God Loves a Cheerful Giver

Pastor Tim and his pigeons

Jesus sat down opposite the place where the 

offerings were put and watched the crowd putting 

their money into the temple treasury. Many rich 

people threw in large amounts. But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a few cents. Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything – all she had to live on.”

Offerings.

Poverty.

Wealth.

The time for offerings in the worship services are special here. And somewhat different than in America. Back home, churches will either pass a plate down each row of congregants. Other churches might have a place in the back of church where givers can approach and drop in a check or some bills. Both cases are somewhat anonymous. Here in Moz, the offering plate, in most cases a ceramic plate or an old plastic bowl is bought to the front of the church. Worshippers will then gather in the center aisle and slowly approach the bowl, one by one, dropping in their small coins. Probably no more than 15 to 30 cents.

We, as a team, have brought monetary gifts for each church we’ve visited. And in return, each church has given us a gift. But not one that can be put into a piggy bank. We’ve been given oranges, bananas, sugar cane, and 50 kg bags of rice. One church presented our team leader Alex a live chicken. Another presented pastor Tim with a small crate containing two flapping pigeons. I’m pretty sure the chicken was used for that night’s dinner. It’s a bit unclear what happened to the pigeons.

It was impossible to fully prepare for the poverty here. It’s been like going back in time. The list of things that most people here don’t have is much longer than the list of things they do have. The other day we enjoyed a large feast after church outside the pastor’s house. Think a church potluck without the coleslaw. Women cooked beans and rice over small front-yard fires. Chickens were killed, plucked, chopped, and cooked. A momma duck and her 11 chicks wobbled around the grassless yard, purposely avoiding the guy with the axe. Pigeons in an elevated coop watched warily over the proceedings. The people all sat and ate in segregated groups. We as a team sat in one group in chairs around the only table enjoying sodas and the finer things in life such as knives and forks. The pastors all circled together. The men had their own space apart from the women and children. Some sat on tarps, others on large pieces of cardboard. Most everybody ate with his or her hands. When the meal was done, the plastic plates and bowls were rinsed and stored atop the pastor’s house. Then the fires were rekindled and the chicken feet, heads, and intestines were sautéed with tomatoes and garlic. Nothing goes to waste. They think we’re weird because we don’t eat the bones. We tossed and kicked footballs and futbols with the children. A teammate pulled out a giant wand for blowing soap bubbles and you would have thought we’d taken the kids to Disneyland.

And yet despite all that was lacking, so much was there in full. Color for one. The women wear amazingly vibrant skirts that create a mosaic of hues that would make the Nordstrom family jealous. Music, singing, zeal, passion, community, love for God’s word are all here in plenty. And out of this abundance they give what little material goods they can spare. Animals, fruit, and veggies that are needed for the next day’s lunch are offered up as an expression of faith and obedience. A few small coins that could be used to buy something, anything: a shirt, or shoes, or a spoon are given to the church.

This whole experience has been one big slap upside the head. I’m a big fan of tithing. But it’s not the easiest thing for me. I’m also a big fan of spending money on stuff that’s not crucial. This morning’s group devotional time was about living with simplicity. Topics that we discussed included contentment, peace, and generously giving beyond one’s means. Being a single teacher forces me to live more simply than most others around me. But compared to the Mozambicans, I feel as rich as Solomon. Also, living in the shadow of one of the most affluent communities in America isn’t easy. Wishing for more, wanting a bigger home, desiring a newer fancier car are all things I struggle with. Since I can’t afford a house on the hill with a Benz in the driveway, I think I try to compensate with small things that I can afford. More clothes, or books, or stuff from Target that isn’t essential. Even food. Perhaps cutting back on these things will create a larger sense of peace and contentment. Spending less on myself will then allow me to give more to those in need.

When writing about giving, I’d be severely amiss if I didn’t take the time to thank those who so bigheartedly donated so I could be here. So many people gave quickly, cheerfully, and beyond their means. Some gave without even being asked.

We leave this wonderful place tomorrow. My camera is full of pictures. My mind is full of memories and my heart is bursting with love for the children we’ve met. One thing I don’t want leave behind is a deeper desire to give more. The Mozambicans give so much in their poverty. I need to give more out of my wealth.

“God loves a cheerful giver,” wrote the apostle Paul in 2 Corinthians 9:7. I’m pretty sure God is looking down on our churches here and smiling.

Customs, a Pastor, and a Little Boy

We’ve heard several stories about the spiritual 

Pastor Sampaio and his family

customs in which the Mozambican culture is steeped. Spiritual warfare is extremely overt here and the belief in the activity of evil spirits is very prevalent. For example, Mozambicans will regularly conduct a ceremony in which they sprinkle rice flour on a banana leaf and place it under their bed. This is to call upon the spirits of their dead ancestors to bless the men with a good a job and the women with plenty of children. This tradition is rooted in fear because they are also calling upon their ancestors for protection from being tormented by evil spirits. Those coming to our churches here in Moz are finding freedom from these beliefs and placing their hope and trust in God for their blessings and protection.

Another deeply ingrained belief here is that grandmothers can place a curse on a young married couple if the groom does not properly provide a dowry to his bride’s family. Grandmothers will go out to the fields with their hoes and call upon the evil spirits to create strife, discord, and arguments. They believe the demons will encircle the young couple’s house and prevent conception and the inability of the groom to land a good job. Pastors John and Maria told of a childless couple they counseled who had been “cursed” in this fashion. After prayer and counseling the young wife became pregnant one month later. They now have four kids.

The other day, we visited a local church led by Pastor Sampaio. He is an exceptionally sweet elderly man. At 73 years old he is still going strong and passionately leading God’s people. He worked as a translator for 10 years bringing God’s word to a local language. When he finished, he felt lost, without a purpose, and at his age, worthless. He crossed paths with Pastor John who quickly saw the value that he could bring to the Life Covenant family of churches here in Mozambique. He is a man filled with humility, kindness, and sincerity. He brings strong teaching skills, wisdom, good counseling insights, and a vast bible knowledge to all the churches in the area. He has become a tremendously valuable asset. It’s amazing to see how God has given Pastor Sampaio an important role to play in his work here in Mozambique and replaced his feelings of worthlessness with a sense of purpose and confident value to his kingdom. He has asked that we pray that he will have few more years of ministry.

Yesterday we visited a third local church in the village of Dondo. Then we picked up the third wave of teammates at the airport. After our lunch we went out to the market to buy a truckload of food and supplies for the Melanie Center. The market was a beehive of activity. Individuals were selling a variety of fruits and vegetables, fresh seafood, meat, and nuts. Think a local farmer’s market on steroids. Competition is fierce as there are dozens of vendors each selling the same product. It’s not hard to see how people earn less than three dollars per day. From there we went shopping at the cupulano store. Cupulanos are the long multi-colored skirts worn by Mozambican women. Outside the shop hobbled a small, filthy one-legged boy, begging on homemade crutches. Heartbreaking to say the least. He kept saying, “What’s up guys?” over and over. Eye contact only spurred him on. Ignoring him only increased the ache in my heart for him. I had nothing to give him. No food or money. He wobbled around our van on his crutches, refusing to take our gestures of “nothing to give” to heart until we pulled away. I watched him through the side window, offering up a silent, feeble prayer.

A prayer for him.

And a prayer that I wouldn’t forget him.

Moz Update from July 8

Yesterday, we went to a local church here in Beria

in a village called Nhounga. It was quite remote

and very rural. The church was made of sticks and was maybe 20 x 40 feet in size. Pastor Domingo had a home on site, along with two other buildings. The smaller of the two mud-walled buildings was no bigger than a walk-in closet. Somebody was actually living in it. I’m not sure what the second building was for. During our lunch, we watched a duck and a rooster get into a serious squabble and the duck was thrown into this other building. I think he was getting put in a timeout. There was an outdoor cooking area over a fire, like when you go camping, minus the loads of gear from REI. The pastor’s house was heartbreaking. We were allowed to take a tour. It was no larger than a normal-sized living room and was divided into four “sections”. The home was missing electricity, running water, a bathroom, and a kitchen. Pastor Domingo had a small hand-held battery operated lantern for his single light. One room was a bedroom and one was for storage. The bed was the only piece of furniture I remember seeing. I left barely able to choke back my tears.

Prior to the lunch, battle of the birds, and the home tour, we experienced a church service and hours of free-play time with the kids. Even though it was midweek, the church slowly filled up after our arrival. Apparently, there had been a death in the village during the night and many of the villagers weren’t able to worship with us. Their custom is to sit with the family after a death for days and days. Because of this, we were not able to walk through Nhounga and meet the local villagers.

And yet, despite the loss of a community member, the service opened with the most dynamic praise and worship time. A circle of brightly-clad women passionately danced and sang nonstop for a good 30 minutes. By this time, the kids were assembled and our “kids team” led a bible story and then played and played. The kids were very timid and leery around us at first. The digital display on my camera is a big hit because they can see themselves instantly. We played a toned-down version of dodgeball, catch with a football, ran relay races, and had a tug-of-war. I tried to teach a session of duck-duck-goose to the younger kids through an amazing interpreter named Antonio. They never really quite got the whole concept, but it was fun nonetheless. The language barrier is a bummer, but there’s nothing I can do about it so I can’t get frustrated or mad. I just wish I could fully communicate.

Back in the church, there were messages from my team leader Melanie, my pastor Tim, and pastor John (who overseas all the churches over here). Then a few testimonies were given. People spoke of being delivered from witchcraft before turning to Christ. Not your ordinary American testimony.

On the drive home we crossed through a forested area and saw some wild baboons on the side of road. They looked to be having more fun than the duck, which was still in his timeout when we left.