Fire. Sparks rising into the moonlit sky. Laying in the green grass, evangelizing to the drunkard next to me, observing the flashlight-flooded drama before me; a beautiful expression of Jesus’ love and our struggle. Countless things all seemed to begin to come together up there; I cannot really explain it.

The journey began as I lugged my pack up the rocky slope, flicking sweat off my brow in the relentless heat. A formidable group, beloved companions all of them: the El Camino drama team, the New York team, TEARS Staff and translators. We marched along like a ragged army- some pushing ahead, others lagging behind. I felt uplifted to listen to the testimony of my new friend John, bearing witness to the common thread of rebellion and repentance that ties us all together- like a diverse yet inextricably related family.

The sense of community, the essence of the gospel as it exploded to life in the darkness, the prayer; as I later reflected on it all I felt overwhelmingly like a longing inside had been fulfilled. I was like a parched man drinking deep from a desert well- but somehow I knew this was not an oasis.

This deep intimate relationship with God and with other believers had been flickering in and out of existence lately, yet as wood was thrown into the fire, so God also fueled my own heart and heated the furnace within; he had been waiting to show me something for a long time. As I felt the reassuring touch of hands on my back and shoulders, powerfully uttered prayers and subtle whispers- uttered in tongues of unspeakable passion- the Spirit seemed to act as a spotlight, throwing the love of Christ into brilliant clarity. The sense of newness, healing and encouragement is more than I can describe.

The following morning I prayed in the cool of the dawn, watching the splendor of the sun crowning the valley below, slowly creeping over the horizon and- almost imperceptibly- giving warmth to my chilled hands. I opened the Scripture to Isaiah 26 and asked the Lord to speak to me. I would say that this verse, perhaps better than anything else (certainly better than my words), does justice to the experience:

“You who dwell in the dust,
wake up and shout for joy.
Your dew is like the dew of the morning…”

God’s glory. The world is drenched with it- real, true, full, now, resplendent. I must give thanks, for he has given me a beautiful existence- breathtakingly beautiful. Yahweh is the Wise Master who orchestrates everything; the beauty of nature and culture and our very minds are like tributaries, running down from his river of imaginative and cognitive power. My final request that morning was simple and sincere: What do I have if I don’t have you? Help me to see past the illusions of money and success. May the material become for me immaterial, and may you be my Everything.

Expectations: I came down with a whole lot of them- good and bad; accurate and inaccurate. I was warned to be careful and realistic about them, and as idealistic and imaginative as I am, I tried not to let my hopes swell too much and to keep my head out of the clouds. Shattered expectations, apparently, are the chief cause of missionary depression. One is left disappointed and with a haunting sense of failure: I was hoping to have more converts by now or I thought God would have helped me overcome this sinful habit or I had expected to have accomplished more in one year. These are a few vague examples; real disillusionment is not a pretty sight.

As I jogged tiredly downhill last Wednesday, having finished an exhausting twenty-minute climb, my mind moved into the realm of expectations; dreams and results and truth and the like. And as I let my legs flow like Jell-o, leaning lazily back and letting the hill pull me closer to the barrio, I was forced to ask myself the question: do you have the right to feel discontented or regretful at this point, as your trip comes to a close? What are you able to say in response to all you aspired to and all that was realized? Has this trip not exceeded your expectations in many ways?

As I continued my contemplative descent, some examples moved to the forefront of my thoughts. Were you really expecting to achieve this level of communication ability in Spanish; to have your ears opened to the language, when at first all you heard was gibberish? Were you really expecting to be able to conquer the Hill? [The first attempt I made it about 300 meters, the sun beating down on my back, and just about fell over; the incline is brutal.] Were you honestly expecting to have grown creatively in the ways you have; to have produced art and music; to have written and discovered and been inspired; to have begun the first crucial steps in developing style, mixing it with passion for Christ and letting your talents unfold?

Did it enter your mind that, by the end of twelve months, you would have been a part of such great photo opportunities and experiences, having expanded your knowledge and captured moments to the extent you have? When that airplane took off, did you imagine being so deeply integrated and accepted in another culture; moving with the flow and learning to love its beautiful aspects in all their variety and newness and wonder; to be telling their jokes and savoring their food and dancing to their rhythm? As you entered Puerto Plata, having to push aggressively for your baggage and receiving foreign insults, did you anticipate relating to a Dominican family with such depth and freedom; impacting and being impacted in countless and magnificent ways?

Finally, could you truly have conceived the ways in which Christ has revealed himself to you; his gospel crashing down like a meteor and bursting in fiery purification; his love covering you like an inconceivably glorious armament; his greatness and glory pouring into your heart and causing a new sort of life to bloom? To all of these questions, especially the last, my answer was: no, this was not part of my game plan.

But thank God I wasn’t in charge! When I see my Master’s wisdom I find that it is infinitely more profound and intriguing and wonderful than my own. Ephesians 3:20-21 puts it like this: “Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work in us, to him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.”

This topic of glory I touched on last week is huge stuff. Let me throw out some personal examples. Throughout my year here I have felt haunted by a sense that what I’ve accomplished is of little value. When the opportunity arose to paint “Colegio Cristiano de TEARS” on the big wall below the school, my eyes widened and my heart sped up- a chance for glory. I had spent three afternoons drawing out the letters in pencil, and on the fourth afternoon- as I began to paint- my friend Cheo grabbed a brush and said: “Here, let me show you.” Having achieved a thing or two with paint- at least on a small scale- I felt suddenly offended. I sat and impatiently watched him demonstrate for about a minute, finishing about half of the letter 's' before replying: “Can I get to work on my project now? I didn’t put this much work into drawing it out to let someone else paint it.” I wanted the glory.

Later on, Bertico offered to help, but I refused. Another came and offered advice, but I told him to leave me alone. Just as I was finishing the letters, Cheo- in front of everyone- shouted out: “See that beautiful letter 's' in the middle? I painted that one.”

“Yeah, well who drew it in the first place?” I shot back.

“Bertico,” he replied, joking to try and get under my skin. I became pretty annoyed, and as I applied the finishing touches, any joy that I may have savored from such an accomplishment went bitter. That same afternoon my eyes ran across a proverb: “It is not good to eat too much honey, nor is it honorable to seek one’s own honor.” I suddenly felt like the foolish child who plays around making mud pies because they cannot fathom what is meant by a vacation on the coast. I was caught up in my own ego- a prison that Christ died to rescue me from.

Here’s another one. I came home in a pretty good mood, dancing to the rhythm of some Bachata, when Antonio remarked: “He still doesn’t know how to dance.” I was quite frustrated by the response. I had put a reasonable amount of practice and thought into Latin steps, and I thought I was getting somewhere. At parties I had received compliments, but somehow those seemed to fade. My anger flared against Antonio. What gave him the nerve to try to negate my efforts? To crush my glory? I had shown considerable patience in the past, enduring the fwing-fwong of his beloved accordion (it always involved the same tune and rhythm and lyrics, lacking any real talent) but that night it seemed to screech with an even more infuriating discord.

I grabbed the foul thing out of his hands and shut it up in my room. Antonio began to laugh: “It seems that Derek wants to learn to play the accordion as well.” I took a cold shower and tried to calm down. Later that night we talked through things and I explained how his words had really discouraged me. As we continued to speak, I began to see why Antonio had discouraged me. It was all a big self-centered, centripetal gong show- as though some magnetic force kept pulling me back inward, or as if my default mode was prideful.

On the flipside, I considered, the Bible had something quite different to say about me: “And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus”. I had been trying to build this flimsy tower, when all along God had been inviting me to join him atop the apex of his titanic turret- higher than the clouds and built upon a hope beyond words. With Christ as the chief cornerstone, things are solid. When I consider the true nature of things, looking beyond mere appearances, I find light, revelation, peace, joy, comfort, rest, courage, stillness.

Why are we afraid? We need to bring our hearts back into their true orbit. Why are we angry? Bitter? Downcast? All the same. Consider this: the only set of eyes that see you to the bottom love you to the skies. Is this not the glory we seek? Is this not more magnificent than all the acclaim the world can give? As we start to see things in the light of such glory, our lives will begin to change. The gears will start churning, lubricated by the oil of the Spirit; our minds, hearts and spirits open will up full throttle; and the gospel- the power of God- will drive us heavenward with hurricane force.