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Do you have an off switch?

Questions to Ask in 2021
World Racer Ian Schumann is in Uganda this month. Here, he has some good insight into the contrast between American culture, African culture, and Jesus’ culture. Do we get to decide when we’re available for ministry? Do we get to say “no” to people when we’re tired? In America, the answer is “of …
By Seth Barnes
World Racer Ian Schumann is in Uganda this month. Here, he has some good insight into the contrast between American culture, African culture, and Jesus’ culture. Do we get to decide when we’re available for ministry? Do we get to say “no” to people when we’re tired? In America, the answer is “of course you need margins in life.”
But the answer in Africa is different seems to more closely resemble Jesus’ answer. Schumann looks at Luke 9:10: “On their return the apostles told Him all that they had done. And he took them and withdrew apart to a town called Bethsaida. When the crowds learned it, they followed Him, and He welcomed them and spoke to them of the kingdom of God and cured those who had need of healing.” Ian writes:

K, this is nuts, is it not? Jesus’s most cherished disciples just dropped their training wheels. So, isn’t the guy itching to hear their stories and affirm them and rest in Bethsaida? And then this crowd crashes the weekend retreat, like so many paparazzi, or African children . . . and what does He do? He welcomes them. He teaches them. He heals them. And if you don’t know this part–He feeds all of them too.

This would never, ever, ever happen in America.

And it would never have to. We don’t let the crowds in. Nobody even feels bad about keeping them out, right? Come on, if you’re facilitating the Bethsaida debrief, the apostles need time, they need space–just chill, pray, chat, worship for a few days. Watch some futbol. “Off” time. So they can be “on” again later. Right? Sounds reasonable to me. It’s what we do in America, anyway. It’s what we do on the Race, anyway.

Which is exactly why this is so hard. Because Africa doesn’t operate that way. And evidently–this is really important–neither does Jesus. He’s open and receptive. He’s always on. Always ready to welcome people and pay attention to them and minister to them. It’s astounding.

Now, Jesus rested too, for sure. Even the Lord of the Sabbath needs sabbatical time. He’s always running up on mountaintops to pray. Half the time the apostles can’t even find the guy. But what’s key here is when they do find Him, hidden away in a high place . . . He always welcomes and engages them. Always.

And that’s because there is no “on” for Jesus–ministry is just the natural consequence of who He is–it was a part of Him. And the fullness of that is beyond me.

So, my “on” has been sharpened a lot. Hooray. I’ve been loving on orphans and evangelizing in grass huts and preaching in African churches. And I really am starting to mean it, most of the time. But my “off” is still off. It’s still just me and all my narcissism–not giving, not serving, not loving. And so there’s a funny contrast. When I’m just myself, frustration and narcissism happen. When Jesus is just himself, um . . . the Gospel of Luke happens.

And because there’s no space for “off” in Africa, it’s all quietly starting to hit the fan over here.

In all this, I hear God’s saying “Great, you’ve grown in what you do–now let’s grow in what you are.”

And this is what I mean by the stakes being raised. This part’s scary.

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