Monday Notes

The flight from London to Entebbe was full. More than 250 of us boarded the 767 for the eight hour flight. Many of those were mission groups of one sort or another. I met people from three different groups going to Uganda to serve during the next two weeks. Pamm was seated next to a Rwandan pastor on his way back home.

We arrived in Entebbe at 5:15 A.M., twenty-five minutes ahead of schedule. Larry Pepper was there to meet us. Jet lag hit us all pretty hard. Although all our luggage arrived with us, I’m still waiting for my brain to catch up with my body. We climbed into Larry’s Land Cruiser and made the four hour trip to Mbarara, crossing the Equator along the way.

The pastors’ conference begins tomorrow. Seventy Baptist pastors from surrounding villages have already begun to gather at the University Baptist Church, Mbarara. They will be staying in the church building all week. I’ll be teaching during the mornings and early afternoons. Others will be teaching later in the day. They have meetings scheduled in the evenings.

Tuesday Notes

It is 5:30 AM, local time, but my body is certain that it is 10:30 PM. I was wide awake at 3:00, and finally got up after an hour and a half of tossing in the bed. Two calls to prayer are going out at this hour. God has dispatched a very vocal bird to sing just outside my window. Across a valley, at least two miles from here, a voice blares out in Arabic from the minaret of a mosque, summoning the faithful Muslim to prayer. I prefer the bird.

Yesterday afternoon I went with Larry into town to pick up a Bible cover he had ordered for Adam at a leather shop. The little shop was lined with sandals and shoes made from the hide of the Ankore cattle that are raised here. The proprietor proudly showed his work to Larry who thanked him and paid him in Ugandan shillings (1 U.S. dollar is approximately 1750 Ugandan shillings, so things are priced in the hundreds of thousands). We left there for the police station, located near the university and near the church. Larry took the chief a letter from the International Mission Board detailing the pastors’ conference that would be held at the church all week, let him know that the pastors would not be causing a lot of trouble, and assuring him that we had arranged for security. Then we went to the church to meet the pastors who were gathering.

Twenty-nine pastors had gathered already. Four cooks who have been hired to provide their meals were working outside the church, cooking matoke (a hard banana that is steamed in banana leaves and looks liked baked yellow squash and tastes like nothing), posho (a cornmeal dish like grits), fried cabbage, and ground nut (peanut) sauce. They cooked over a eucalyptus fire, with three large stones holding up the pots. These four women will spend most of the day preparing the three meals this week.

I saw Pastor Vianny, whom I remembered from 2002, and Pastor Ezra, who was my translator then. I met Pastor George, who, along with Ezra, will graduate with a certificate from the seminary in November. Some of the pastors speak English and some do not. Even the ones who do speak a different language than I do, and communication is challenging. These are bright, dedicated men who serve God’s churches in Uganda. Most are not well educated, however. A sixth grade education is about average.

After meeting with them in a kind of opening service, we returned to Larry’s home for dinner with the other missionaries who work here. Carrie is a nurse, an IMB journeyman who has been here for six months. She works with the AIDS visitation program. Debbie, her friend from college, also a nurse, raised on the mission field in Nigeria, is here visiting for three weeks. A new family joined the Peppers here just last month – Barry and Scarlett Wilks and their four children. The Wilks’ are from Tennessee. He is working in church planting. Sally prepared a delicious dinner and we sat and talked until around 9:00, when I began to fade.

At 9:30 this morning I will be teaching my first session at the pastors’ conference. The theme for the week is 2 Timothy 2:15: "Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a workman who does not need to be ashamed and who correctly handles the word of truth." This morning I will be talking about the inspiration of the Bible and the story of how the Bible has come to us. Melinda, Jenna, and Pamm will be accompanying Carrie and Barry on the Words of Hope (AIDS visitation) Ministry.

As I looked over the faces of the nearly thirty pastors last night and brought them greetings from UBC, Houston, I thought what a privilege of grace it is that we do the work that we do as pastors – sharing God’s Word and caring for God’s people. Whether that is done in an African village or in a Texas metroplex, it is a privilege.

Serving as a pastor is not a profession. It is a calling – unsought and undeserved. Pastors do not have some special connection with God. We are part of the body as are all the other parts. And perhaps each part knows the sense of gratitude that comes from serving. I hope so. However, I do know that what I do with my life is a privilege of grace. I find others who serve as pastors understand that as well. True, I know of some who do not treat that role as a privilege of grace, but who think of themselves as "privileged" people in another sense entirely, demanding rights and claiming "privileges" for themselves. That is a great misunderstanding of the role.

To be with God’s people in their walk with God, listening to their stories, praying with them and for them, sitting with them in crisis, sharing with them in the work of Christ is nothing short of an undeserved honor. To stand before God’s people with the Word of God and proclaim its truth is an awesome responsibility. To be trusted by them to do these things is humbling.

I don’t say all this glibly. The title "pastor" is an honorable one to me. It is how I describe myself on forms when asked about my occupation. I don’t put "clergy," because that puts me in a class separate from the "laity" and is bad theology. I don’t put "preacher" because that title bothers me somewhat. It smacks of either legalists or charlatans. T.V. "preachers" fleece the flock, they do not care for it. No "T.V. pastors" exist in the world, because it is not possible to be a T.V. pastor. "Pastor" is a relational word. Pastoring is a role lived out in community.

That is truth I have learned, not from books, but mostly from the people of University Baptist Church over the last eighteen years. When I accepted the call to the church I understood that I would no longer be a "professor," but a "pastor." I was not entirely sure I liked the change. I knew enough pastors (really "preachers") who gave the role a less than attractive image to me. I was not sure I wanted to identify with that crowd. And although I enjoyed teaching university students, I never really wanted to be a seminary professor and teach "preachers."

Along the way I have had a change of perspective. I have come to know pastors and to love pastors. I enjoy being with them. I find teaching seminary classes to be a rich experience. Mentoring relationships with younger pastors are some of the most rewarding relationships in my life these days. I think that change has come because of the people at UBC who have helped me learn the meaning of the word a little better.

So, this week I will be with my fellow pastors, African shepherds who care for God’s people and share God’s word in places I cannot even imagine. Still they do what I do, and they know the privilege.