Inspire, Summer 2008

I was only 10 years old, sitting on our parsonage couch in wide-eyed imagination. Dad was reading to our family from the book Mary Slessor: White Queen of the Cannibals . Only it wasn’t Mary Slessor who entered the jungle in a dugout, it was me. The mosquitoes swarmed about my face as I watched the African guides quietly dip and push the river water aside. I adjusted my Bible under my arm as we neared the shore and stepped onto the bank. A dark, bare-chested chief with an animal-tooth necklace and leopard skin greeted me in his native tongue of Ugh-em. I told him bravely that I’d brought him a gift: words from God. I held out my Bible. He smiled, wanting more. The chapter ended, but a seed vision had embedded itself in the soil of my life. I would go to Africa someday, to the uttermost part. Like Mary, I would see with my own eyes that Christ’s love could make a difference, even in the farthest corners of Uttermost. And So It Begins In 1992, my husband, Jim ’75, and I, along with our six children, left for Africa as part of a pioneering team to Zambia. Our mission began strategically in the concrete jungle: birthing churches in the capital; opening a Bible institute; and serving among the poor, chronically ill, and destitute. The infant congregations were filled with Zambians who lived a day-to-day subsistence, dealing with HIV/AIDS, orphan overload, and spiritual superficiality. We offered the dying the gift of eternal life through Jesus Christ. Though a dream come true, our ministry was more challenging than my childhood imagination of evangelizing chiefs on the river banks and floating downstream to the next “project.” We had to love the people through their growing-up years, modeling Christ’s unconditional compassion and guiding them toward service and outreach. One danger in this jungle was the people’s dependency on the missionaries to meet needs — making us, rather than Christ, their savior and helper. Like mosquitoes, this can drain the lifeblood out of God’s servants. So we tried to keep their real Savior and Helper before them constantly. We taught local church-centered care for the destitute, letting congregations impact their own people and communities. Where we were needed for partnerships, we assisted in training, counsel, and permanent orphan care. Eleven years after our arrival in Africa, God took us four hours downstream to develop an 1,800-acre farm for ministry. The farm was adjacent to Kamunza, a spiritually dark village of about 1,000 Tongas. We stepped “on the shore” of the village with Community Health Evangelism (CHE), hoping to train nationals to bring change to their communities through spiritual and physical truth. The results were powerful. First, a hunger for knowledge surfaced, followed by a receptivity to God’s love and God’s Word. Many were saved weekly. A Bible study formed, then a church. Best of all, the Zambians were the missionaries! Theresa’s Story One woman whom God brought to Kamunza through the CHE program was Theresa. As the fourth wife of a polygamist, Theresa had fled from the interior district of Mbila to make a life for herself in our town. She was bright and industrious, but deeply troubled by her unhappy marriage, health issues, and separation not only from her husband, but from God as well. Each week she sat next to me on the reed mat under the mango trees to hear of Christ’s love and suffering for her salvation. When she at last connected the facts with personal faith, her hope and excitement in salvation grew. One day she burst out, “We have to take this to my husband and the other wives!” Unbelievable! The problems of polygamy that once enslaved her were now the impetus to free her former “captors.” My childhood vision of seeing Christ make a difference was coming into focus. Before anyone could get to Theresa’s husband, though, he arrived in town with his first wife, intending to get supplies for their clan in the interior. Theresa hurried to the farmhouse, breathless, and said: “Mrs. Chambers! You and Pastor have to visit Mr. M—! You have to tell him how to be saved!” Her urgency pushed us into action, though my heart lagged behind. Jim, his translator, and I entered the room where Mr. M— sat. I had an instant dislike for him. From first impressions, I judged him to be proud, insensitive, and self-centered. Being Theresa’s mentor, I knew too much and, for that reason, had a chip on my shoulder. I adjusted my Bible under my arm and considered returning to my canoe to think about this. “Could God — no, would God — really save this polygamist?” The question burst the surface of my mind like a bubble long-submerged in the depths of my heart. I, the former “Mary Slessor,” shocked myself. Could I love him ? Jim opened the conversation with amenities, then turned to questions of spiritual concern. For an hour and a half, the two men questioned and answered each other. Mrs. M— No. 1 and I sat silently. The questions became more than academic; Mr. M— seemed intrigued. “I’ve never heard this before,” he said thoughtfully. It was obvious that God was opening the man’s ears. I felt awe as an ancient truth poked me: “The grace of God that brings salvation has appeared to all men.” I knew that! But when I heard him humble himself in prayer before his Savior and witnessed his tears as he received forgiveness, I cried, too. I still do. 12 summer 2008