in the small villages to the children running and splashing in the muddy ponds. The lasting impression I will carry with me from Bangladesh is the hardworking, industrious nature of the people as each person is busy growing or carving or transporting things for sale.

I also will remember the man sitting in a chair outside the auditorium by a door where he could see and hear the events inside, because there was no more room inside the auditorium. He stopped me as I passed and said, "Pray for us, sister." So I plan to do that as I remember my time in that beautiful country.

To see more pictures and read more about these events, check out my articles and a video at www.eurasiaregion.org, and www.engagemagazine.com.

Bangladesh photos online

A photo album from the Bangladesh trip is now posted here: http://ginapottenger.shutterfly.com/

We hope you enjoy them!

Witnessing History: Part 2

(This is the second part of my (Gina's) entry about my trip to Bangladesh in late March. To read the first part, scroll down to the previous entry.)

Once we arrived at the conference center, I learned that more than 2,000 people had traveled across the country to get there, whether by bicycle, rickshaw or by renting a seat in a bus. About half of these had been elected by their churches to attend the event and to represent them in voting and elections. The conference center had nowhere near enough rooms for all these people, but they were content to sleep on the ground outside or on the auditorium floor each night for the chance to be part of the celebration.

A large crowd had gathered in the hot and dusty yard and two long lines of young men and women dressed in white were straightening ties and smoothing out dresses as they prepared to march inside for their graduation.

Inside the auditorium there was no air conditioning. Fans in each corner blew air from the open windows and doors. Even so, everyone packed into the hall fanned themselves and perspired.

I spent the graduation walking around the auditorium and snapping photos. I was interested at how the participants seemed so somber, demonstrating so little emotion on such a big day. Later, when I was eating a meal next to the academic dean of the school, I asked about this. He said that in their culture, it is a sign of respect toward foreign guests to restrain emotion.

I was a little sad when I heard this. I think it was the first time in my life when I really felt that different cultures aren't merely something interesting and fun to explore, but they are also a barrier between people. I wished that I could either be invisible or that for one day I could be a Bangladeshi so that the people I was meeting would feel they could truly be themselves around me, instead of keeping a shy and respectful distance in my presence.

Sometimes, when I wasn't busy snapping photos, I had a little fun with this cultural difference. Because it is not everyday that people with pale skin and light hair like mine travel to this part of the country, our group of foreigners were objects of fascination to everyone. I found somber eyes of children, men and women trained on me almost all the time.

At first this was a little intimidating. But then I got used to it and I stared back at them. I grinned broadly and held their eyes for several beats. After a few moments, each person would break into a responding grin. At that point, we were probably grinning like idiots at one another. But each time I coaxed a smile out of a brother or sister in Christ, I felt that barrier of culture and language crack just a little.