Bishop David Roller

Coming to America: Africa

When you think of Dayton Ohio you should think of the Wright Brothers. This IS the heartland of America, where bicycle repairmen yearned for the sky.

This weekend Dayton is different. Some 200 central African immigrants, many of them Free Methodists, have come together for a time of fellowship & renewal. Last night I was concerned that the platform might collapse with so much dancing and jumping and singing! Church is always better when we get carried away with joy.

These friends of ours have had a long journey. Most are Burundi who were displaced by the war and went to Rwanda. Then they were displaced by the next war and went to Congo. Then they were displaced by the next war and went to Tanzania where they've spent over a decade in refugee camps. And now, they've been resettled by the U.N. in America.

They come with two things: Their songbook and their Free Methodist membership certificate (& sometimes a bible!). We can't even imagine their level of identity with the church. Their church membership is way more important than their citizenship.

To us, church membership is like, well, it's okay but kind of a thing of the past.

To them, being a Free Methodist is the most important bond left to them. War destroyed their family, war destroyed their tribe, war destroyed their country, but the church followed them from country to country, from camp to camp. And now, no matter where they are here in the U.S. they've brought us their vibrancy of faith and life.

These Africans seem naive to us in material things; things like shopping and traveling and eating-out and our laws.

But I'm afraid we Americans seem naive to them in spiritual things; things like praying and singing and suffering and staying faithful.

May the Lord give us hearts to yearn for the sky from them.

Not too far away, and not too long ago...

Something that's always bugged me about the FMC is that we don't have a clear origin story. But I didn't used to know what to call it. "Origins story" is the telling of the passion that ignited any movement. But whenever I told the story of how Free Methodists began I saw people's eyes begin to glaze-over rather than blaze-over.

I'd start in on "there were really 4 reasons for the birth of the FMC..." Then I'd talk about freedom of the Spirit, freedom of the slaves, free pews and ..." I can't remember the 4th, it's probably the most important. Probably something about secret societies, which would inevitably segue the conversation into a wholly different vein.

Really, the origin story of the Free Methodist Church is "Not too far away and not too long ago a group of radical Christians chose to whole-heartedly follow Jesus rather than maintain their security in the hypocrisy of the established church. They gave up everything else to keep the integrity and intensity of their desire to please God with their lives. This integrity and intensity fueled the movement and the church flung out missionaries across the U.S. frontier, quickly planting churches as they went. We are the children of fruitful radicals."

Now that's an origin story!

I hate to sound so cheerful but...

Just finishing the annual conference in South Atlantic. What a great two days! The host church (Lakeland Light & Life) was full of pastors and delegates for two days of evidence of this new thing happening among them.

This conference doesn't spend a lot of time at their annual meeting on administrative work that committees can do better, instead they spend their annual conference time on urging each other on to good works and to telling testimonies of God at work:
    God at work in new elders...we were pleased to ordain 6 ministers in 3 different languages. Each testimony from them was an intriguing, individual story of God's tender pursuit, and of God capturing them with an imaginative vision of how to invest their lives in ministry.
    God at work in 4 new Ministerial Candidates...all 4 vibrating with compelling evidence of His hand upon them, pulling them toward this redemptive task.
    God at work through creative community ministries funded by conference grants... Last year's grant recipients reported on the ways they had used the funds given for outreach ministries.

Superintendent Darrel & Peggy Riley consistently push the conference to stay on task at annual conference time: keep focused on mission and ministry.

The 4 major groups: Brazilian, Haitian, Spanish-speakers and Anglos, don't sit in separate groups throughout the sanctuary. They mix it up, sitting by their friends and ministry colleagues, often not with their "own" group. It turns out the the Free Methodists are "our" group.

The result of these two days was an enthusiastic merging of our hearts in gratitude that God has let us do this ministry together.

Go South Atlantic Conference!

Overflow Conference-Website Coming Soon

Just so you remember to Save the Date...

Back in my cubicle

(Posted from Orlando)

Well, here I am, after a 2-week vacation, back in my cubicle. Same ol' same ol'. Same 4 gray walls, same computer monitor, same old grind.

HA! Just kidding! I have such a cool job that even as my vacation was winding down I was looking forward to being back at "work." I enjoy this work so much that it often seems like a place where duty and play intersect.

Vacation was good though. Three days in Jordan including a day-trip to Petra. The Jordanians were super-hospitable.
We also went to one of the possible baptismal sites of Jesus, on the Jordanian side of the river.
Then in Israel we rented a van, got lost several times, but somehow managed to see most of the major sites.
The things that most impressed me: Petra's rock colorations and natural canyon are just incredible.
To stand on the edge of the sea of Galilee, in Capernaum, and remember all that happened there made me homesick for Jesus;

Serving communion to the family at the garden tomb...seeing the rock trench in which the stone would have been rolled away. I couldn't keep the tears back;

Hiking to the waterfall at En Gedi and suspecting that David slept in the caves here, hiding from Saul.

I never had been too interested in visiting Israel. After all, Jesus made the land and sea in Maryland, too. But I'm thankful I could go, and I'm thankful for the rest, and I'm thankful to be back in my large "cubicle."

Sent via BlackBerry

We were just practicing

Every year so far has been practice.

Every thing you've tried has been to learn. Every effort has been to test. Every place you've failed has been to fine-tune. Every path blazed has been to learn how to open new paths. Now is the time to put it all together. 2009 is the year to multiply like crazy among the cherished missing.

We can not wait any longer, although we'd love to plan better.
Too many have been waiting too long for too few to tell so much.

Posted from Binghamton Sent via BlackBerry

The Hagar Solution

Hagar's the servant girl. The missus can't get pregnant. The missus and the master both know God promised them a child. Hagar starts looking like a pretty good option.

Had they not waited 10 years it would be easier to criticize them. But 10 years is a long time to wait. For anything. Ten years of spring lambings, and January's cold, and drawing water from the well and wondering every night while they stared into the embers, "what's the hold up?" Ten years of hoping and dashed hopes.

How long have you been waiting? Everybody's waiting for something. And let's face it, we could be waiting for lesser things, perhaps even things not promised. At the risk of being a wet blanket, it's possible we're waiting for a bus that'll never come. I'm guessing that my 64" HD TV falls into this category. I'm sure it's important to the God of the universe, but...

There are 3 possibilities:
1) We're waiting for something that God never promised us. In that case, the Hagar solution's a good idea - be creative and come up with our own solutions.
2) We're waiting for something that God promised. Don't mess it up with our sense of urgency. Keep Hagar out of the bedroom, or bedtent or whatever.
3) We're not waiting for anything. We've lost hope. We're just doing laps.

I'm at #2. I have a huge sense of expectancy. I am sure that God wants us to be a part of His amazing plan to save the world. Although it's not really a promise from God. It's more like an invitation. It's not like he's promising us children, it's more like He has all these children and He's invited us to watch out for them, to rescue them from danger and guide them.

And His promise is to help us do that well.

We might need miracles, so His children let us provide good care.  But I'm not sure. And my doubt here is not because I'm a cessationist-I'm not! I firmly believe in real true miracles today. I've seen them. No problem there. My doubt isn't about God's ability. It's more that I wonder if miracles are what will convince people today? Maybe they aren't the right "signs of the kingdom" for this people. I realize that the first-century miracles convinced many. In fact, they were critically important in the early days of the church. But that doesn't mean that God always has to use those same signs of the kingdom to convince people. I suspect He will find appropriate and convincing signs for this people among whom we live; a people jaded, a people skeptical, a people twice cheated.

So I'm waiting for Him to fulfill the promise, as He sees best. I'm guarding the door of the tent against the Hagar solution. And as I wait, I'm lambing, and shivering in January, and drawing water, and staring at the embers as they glow long into the night. His solution comes.

Yeah, I work out

It's always interesting for me to walk through airports because I can tell people want to ask me if I work out. I'm pretty sure they wonder what kind of athlete I am. I mean, it's clear I'm not a basketball player (I'm not even 6' tall). But, of course it's obvious to them, because of my muscular build and the cat-like way I move, that I'm some kind of athlete. They never seem to work up the courage to ask me but I'm sure the question is on the tip of their tongues. Probably most people figure I'm a track and field guy or maybe a soccer player. Or maybe rugby. .

Okay, back to reality. That is a total fantasy. No one has ever, even in my dreams, asked me if I work out. Sometimes complete strangers will approach me and ask, "Are you okay?" but that's not quite the same, is it.

Some Christians think their lives are going to be soooo amazingly different that strangers will come up and say, "hey, what makes you so different?" And then, in this fantasy they'll get to share about Jesus. They're fond of quoting the apparently shy Francis who is reputed to have said, "preach always and if necessary use words." Catchy phrase Francis, but it's not working. Maybe you need to start speaking up. Let's clear our throats and use some words Francis.

I think it's called "lifestyle evangelism;" that hope that if we're decent Joes people will be drawn into God's kingdom. It's not working. Sometimes we've got to say, "Jesus rescued my life and He can help you too." Let's preach always and start using words.

Posted from D.C.

Ryan, we'll see you soon...

Perhaps you had met Ryan. You would remember him if you had. He had an inquisitive way of engaging people. He leaned into you when he listened; a slight grin that let you know he was really listening to what you said, and had something ready to say back. Clever, quick, funny. One of those guys that you make a note of in the back of your mind, "Ryan's going places."

And he threw it all away. For some people in Africa whose names I'll never know. He threw it all away for them on a dark highway between Blantyre and Lilongwe. And now, if you add up the columns it doesn't make any sense. His sweet wife and three daughters, lost without lover and dad, facing a future of uncertainties. The bleak trip back across the Atlantic. The pain which has no destination. We weep for the loss. We weep for the unrealized future. We weep for a leader who never got his chance.

He was delivering corn. Corn to those unnamed Africans who with grateful hands took the corn so their children could live, so mother's milk could flow, so the family could survive another month. But on the trip home, cars went out of control and metal struck metal and some of the fragile bodies didn't survive. One of them was Ryan's. So you could argue he didn't throw it all away, it was snatched from him. He certainly did not INTEND this ending, this way.

But he had made decisions to follow Jesus that allowed him to be in that place, so his life could have meaning, and it did. It does.

Yesterday was the funeral, the saying goodbye to his body...until the general resurrection. We'll see you soon, my friend.

We all throw it all away for something, don't we. Ryan chose well. He risked wisely. He threw it all away for his African friends. But that doesn't really capture it...it goes beyond Africa; he threw it all away at the cross of obedience.

Of course he had hoped to live to be an old man and rock his grandchildren to sleep: but that's a lesser privilege. A lesser privilege than following the Christ on the path to which He invites us.

Death is not the enemy of the Christ-follower. If He taught us anything He taught us that. A life poorly lived is the enemy of the Christ-follower. Ryan understood, he made the right decisions. Well done, Ryan.

In fact, he did turn out to be a leader - he leads us down the path of sacrifice, Ryan laid down his life for his friends. And there is no greater love.

Makes you think, doesn't it? What are you throwing yours away for? If it's something small, then I weep not for Ryan, but for you. Throw your life hard, throw it straight, but throw it. No one can take from you that which you've given away.

Hundred is simply the wrong multiplier

I'm thinking hundreds when I should be thinking thousands,

and thousands when I should be thinking tens of thousands.

Because Jesus is master of all, submission is inevitable, in the end.

On the other hand,

I'm thinking hundreds when I should be thinking tens,

and thousands when I should be thinking 8,

Because Jesus is the founder of the band

and no one's home until they're loved.

Either way, hundred is too big or too small. Hundred is the wrong multiplier.