The Way of the Cross

Then he called the crowd to him along with his disciples and said: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me and for the gospel will save it. What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul? Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul? If anyone is ashamed of me and my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, the Son of Man will be ashamed of them when he comes in his Father’s glory with the holy angels.” Mark 8:34-38

Capital on the Edge - 2013 Video Update


Thank you for looking back with us, for understanding the now, and for praying into our future... We need you, our partners!

POST by JED: Evangelising El Salvador - Part 3

Performing "Created", at our Baptist Church in El Salvador

Our performances at the little Baptist Church in Apopa, El Salvador, went off without the slightest glitch – except for the aforementioned issues with our triumphant handstand-walking, throat-of-Christ-clutching, break in the breakdancing routine, demon – Sezni. 

Our street theatre production, “Created”, was well received by the El Salvadorian Church folk and their invited guests, and although I wasn’t able to finish my alter call on account of too much raucous applause and hoo-haa, the wet eyes told the story of hearts having been touched. 

Performing "Created", God & Jesus Look with a Heart of Love upon Humanity

Our Nicaraguan youths were a little perplexed. They understood the theme of the production, but have practiced and practiced this thing to death, and have never visually seen their efforts. I don’t think they understood just how powerful our dramatisation of the Gospel message was to the viewer. But once they saw the people’s faces, and with the extreme gratitude that was displayed after the performance, the dots became connected and they were deeply impacted, gaining a deeper respect for the effects of their production on lives needing hope.

Pastor Mario with Some of our Troupe

Of course, at the very end of, and straight after the service, once eyes were almost dry, the competition for who could eat the most pupusas began to be organised. The pastor hadn’t even finished praying when a row of tables were swiftly set up on the new, make-shift stage.

Pupusas Eating Competition - the stars of the Show, Ericson & Jonny

I chuckled quietly. The “Amen” for the prayer was pronounced, and eyes sprung open and the congregated people leaned forward, ready for action. The fever built, though it was hushed chatter that circulated throughout the building. It felt like we were on the set of an El Salvadorian Gladiators Competition Television Shoot!

Pupusa Eating Competition - Saying "GRACE" before Commencement

“This would NEVER be done in a Nicaraguan church” I contemplated, without a drop of judgment this way or that. I’ve really learnt, in my time abroad, that I used to make too many judgments on what was Christian, or unchristian when examining individuals in other countries.

Mmmmm, Jonny, moments before he ended up with Head in Toilet Bowl...

Specifically I used to think Nicaraguans were always late, Americans were self-important, the Brits complained too much and Aussies were crass as (don’t say that too fast). I now know quite differently and a lot of what is perceived, just isn’t there – it comes down to national identity and what is truly valued.

Eating Pupusas in El Salvadorian Church Competition

If I hear the phrase “Kingdom Culture” one more time, in context of what another nationality should, or should not be doing as Christian people, I’ll knock somebodies block off (which is quite acceptable behaviour in Australian Christian Churches – so don’t judge me! Ha ha).

Tiny Ericson, the CHAMPION! 15 Pupusas in 15 Minutes!

  

After the service on Saturday, I raced to the Church’s one computer and kicked off Jonny, our Nica-youth, on account of my needing to orchestrate highly executive work, far too difficult for his uneducated brain to understand. Once facebook was loaded I whirled into action, posting this photo and that. The notifications icon lit up like a roo’s eyes caught in the glare of a car’s headlights.

Within an hour I had a hundred people commenting on our photos, and liking everything I’d posted. I noticed one comment from Camila, our good friend whose step-father is a Guatemalan evangelist based in El Salvador (who prophesied that a family from a distant land would come to our barrio - and HERE WE ARE), and whose mother is Nicaraguan – from just down our street. TOP people…

It was strange that Camila hadn’t been to our Saturday evening service. I’d embarrassed myself, once I had been introduced to the gathering in our small Baptist church and had the mike, because I’d asked if Camila was in-the-house by name. Not only did I ask for her, I didn’t accept the Pastor’s head shaking and “no” mouthing motions, I think because I truly believed that she’d want to see our creation and must have slipped into the building unnoticed... “Noooo? Not theeeeeere?” Pregnant awkward pause and then “No, not there. Let’s begin…”

Camila is the niece of Yader, our gardener. Yader welcomed God into his life, whilst living as a gang member in El Salvador and experimenting with drugs and alcohol.

Camila had introduced me to Pastor Mario via good ol’ facebook. I flicked her a quick message. She sent one back. The Church we were staying with wasn’t the Church she regularly attended. She merely knew Pastor Mario from Church functions around San Salvador.

The following morning, Pastor Mario organized for pancakes to be delivered to me in the Church building. The offer of breakfast after a hard night’s sleep was enticing, and there was also a note – “meet me outside.” I went and ate pancakes for breakfast with Pastor Mario. We sat fairly seriously, but with good humour – if that makes sense. I asked him if he minded us slightly changing our plans so that we could incorporate a trip to Camila’s Church also. He was clearly delighted by the proposal.

Posing with the Cook and her Grandson, just outside of our Baptist Church in El Salvador

I was just shoveling the last morsel of floury delight into my mouth, when Sez came walking up to me. This was not to be a pleasant exchange. Sezni had a look of frustration across his face. “Where’s my pancakes?” He asked. “Hoooh dear…” I thought to myself. “This is going to be a tough gig.” I looked at Sezni square in the face.

There aren’t any. You’re having Gallo Pinto (pancakes) for breakfast. Of course, I began to smile as I said the words, cause I knew that this would be a funny story one day, but certainly not on this day. “I ordered pancakes” he complained. This just made me laugh. Sezni, due to his Asperger’s Syndrome, is a routine boy, and quite often doesn’t realise his change of environment, if all other things are equal.

“Oh, you ordered pancakes did you?” He nodded his head, starting to see why I might find this a tad bit comical. “And just who is your waiter?” I inquired. He stomped his foot and tried not to laugh. I couldn’t help it, nor could the pastor and finally Sez couldn’t contain it either. We laughed and laughed and laughed ‘til we cried.

But time was ticking by and our day had blown-out into a scheduling nightmare. I grabbed Francesca and told everything we were going to shower (I had to take Francesca with me, as every male eye was on my little princess). I was told I couldn’t walk down the street. “Are you serious?” I implored. “The streets are just too dangerous.”

We jumped in a car which refused to start. Finally vroom, vroom, went the engine, with a billow of smoke losing itself out the rear. We chucked a “U-ey” and then turned the corner. “We’re here” hollered Pastor Mario. I looked at him in COMPLETE disbelief. We’d driven no more than 50 metres.

I jumped out of the car and straight into the shower. Rub-a-dub-dub and a bit of a shave – “all done!” I exclaimed jubilantly. I grabbed Fran by the arm and headed for the door. The beautiful little house owner called out to me “someone will be back to collect you shortly. Wait here!” I smugly replied in Spanish “don’t worry about it, we won’t tire on our trip back…” And with that we slid through the gate, shutting it briskly behind us.

We turned the corner and to our horror there were 5 army dudes, fully decked out, and holding massive guns in their hands. They prodded 5 young El Salvadorians with the ends of the guns, and pushed them up against a wall. The youths had their hands on their heads. I wondered what was the story. I asked in the Church and they said, “Oh, that’s normal here. Happens every day.”

I ran to grab my camera but the people asked me not to leave the building again. “What in the World could that be?” I wondered to myself. Apparently, gang activity in El Salvador has hit crises point and the government has issued special task forces to tackle the problem.

The people live in fear, on a daily basis, for their lives and their possessions. The gangs are mostly filled with young men and women who have been deported from the USA for criminal activity.  It seems to be a hopeless situation.  At night, in Apopa, there is not a soul on the street. I became nervous. Since I arrived, I had not once felt completely safe. Now I knew why…

Pastor Rodriguez and Camila arrived on time and with Yader’s sister too (Camila’s mother). It was like a family reunion. More hugs and kisses, more blushing Nica-youths, more chats about a whole lot of nothing – my best talent. I was, after all, a travel agent for many years. We were driven in yet another pick-up truck (dudes in the back otra vez) to Pastor Rodriguez and Camila’s beautiful, outdoor marquee Church.

Our Nicavangelists and Yader's Sister and Niece (with POWER voice)

Wow, their Church was televised. We had a tour of the facility and then there was the opportunity for me to sing with Camila. I snatched it up. We sung “How He Loves Us” and “Mighty to Save.” Camila’s voice is rich and full, and she’s such a tiny-weeney young lady!

Sitting in the Church's Studio

After the singing, the church treated us all to a mammoth sized lunch; large amounts of chicken, pupusas for all, and the staple of Central America – rice and beans. Yummo!

Singing with Camila, my Nica-El Salvadorian Friend, at the Televised Church

The boys were overjoyed when individual bottles of fizzy drink arrived, enough for one each. Fantastico! They looked like Kings (though Kings of old, for they used their fingers to eat and slurped at their drinks – we’re considering postponing lunch with HRH Queen Elizabeth the second, until after completion of finishing school).

The Pastor treated the boys with such respect and from a heart of love. I was inspired. He prayed blessings over them and challenged them to be the men of God they needed to be. This was all to be a precursor for the evening service at our little Baptist Church. Oh, the Baptists!!!

In the Baptist Church on Sunday evening I was given the opportunity of speaking – something I struggle with, but do because it needs to be done! My issue was, although I can find the words to use, we couldn’t on this occasion find a translator.

Those of you who know me well, know that I can get by in Latin America on personality, charades, a bit of bachata and the little Spanish that I have. However, I most certainly cannot talk on a deeper, more spiritual level, in Spanish.

Francesca, our regular translator, wasn’t feeling well at all. She had a serious headache, probably as a result of the bus trip, sleeping on the floor, dehydration, etc. Lorenzy, our second child, is rather timid and quite unable to speak publicly. Her eyes widened with fear when I looked at her as a possibility.

Sezni, our third child, has Asperger’s Syndrome, and the times I’ve used him as a tool for translating, well it’s been comical to say the least (think of Homer Simpson when he gets mad at Bart). Our fourth child, Rafael, could have easily translated a very basic message, though had fallen asleep on account of the 15 hour coach trip, the performances on Saturday, and the long services already attended on Sunday.

I made the difficult decision of asking Lorenzy to translate. When I asked the dear child to step up to the podium, her words started off as a whisper and built steadily to regular speech volume, and the words went simply like this “no, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO, NO!” Poor poppit, she nearly threw up on account of nerves.

I put a couple of chairs behind the pulpit so that nobody would be able to see darling Renz, and had Yordy (one of our Nica-youths) hold her hand – he has the best English comprehension but sadly, probably because he was nervous too, couldn’t understand simple words in English like “no” and “pastor” and “chocolate.”

Renz continued to protest and consequently there were a few “do it or die” looks from me. We also shared a couple of sharp verbal exchanges with hands over microphones whilst faking smiles and laughing all the way. But by-and-large, besides 5 interruptions from Pastor Mario who begged me to let another person from the congregation translate, Lorenzy performed an INCREDIBLE JOB. She seriously overcame some fear of man stuff, which kept me bound-up and useless, until I was 35 years old. I was as proud-as-punch. I JUST LOVE THAT GIRL, Renzy-roohs!

After my message on the fruit of love (don’t judge me!) and the Great Commission, there was a short intermission and then another lonoooog service. I struggle at times with some of the religiosity in Latin America, but kept my attitude in-check at all times.

The pastor organised for me to continue sitting up the front, yet had each of the boys sit by the aisle, one at the end of each row of chairs. I found this to be odd, as it looked to me like he was separating our Nica-youths (and my own children too) in some attempt at discipline - to stop them from talking? HA!

In a Latin American Church, not having people in the congregation chat is like asking the Pope not to visit Church, or the Queen not to wear her crown, or the waves not to keep rolling in, or Elizabeth not to eat chocolate – do you get it? It’s just not possible!

But still, it was a Baptist Church, and I am not overly familiar with the inner workings of the Baptists, so I didn’t question Pastor Mario on his strange, strange course of actions, especially as the boys, and my children (except for Rafael - he was still at the front of the Church snoring his head off), seemed to be rather au fait and happy with the arrangement.

The Pastor reiterated a lot of what I had just said in my message, making sure to honour me at every point (?). And then he did something that was rather breathtaking and quite unexpected. I’m sure this has been done in other Churches, and I can imagine it being done in nearly every Pentecostal church during wild 70s services - after preaching from John 13, he had his pastors and elders wash our Nicavangelist’s feet. A lump formed in my throat.

I really cannot express just how emotional I was at this point. Here were Churched people, the most respected in this community, washing the feet of my boys and girls. The lads in our program are unchurched, former child prostitutes, orphans, thieves, street-youths, the lowest class citizens in all of Nicaragua – in our attempt to integrate into Church circles here in Nicaragua, whether Gringo or Nica, we’ve experienced the turning up of several noses.

The boys’ reactions varied. Some refused at first to put their feet in the water. Others didn’t want to make a spectacle and verily plonked their feet in too heavily, causing miniature tidal waves and sending splashes to the 4 corners of the building. Some stared at me questioningly, their eyes concerned like they were thinking “are they going to ask me to take my clothes off and get in this small bucket?” And then there was Yader. He balled his eyes out like a wee-little tot.

Yader has a second grade intellect, but his spirit understood exactly what was happening. Yader’s father has several wives, and has never lived in Yader’s house. Yader is despised by his community for his sticky fingers and naughty behavior. Yet, God has sent Yader into the World, to proclaim the good news that Christ has come for all – the despised, rejected, broken hearted, etc.

Yader, a nothing, was being loved and served by a pastor, a “somebody.” Yader could not hold back the sobbing and I could still hear him much later that evening, as we lay in our separate “beds”, MANY LONG HOURS LATER, waiting to fall asleep – it was a tantalising God spectacle and I savoured every moment.

Yader was given a Bible, the first he’s ever owned (the boys have always had access to Bibles at our center, but ours are communal – for everyone to use). Inside the Bible the Pastor who had washed Yader’s feet wrote: “To Yader! Thank you for being a Missionary. Thank you for sharing the life of Christ with our World.”

Yader looked into my eyes, his own eyes extremely bloodshot from all the tears, and said “I’m a missionary?” I started to cry too. “Yes you are, Yader. You are going to other countries sharing with people who don’t know about the supreme love and hope of eternal salvation through Jesus.” He cried some more – every time I hugged him he broke down. I hugged him continuously, for the rest of the day…

Later that night, Pastor Mario requested that we go to the beach for the night. I was exhausted and not overly impressed with the idea, but Liz’s words lingered in my ears, “let them do something fun, Jed.” We went to the beach at 11pm. Invited guests included nearly half of the Church. We squeezed into a mini-van, a pick-up truck (ute) and on a motorbike. I trusted that Pastor Mario would organise the details and he did a great job.

All of our Nica-youths ended up in the water, but I lay there, deliriously exhausted, following my children with my gaze. Finally, Sez came up to me and asked. “Dad, tonight are we sleeping in a bus, or on someone’s floor, or on the sand at the beach?” I laughed uncontrollably. This is NOT the life for a kid with Asperger’s Syndrome. I looked at Sezni whose brow was furrowed and asked “Where would you like to sleep, Sezni?” He took a moment to respond. “Wherever you sleep, Dad.”

And so it was. Our very first tour abroad. What an encouragement to me and my troupe. We were originally sent by our Church in Australia (CapitalEdge.org.au) to Latin America to participate in ministry with children. I could never have imagined that someday I would preach. It’s just not me, I’m the joker.

But God has led us gently, to the point where we are working with youth (Every Church I’ve ever been in has asked me to be a leader in youth group – I’ve always declined. I have always loathed, ENRITELY, youth… I think I’m funny, but God has the supreme sense of humour hey?), taking Jesus to our World – is there any higher calling?

The Church would truly explode, I believe, if we would just follow Jesus’ example of making disciples. But we don’t. We want BIG. Big Churches, big services, big programs, big, big, big. We need to give away our desire for wealth and fame, that wasn’t the message of Christ. He loved us so much that he came and gave us his life. In the same way, we need to reach those we touch, every day, acknowledging the Lord and loving those he sends our way. It’s our calling – there’s no greater thing!

The cost of our evangelistic outreach tour to El Salvador was $2,000. If you would like to contribute to our outreach costs, and hence help us to secure our next evangelism tour, please visit our support page and make a contribution (CLICKhere) – you will be investing directly into the Christian crusade for saving souls…

 

POST by JED: Evangelising El Salvador – Part 2

Rene & Yader waiting at the Coach Terminal in El Salvador

It was a BUMMER HEIGHTS HIGH, the day we left Anna & Jazz behind. I found it difficult to keep up my chirpy, CAN DO attitude, but I had to. Our success in El Salvador depended on it. God couldn’t possibly use a bunch of sad, whinging, mopers. I needed to lead the parade, not jump on the sad-wagon! 

I initiated tickle torture, joking, laughing out loud BROADWAY style – with mouth WIDE OPEN, etc. I danced, sung, played charades, anything to keep the mood light and expectant. I tell you, our bus ride from the border of El Salvador, to the city of San Salvador, was akin to a Spanish version of John Candy’s coach trip in Planes, Trains & Automobiles, when he leads his fellow travelers in singing the Flinstones theme song.

The sun was just setting when we arrived in San Salvador. We’d spent 15 hours on a double decker bus, and it was with great difficulty that we pried our behinds out of our seats. Sezni’s legs refused to function, and so I carried him on my shoulders, nearly passing out on account of his woofiness, and nearly decapitating the poor lad upon our disembarkation.

Waiting in King Quality (San Salvador)

Our host, Pastor Mario, was not surprisingly nowhere to be seen. We’d e-mailed back and forth, and I’d let him know of our arrival time, but things tend to run a bit loosey-goosey in Central America, and so I’d already assumed he’d most likely be fervently waiting by his phone for our call.

Jed, in his own little Magazine ShOot World!

I looked around. The bus terminal was a bit mish-mash. The perimeter barrier was tall, with barbed wire atop. The departures/arrivals lounge was a tiled room with 3 walls, opening out to the fumes of the busses. No a/c here, but to our delight, the convenience of clean bathrooms and a broken down snack machine. The check-in counter was home to make-up clad beauties, who could have easily been relaxing in some glam magazine shoot.

I asked Fran and Rene to use their phones to call the pastor. No funciones… I approached one of the check-in staff with a handful of American & Nicaraguan coins. She must have been struggling violently to hold her eyes open, on account of the heaped mascara she’d troweled across her lashes. I wanted to offer her a baby wipe, but alas for us babies are well and truly a thing of the past…

I explained our situation to the Princess at King Quality and she was only too happy to help. I dialed Pastor Mario’s number and talked for a moment, just so he’d know it was me. I then handed the phone to Fran who spoke for a time, just so he’d know what we wanted. The phone then went back to the King Quality lass for a second’s chat, just so he’d know where to come.

The Nicavangelist Team, on their FIRST EVER international tour... (El Salvador)

I’d be lying if I said it was an easy wait. We were pretty pooped by this stage, desperately needing to nap. An hour or two passed, and one of Pastor Mario’s pastors, whose name was also Pastor Mario, arrived with a broad grin upon his face, ready to take us “home.”

The boys threw our baggage in the back of the ute (pick-up truck), and by “threw” I mean dragged upwards and plonked. My 4 kids and our 8 boys climbed onto the tray and I was graciously offered a seat in the cabin – which I took. The ride home was pleasant. It was fun and windy through the streets of San Salvador and then as we climbed into the hills I drowsily watched the flickering lights of the city below.

I thrive meeting new people, but could barely hold a conversation due to my groggy state. I elected to ask open-ended-questions so as to keep the conversation flowing, but with minimal effort on my part. I do remember asking my last question, but was rather embarrassed when Pastor Mario’s hand woke me from my slumber. We were in Apopa, in front of our Church. I sprang into action…

Hugs, kisses, love, laughter. I was delighted to be amongst my new comrades. Less delighted when Fran came and tried to break up my little party, pointing out that I was with the people from the wrong Church. Ba-hA! Strike 2! I needed a bed fast… It turned out that the local Pentecostal Church also shared the same eating space as the local Baptist Church. But, as we’re all brothers and sisters in God, no probs, aye?

I managed to greet almost 50 people; babies, toddlers, children, youth, adults and the elderly. Everyone was there and so excited about the missionaries from Australia and Nicaragua. Our boys were visibly taken back, they were being treated like celebrities, but were unable to remember the events that propelled them to this position of fame. I smiled and winked at them, as they suffocated in the embraces of men, women and children. Lorenzy, as always, was a gigantic HIT, instantly being mobbed by young girls who hugged her, touched her hair, and jabbered away in Salvadorian Spanish.

Our El Salvadorian Baptist Church

Inside the double storied Church building, we were asked to sit at a long table. We were served grandiose amounts of pupusas, which are a traditional Salvadoran dish made of a thick, handmade corn tortilla (made using masa de maíz, a maize flour dough used in Latin American cuisine) and filled with queso (cheese) and frijoles refritos (refried beans).

Dinner time in our Apopa Church (El Salvador)

Pastor Mario jumped behind the keyboard and started singing Hillsong United songs, and I joined him before too long and sung a few of my own favourites. Wild applause filled the auditorium, as not too many of the locals had actually gone home. They were watching fascinatedly as we performed every action in preparation for bed. “Oh, he brushes his teeth!” and “Good gracious! They’re walking barefoot on the Church floor!” It suddenly felt eerily like we were on an episode of Big Brother, but our viewers weren’t behind telly sets, they were sitting right in front of us.

I changed in the pastor’s bathroom, and then organised my children and our youths to sleep on the floor. We each had a pillow and a sheet. I had the boys sleep up one end of the auditorium, and I had my 4 kids sleep around me. Before leaving the Pastor warned, “No one is to leave the building at any time.”

We eventually fell asleep at some time before midnight, with people still there watching us.

Morning arrived prematurely and I jumped out of bed. There was so much to be done and such little time. Pastor Mario was already in the building, ready to get the show on the road. We chatted a bit, and he shared that the Church didn’t have sufficient funds to feed us.

In no time at all we were at the supermarket, buying supplies for our stay. We bought rice and beans, juice, eggs, and other bits and pieces to make healthy, cheap meals, which a lovely lady from the Church would prepare for us.

One of the LOVELY ladies who cooked for us, & Renz

We spent several hours practicing our street theatre production, Created, in preparation for our evangelism outreach and performances at the Church. We have never practiced in a different location, and so there was a lot of “Which way is front?” Mr. G nearly died that day… The only thing that kept him going was the knowledge that Latinos can ALWAYS pull it off when it comes down to the wire.

Practicing "Created"

We were escorted around the corner to a bakery. Now from what I could tell of El Salvador, in general they are a little bit better-off than Nicaraguans, but not by much. Of course, all of my analysis is skewed because I have only visited one barrio in San Salvador, but I have UN statistics to back me up. At this point in my stay, the things I had noticed to be superior were the construction of the roads (I hadn’t driven on one dirt road since arriving in El Salvador, and the “poor” area where we were staying had wide, paved streets), the construction of the houses (no tinned roofs, instead clay tiles. No dirt floors, but tiled/concreted floors), and the brighter faces of the people – clearly having much more hope in their hearts, and probably a better diet too.

We showered one-by-one under the cool, hose-like tap. The boys were getting nervous and I loved watching this, the unraveling of tough guys.

I was interrupted half way through the cleansing process by one of the Church’s pastors. This chap was nervous about the seating arrangement I had requested. The Church had a stage too small for our performance, and in front of the stage was a large space with a step halfway through – far too dangerous for our troupe. I hence suggested (not taking “no” for an answer) that we use the space in front of the entrance for performing, and use the stage, the area in front of the stage, and the space around our performance area, for seating.

One thing I have learnt about Central Americans is that they struggle with being flexible. They are laid back, but not flexible – if that makes sense… Sort of the opposite to Americans, who I find to be flexible, but not laid back, and completely different to Aussies who are both flexible and laid back (which is why I am ALWAYS in trouble), or Brits who are neither flexible, nor laid back – but who have the best sense of humour (hopefully finding this paragraph hilarious – complaints can be send to Elizabeth.Brien@gmail.com).

At this point if I am to be honest, I have to say my thought on this matter was that the pastor merely wanted the performance to be like a normal Church service, without too much disruption. His argument was that the Church was expecting upwards of 200 people for the Saturday night service, and using a third of the space for performance would inhibit maximum seating.

I argued that in utilising the raised stage and elevated area in front of the stage for seating, we’d easily recover the lost space where people usually sat (but which we now wanted to use for performance). In addition, people would better see the production, and the Church would feel more like in a theater. But oh dear, I could see it on his face – unsaved people, SITTING ON THE STAGE!!!

I grabbed his hand, like a father grabbing the hand of his son. “Vamos!” I said.

I dragged my kids along too, because on this trip, their safety was of utmost importance to me – I was the only one who would truly care for them. My kids were never left unattended or out of sight, not even for a second – the sexual exploitation of children, in Latin America, occurs at a staggering rate. I honestly believe, now that I have lived amongst the Nicaraguan people, that there are little or no children who don’t have a keen understanding of sexual matters, even if it is only observing their parents having sex at night.

“Dad, I’ve only made-up one eye!” Francesca argued. It was true, but without a significant interception, this pastor would just rearrange the seating as he pleased. We walked along, shaking hands with the local Salvadorians, trying to keep pace, but taking time to look into eyes and smile genuinely, with love.

The seating was beautiful, I was impressed. “But the microphones won’t reach the stage” protested the pastor. “Then we’ll sing from behind the people!” came my response. It didn’t take long for the pastor to realise that this seating plan would work and that his prior concerns were now null and void.

I hurried back to my troupe. They were nearing readiness. We finished up, cleaned up, locked up and some of them began to choke up. They were nervous, it was delicious!

We strolled back to the Church. I had my people wait upstairs, in a children’s Sunday school room. The Church was filling up and the roar of conversation was now deafening. Jonny got into quite the strop, as did several of the others. They were objecting to parts of their new costumes. Stubbornness set in – I asked everybody to stand up and had them pray together – Pentecostal Nicaraguans, are almost as fervent pray-ers as Koreans. I love seeing how far these boys’ prayer lives have come. When they first arrived with us, if we were in a hospital praying for the sick, these lads would no doubt thank the Lord for my family, for the beautiful day we were experiencing and for the food we were about to eat – even though they had their hands laid on a patient suffering with cancer, in a room without windows and not a wiff of food in smelling distance.

We asked God almighty to come and fill us and the Church. Prepare the hearts Lord! Make hearts be open. Help us to remember our choreography and blind the eyes (especially with several of the boys’ bachata moves) when needed, also making the hearing to be deaf (when I was to sing “Chains” – Tina Arena).

I climbed down the stairs to check out the mood, and I became OTT excited. Standing room only, and eyes full of excitement. The pastor asked us to begin. I had our troupe line the stairs of the building. The Nicavangelists were introduced. Jonny, Beycker, Sezni & Rafael walked quietly in and took position, just as we had planned.

The audience first sat in silent awe, and then out of nowhere came the thunderous applause, causing Beycker & Rafael not to hear the music. With a little confusion they started to dance – the King (Beycker) & the Prince (Rafael). 

Performing the Palo de Mayo, a part of CREATED, in El Salvador

Moments later, the rest of the troupe arrived and performed the Palo de Mayo. I had concern over this part of the production, because for many Christians in Latin America, dancing is considered to be sinful. In addition to the dancing factor, the Palo de Mayo contains strong themes of sexuality – hence the Palo.

However, it is difficult to represent sin, without really shocking people or showing it. We believe the Palo de Mayo, coupled with acting out the 7 deadly sins, appropriately conveys our fleshly humanity. It didn’t matter, because the Salvadorians thought it was all wonderful – which really encouraged our troupe on.

In fact, Sezni was so encouraged by the audience’s enthusiasm that he departed from the routine we’d rehearsed no less than a thousand times. He walked across the stage on his hands (instead of aggressively twirling his kung-foo stick and attacking his victims - he’s a demon in our play and can apparently hand-stand his prey to death). He grabbed the victorious Rafael (the Prince, representing Jesus) by the throat at a moment when Rafael needed to be seen as the victor, and almost strangled him to death. He stopped mid-breakdance number to stare at the large woman, front row, who laughed raucously whenever Sezni did anything.

But besides Sezni’s whoopsy-daisies, the performance was a grandiose success. I don’t think there was a dry eye in the house when Rafael (the Prince, Jesus…) died. And then the hooting, hollering and howling, when he rose from death – it was deafening. Once the production was complete, we sung Te Doy Gloria (I give you glory), which is the number one praise song in Latin America.

The dancing hands, the grandiose singing, the eyes full of conviction and love. The Latin American Church, sweeping along the debris of shattered lives, into the Kingdom! How awesome to be a part of something so beautiful. Lives being changed forever…

Created, in El Salvador

 The cost of our evangelistic outreach tour to El Salvador was $2,000. If you would like to contribute to our outreach costs, and hence help us to secure our next evangelism tour, please visit our support page and make a contribution (CLICK here) – you will be investing directly into the Christian crusade for saving souls…