The Great Exchange
Painted in Nelspruit, South Africa, December, 2004
My wife and I worked with children in Africa for 11 years, five in Kenya and six in Mozambique. At the end of our first year at an orphanage in Mozambique, there was a sudden, surprising change of direction in the ministry we were serving. Without any discussion or room for any options, it was decided by our superiors that the leadership development vision that we were carrying for the future of the organization needed to be developed in a totally new location rather than in the safety of the existing compound and among the precious relationships we had been developing with the 100+ children there.
I had not foreseen this decision, nor was it al all to my liking at first. I felt a real sense of shock, loss, and let down. I was sure someone was at fault for the sudden change in our plans; I just was not sure if the fault was my own or someone else's. We had been a cross-cultural team of just 6 individuals, from different parts of the globe, under the stress of trying to work together to meet the desperate needs of over 100 orphans in the bush. Now, after a year of efforts to form a cohesive team bond, Caryn Beth and I were to move to a new location in order to best multiply the ministry. My heart sank at the prospect.
Looking back now, I can see that it was God’s plan for the multiplication of His work: in fact, within two years we had planted a new church in the bush and established a leadership development base for the parent organization. However, at the time the shift was announced and in the blunt, cold manner that the news was delivered, it felt painful and confusing to me. My wife and I were in a very foreign land, just beginning to speak the Portuguese language after a year of incarnation; to be leaving the safety of an established base of operation and setting off on our own was an intimidating consideration. I did not feel ready. And the question that was hardest for me to ponder was this: How could we face leaving the precious children we knew and cared so much for?
Days after the surprise announcement, it felt like the devil was having a fun time filling me with negative, accusing thoughts. Sunday came, and I sat in a friend’s church in deep sadness and confusion. While the worship service went on around me, I felt a million miles away. Eyes closed, I held my head in my hands and cried out silently to God for help.
Isaiah 57:15 indicates that although we know Him as “the High and Exalted One”, He is also very compassionate and is near to the broken-hearted. As I sat there in a melancholy shroud, I suddenly felt/heard Him come to me then and quietly say:
“I have comfort for you that you are not receiving.”
This was a profound interruption to my gloomy thoughts! But I knew I was hearing the sound of His Voice. Head still bowed and eyes still closed, I opened my hands and placed them in a receptive pose and said simply: “Ok, Lord: I receive your comfort.”
Immediately, an usher arrived at my side with communion elements. (I had been so absorbed in my sorrow up to this point that I had missed that the rest of the congregation had moved into taking communion).
What a stunning spiritual interaction: a) I was overwhelmed with sadness; b) God interrupted my cries with an offer for me to reposition myself to receive His comfort; c) immediately on my moving to receive His comfort, an usher delivers communion elements to me! This sequence in itself was an amazing, comforting interchange. But that was not all God was saying.
For a moment, I sat erect and stared at the elements briefly before consuming them reverently; then I closed my eyes again. What I “saw” next I can only describe as a vision. (This was a very unusual experience for me at that time). With my eyes still closed, bread of life still on my tongue, for a moment I “saw” Christ on the cross. Around Him swirled words that seemed to be written in smoke. I looked closer and saw that they were the words of the deepest, painful emotions and accusing thoughts that I was feeling. I saw the words (in the Portuguese we spoke in Mozambique): Abandonment, Isolation, Betrayal, Deception, and Rejection, all transparently written in swirling smoke. Then, as I watched, one by one, the words were inhaled through the wound in Jesus’ side, finally disappearing into His body. All of this I saw in just a few seconds, and then it was gone. But the profound vision left me with this impression:
“You see, my son, I have a place big enough to absorb all the wounds of the world. Bring your pain to me; I will take it away and deal with it. I will carry the weight of it to it’s death. Jeffrey, in this sacred place, trade your sorrows for my life. For if you carry your pains inside of you, they will overtake you; but if you entrust them to Me, you will experience truest comfort and freedom.”
The painting is, as much as possible, an exact rendition of what I “saw” that day. I added the element of the open white doorway to increase and clarify the statement of invitation that Christ offers us: He takes our pains, and we receive healing comfort from His wounds.
I had not foreseen this decision, nor was it al all to my liking at first. I felt a real sense of shock, loss, and let down. I was sure someone was at fault for the sudden change in our plans; I just was not sure if the fault was my own or someone else's. We had been a cross-cultural team of just 6 individuals, from different parts of the globe, under the stress of trying to work together to meet the desperate needs of over 100 orphans in the bush. Now, after a year of efforts to form a cohesive team bond, Caryn Beth and I were to move to a new location in order to best multiply the ministry. My heart sank at the prospect.
Looking back now, I can see that it was God’s plan for the multiplication of His work: in fact, within two years we had planted a new church in the bush and established a leadership development base for the parent organization. However, at the time the shift was announced and in the blunt, cold manner that the news was delivered, it felt painful and confusing to me. My wife and I were in a very foreign land, just beginning to speak the Portuguese language after a year of incarnation; to be leaving the safety of an established base of operation and setting off on our own was an intimidating consideration. I did not feel ready. And the question that was hardest for me to ponder was this: How could we face leaving the precious children we knew and cared so much for?
Days after the surprise announcement, it felt like the devil was having a fun time filling me with negative, accusing thoughts. Sunday came, and I sat in a friend’s church in deep sadness and confusion. While the worship service went on around me, I felt a million miles away. Eyes closed, I held my head in my hands and cried out silently to God for help.
Isaiah 57:15 indicates that although we know Him as “the High and Exalted One”, He is also very compassionate and is near to the broken-hearted. As I sat there in a melancholy shroud, I suddenly felt/heard Him come to me then and quietly say:
“I have comfort for you that you are not receiving.”
This was a profound interruption to my gloomy thoughts! But I knew I was hearing the sound of His Voice. Head still bowed and eyes still closed, I opened my hands and placed them in a receptive pose and said simply: “Ok, Lord: I receive your comfort.”
Immediately, an usher arrived at my side with communion elements. (I had been so absorbed in my sorrow up to this point that I had missed that the rest of the congregation had moved into taking communion).
What a stunning spiritual interaction: a) I was overwhelmed with sadness; b) God interrupted my cries with an offer for me to reposition myself to receive His comfort; c) immediately on my moving to receive His comfort, an usher delivers communion elements to me! This sequence in itself was an amazing, comforting interchange. But that was not all God was saying.
For a moment, I sat erect and stared at the elements briefly before consuming them reverently; then I closed my eyes again. What I “saw” next I can only describe as a vision. (This was a very unusual experience for me at that time). With my eyes still closed, bread of life still on my tongue, for a moment I “saw” Christ on the cross. Around Him swirled words that seemed to be written in smoke. I looked closer and saw that they were the words of the deepest, painful emotions and accusing thoughts that I was feeling. I saw the words (in the Portuguese we spoke in Mozambique): Abandonment, Isolation, Betrayal, Deception, and Rejection, all transparently written in swirling smoke. Then, as I watched, one by one, the words were inhaled through the wound in Jesus’ side, finally disappearing into His body. All of this I saw in just a few seconds, and then it was gone. But the profound vision left me with this impression:
“You see, my son, I have a place big enough to absorb all the wounds of the world. Bring your pain to me; I will take it away and deal with it. I will carry the weight of it to it’s death. Jeffrey, in this sacred place, trade your sorrows for my life. For if you carry your pains inside of you, they will overtake you; but if you entrust them to Me, you will experience truest comfort and freedom.”
The painting is, as much as possible, an exact rendition of what I “saw” that day. I added the element of the open white doorway to increase and clarify the statement of invitation that Christ offers us: He takes our pains, and we receive healing comfort from His wounds.