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June 1978 Newsletter
COLOMBIAN CHRISTIAN MISSION
Dale and Jeanie Meade
In the jungle and prairie of Southeastern Colombia
Volume 6, Issue 6 June, 1978
(PHOTO)
Dean Heitkamp recording programs for broadcasting during his internship.
A NEW CHURCH
A year and half ago Mark Stringer won the first convert in Barrio Communeros. Since that time he has been working to start a church there. There have been setbacks and problems, to be sure. But slowly and surely the work has moved forward.
Two weeks ago I had the privilege of ordaining the man they chose as their preacher. He works at his job and evangelizes his neighbors in the evening. We train him by Theological Education by extension. Already he has baptized two of his neighbors, adding strength to his nucleus.
With the establishment of this church there are now three New Testament congregations in Villavicencio. Our goal is eventually to have 10 churches spread out throughout this city of 125,000 people. As missionaries, our ultimate goal is to establish new churches that will be self-supporting; self-governing; and self-propagating. The church in Communeros is one step toward that goal.
That a church should have been started in Barrio Communeros is somewhat of a paradox. This urbanization was started by the communist party and was populated with radicals. It just goes to show that the Gospel can provide peace on earth, even today.
WORK CREW MEMBERS WANT TO SHARE
The 1978 work crew has been back in the States for five months now. Already they have had numerous opportunities to share their newly gained insight into the Colombian missionary effort. But as time has passed these invitations have dwindled in number. Has you church invited them to come yet? If not, plan now to have a "mission night" soon. Invite one of the men to present an "outsiders" view of a foreign mission field. They can present it in a new and dramatic way that a missionary can never duplicate.
If you are interested, write to the Church of Christ in Orrville, Ohio; the First Church of Christ in Rittman, Ohio; the Church of Christ in Wilmington, Ohio; the Blachlyville Church of Christ in Wooster, Ohio; the Church of Christ Marian, Indiana; of the Moscow Christian Church in Milroy, Indiana. These men would be happy to share an experience that no one will forget.
WHAT'S HAPPENING TO COLOMBIA?
The church service started as usual in Dinamarca. A group of about 25 believers gathered in a small building for the Sunday evening worship service. The windows were all open and the hymns of praise carried to the far end of the small town. There, at the local Pub, a small group of Catholics huddled around a table with empty beer bottles. All were quite drunk. They reminisced about the "good ole days" when the government and the Catholic church had declared a holy inquisition (circa 1950) in an attempt to exterminate evangelical Christians in Colombia. One of the more fanatical ones decided he was going to do more than talk. He jumped up angrily from the table and stomped off toward the singing.
The preacher knew that trouble was on the way, as the cursing and obscenities grew louder. The service came to a halt when the Catholic crusader stormed into the building. The drunk then ordered the Christians to get out of the building and the town if they knew what was good for them. His drunken slur spewed forth a never ending stream of profanity as he threatened to teach them to "believe in the most Holy Virgin Mary." By now a crowd had gathered and the situation was getting tense.
Fortunately the preacher had been doing his job in evangelizing. He had spoken often to police chief, who had become very interested in the Gospel. The police station was only a half-block away from the church building. In time past the police probably would have joined in and helped break up the church service. But this time the police chief ordered several officers to capture the drunken fanatic. Arriving on the scene policemen ordered the troublemaker to follow them. That sobered him up real quick. The preacher, anxious to settle things down and get back to the service, refused to press charges and suggested sending the drunk home. The rabble rouser thought that this was a great idea and quickly slunk away. The policeman returned to their post and the Christians renewed their worship. But the episode didn't end there.
Upon the return of the police, the chief wasn't happy. "I gave you an order to bring him in. Now go do it," he ordered. The officers away and soon returned with the now meek offender. He was given a stern lecture on Colombia's civil law, which now guarantees freedom of religion. The next time, he would be thrown in jail, regardless of whether the church wished to press charges or not. As the incredulous crusader left the police station, his shoulders had a prominent "disillusioned droop." He was heard muttering "What's happening to Colombia, you can't even bother the evangelicals these days."
RETURN TO YESTERDAY
I had spent three days in the airport and I was anxious to get started. But the motorbike had other ideas. It took repeated kicks before the motor grudgingly sputtered to life. Back in my "jungle uniform" of blue jeans and a T-shirt, I contentedly set out. It was a sunny morning and the roads were dusty in spite of recent rains. For an hour I bounced along a road that constantly became worse. With eyes glued to the degenerating trail I pressed on to my goal. Finally, I had gone as far as possible. The motorcycle was deposited at a nearby house and I pressed ahead on foot. I walk fast, swinging into an easy, comfortable gate. A group of monkeys scolded me noisily for interrupting their seclusion. "Too bad I left the muzzle-loader in Villavo," I thought. I was now deep into the jungle on a trail known only to the inhabitants of the region and a handful of outsiders. A couple of kids heard me approaching and paused, undecided for a moment, beside the trail. Their curiosity overcame a shyness inherent in the children of the jungle and they greeted my. Soon they were exuberantly skipping along behind me, jabbering a way in their rustic, country Spanish. An hour passes quickly and we came to a fork in the trail. I cut off to the left as my little friends cast a forlorn look after me.
The jungle soon broke ahead of me and the charred clearing scarred the lush green. Beyond the clearing was a grass-roofed hut. Christians lived there. The dogs announced my arrival and children came pouring out to greet me. For several hours they poured out all of the joys and heartaches that had punctuated a rather drab existence. The highlight was two baptisms that occurred since my last visit. Soon I continued down the jungle trail toward the preacher’s house. "Brother Michal" was a humble dirt farmer with a love for the Lord in his heart. He takes a day off every week to testify and evangelize among the neighbors. These bright, shining Christians in such a dark country never cease to thrill me. I break out the books and we begin our study in Theological Education by Extension. He never leaves the farm, but by sending Bible College to him, he is becoming a good evangelist. We finish the day by calling a business meeting of the church. The Christians begged me to stay, but there are other churches to visit. I retrace my steps and head back to San Jose.
A driving rain storm catches me as I ride back in. The roads became slick and I'm forced to slow to a crawl. As my clothing becomes soaked I get chilled. I keep moving. "He who looks at the clouds never reaps." A profound weariness settles into my body as I put the motorcycle away.
The empty house carries many happy memories since I spent two years in it as a young husband and father. I push back the melancholy feeling and take a cold shower. The camp cot is comfortable and I'm soon asleep. Tomorrow is a new day and my visit to San Jose is rapidly passing. I dream of riding a trail; lurching along towards my next goal.