One Prayer, Two Generations, Fighting a War, A Lost Sole, and One Old Man
“For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God has prepared in advance for us to do.” Ephesians 2:10
One
person went to one prayer meeting in Columbia, South
Carolina, in 1951. He prayed for the lost people
group of the Cabecar tribe in Costa Rica. Also
at that prayer meeting was a young couple named Jones. The
Joneses had been attending the Columbia Bible School
and heard the prayer. They took it home as their
own and soon afterward received two visions from God: The
Cabecars would be their people, and they would have
a large family who would all serve the Lord. In January
of 1952 they arrived in Costa Rica, with Mrs. Jones
being pregnant with their first child. David,
age 34 (pictured above with his two sons), is the
youngest of their eight children. He continues
to work with the Cabecars, along with two of his brothers,
Phillip and Timothy. For eight years he has been
hiking into remote villages in the Talamanca Indigenous
Reserve for trips ofseveral days to two weeks. He
visits people, shares the Gospel, prays for them in
their own language (“I don’t remember
when I didn’t speak Cabecar.”). For
four years he had no Christians to visit; now there
are four villages where Christians meet regularly. This
was the first time David has visited a village with
a medical team. One prayer.
Also
pictured above is Ken Orozco, a native Costa Rican
who was driven from his dysfunctional family as a
young man to go to school in San Jose. God was good
to him and led him to a group of Christians and a
faith in the Lord, and love for a young woman named
Elena, the daughter of an American missionary couple
who had been working in Bambu (just outside Bribri
at the edge of the Talamanca Indigenous reserve).
Ken has become the leader of the mission to the Bribri
tribe, native peoples and refugees in Bambu.
His sister is married to one of David’s brothers. Last
year he took a team of builders from his church to
go with David to one of his villages to build a shelter
at the home that has the church, named “The
Grandmother’s House.” This year he sent
four members of his congregation to carry supplies,
set up camp, cook, and to sing praise: Nicolay,
Sergio, Alexandro, and Arenas. Two generations.
Dr.
Urena, known as Mauricia or “Mau” to his
many friends, received a vision from God to serve
the indigenous peoples of Talamanca six years ago. Despite
many opportunities to go elsewhere to work less hours
for better pay, he has stayed true to his calling. He
is employed by the government and has several responsibilities,
including the indigenous tribes. He plans on
continuing service to the same area, possibly coordinating
medical mission teams into Talamanca. To quote
and paraphrase Mau, “This is war. There
are lost people and evil spiritual forces, reflecting
bad health amongst other evils, over Talamanca.
Good people go in and win a battle, gain ground, and
withdraw. This is like Viet Nam. We cannot
win unless we coordinate forces and keep the ground
we gain. We must all work together.” Mauricio
was the moving force behind joining the forces of
the Joneses, the Orozcos, AguaViva Ministries (John
Whited and myself), and the government medical supplies
for the first time. Fighting a war.We gathered
at the AguaViva church in Bribri on the morning of
Feb. 24th. Supplies were packed and using one
vehicle borrowed from the Wycliff Society, and David’s
car, we drove to the end of the road at Vesta in the
Valle de Estrelle. Then we drove through the river,
past the end of the road, up the river bed until it
was no longer passable. By a four hour hike later
we had arrived at the “Grandmother’s House”
at Alto Coen.
That night John and I interviewed David about his
mission and his hopes for this trip. David told
us that the village of Bajo Bley was without any Christians.
They were aware of the Gospel since he had shared
before with many people, but they remained in bondage
to their tribal beliefs and to the power of the shamans
who held dark spiritual powers of divination, healing,
and casting of curses. They used the power for
their own self- gratification and enrichment. The
mythology upon which their beliefs rested was with
little joy and many burdens. David was cautiously
optimistic that the coupling of medical care with
the Gospel message, prayer and praise, would start
to break down barriers. When I asked if he had
a specific goal in mind, he replied, “Yes. There
is one old man. He has heard the Gospel and come
very close.”
I
asked a follow-up question. “In the U.S.
we usually target young people for evangelism efforts,
and usually if we are making a major campaign, we
target groups instead of individuals. So, why
one old man?”
David
looked a bit surprised. He said, “If
you really believe that people are going to hell if
they don’t accept Jesus in this lifetime, then
it becomes much more urgent the older they get.”
He
also noted that there were other potential benefits
of a respected tribal elder gaining faith; it makes
it so much easier for anybody else in the village
to accept Jesus. Also, more personal and poignant,
the man in question had been David’s father’s
guide to the Cabecar tribes in the 1950s. David’s
family had been a witness to this man for over half
a century. Does anybody recall a parable about
what a housewife might do to find a lost coin, a shepherd
might do to find a lost sheep, or God might do to
find a lost soul? One old man.
So
the next morning we marched off into the jungle trail,
ten missionaries, three paid porters to carry medicines,
and lots of prayers from friends, family, and the
prayer warriors of CrossRoad Church. It felt
like a military campaign. The hike was strenuous,
and I was humbled by the loss of a sole of my boot
by midmorning, and being able to continue only because
Nicolaus gave me his boots while he and his son made
due with a lesser boot and sneakers. By midday,
David was carrying my pack plus the heavy items from
his own pack because I didn’t look like I was
going to make it. We camped out by a creek in
the jungle and arrived the next morning in the village
of Bajo Bley. Good signs were that there were
villagers that met us at the river crossing at the
Rio Tellire and showed us their hot springs on the
way to their village. Bad signs were that the
buildings were poorly constructed, the children never
smiled, and the first question directed to Dr. Urena
was the start of a litany of complaints about why
more hadn’t been done for them in the past.
We
had the rest of the day to set up camp and set up
the clinic, as well as clean up and rest. The
following morning our trusty camp crew prepared an
unusual breakfast of macaroni shells mixed with a
can or two of pork and beans. This immediately
brought a few questions to mind. First, that although
they had great hearts, where had these boys learned
to cook? Second, when were they going to give
us the oatmeal, and with what was it going to be served?
I
asked David the name of the old village chief that
we were to be in prayer for. He looked around
carefully before answering in a whisper, “His
name is Rosende. But you will not hear his name
spoken out loud in this village.”
“Why
not?” I asked. “And why are you whispering?”
“It
is a sign of respect to not speak someone’s
name aloud here. Everyone here knows my name,
but you will probably not hear it spoken. It is a
sign of respect.”
So
we started praying for Rosende. But not out loud.
By
midmorning, after some gathering and discussion by
local tribal leaders, the clinic started. Mauricio
gave me a short course in Costa Rican medications
and served as a terrific resource in diagnosis and
treatment of common local skin conditions. He
pointed out observations regarding public health matters,
like the birth weight of the children, and the timeliness
of their vaccinations. He also had some practical
recommendations: everybody had lice, and everybody
had parasites. After they had treatment for those
ailments we could ask what was wrong with them. By
the end of the day we had seen about a hundred people.
The
most serious problem was a middle aged man who kept
falling down. I examined him and felt he had
cervical spondylitic myelopathy -- spinal cord compression
from disks and bone spurs in his neck. Mauricio
was called over for consultation. Although he
agreed my diagnosis was the most likely if I were
examining a patient in Florida, he suggested I remember
where I was. Wasn’t it more likely that
he had cystercercosis (cyst in the brain that come
from the pork tapeworm)? We both agreed that
MRI scans would be advisable. All we had to do
to get that to happen was to have this poor soul limp
the two day hike to the nearest road, take the bus
to Bribri where Mauricio would see him, and then arrange
for an MRI in San Jose (a five hour bus trip), and
then if we were correct, arrange for a Neurosurgery
appointment in San Jose, and a place for him to stay
before, during and after treatment. The whole
process would take months, presuming nothing went
wrong and the patient was still alive at the end of
the process. Four days later, as we waited for
rides back to Bribri at the store at the end of the
road, I saw that man come limping up the road, supported
by a bamboo staff, to begin the process. I’m
not sure I could have the hope and courage to do the
same. I wonder if I wouldn’t give up and give
in if I were in his shoes.
That
evening, David came to the schoolhouse where Mau,
John, and I had set up our sleeping quarters. He
talked about his vision and quest for the Cabecar
people. He spoke of discouragement and hard
work. He talked about fears that he had about
the very real power of curses from local shaman. Shaman
curses seem odd to the North American experience,
and it is a quick and inaccurate reflex to dismiss
such things as local superstition. But David
was reminding me, in the same way that Mauricio had
reminded me in the morning, that we were not in Florida. The
spiritual rules had changed as well. We prayed
for David and he prayed for us. Later we sang praises
and prayed with the whole group in at least three
languages.
The
following morning brought a meeting of the town elders,
preceding the clinic at the schoolhouse. Mauricio
laid out a vision of improved communication and medical
care, and ease in registering their children as citizens
in the far off town of Bribri. But it would require
community effort to build a clinic, care for medicines,
care for a radio, and working with David. John
held out the possibility of a missionary helicopter
visitation, and the construction of a local bridge
for foot traffic. There was much discussion,
part of which involved infighting over the best location
of a bridge and placement of the radio and clinic. Since
the local shaman was there, I suspect that an unspoken
part of the controversy was about accepting the missionary,
David, to be a messenger and an official part of village
life. Mauricio concluded his presentation by
telling everyone that they would be treated to the
best of our medical abilities and resources, but also
that prayer was available to all, and they were also
welcome to join us for prayers and praise in the evening.
That
evening we had the added entertainment of processing
a live pig to barbecue. Nothing like praise songs
and prayer in three languages covered with the smell
of slowly roasting pork. Although no one joined
us to sing and pray, young men hung around during
the day and David was able to share the God’s
Plan of Salvation with them.
The
following morning was Sunday. We held a short
clinic for everyone who still wished to be seen or
needed follow-up injections or exams. The day
was rainy and cool. In the early afternoon I decided
to prayer walk the village. Almost immediately
I came upon David praying for Rosende. David
has wonderfully elaborate prayers. He prays
for physical healing, peace, and prosperity, but mostly
he prays for salvation through Jesus Christ and the
lifting of bondage. He prays in English, Spanish,
and Cabecar so that those of us on Earth can understand
what he requests in Jesus’ name. Rosende
soaked in the prayers, but did not himself pray for
salvation on that day.
The
rest of the day was spent creating a storage place
for medicines to be left behind, and beginning to
pack up our stuff for the walk home. And, of
course, barbecue pork for all three meals. The
following day was packing up and heading back down
the trail to “The Grandma’s House.” The
walk out was easier than the walk in because we were
carrying less and we hired three local young people
to help carry out stuff. We had an uneventful
trip to Vesta, and caught rides back to Bribri, where
we showered, slept, and licked our wounds. The following
day, John and I made a visit to Timeteo’s home. Timeteo
is a faithful member of the church in Bribri, and
lives on the edge of the Talamanca Reserve a few miles
out of town. He had not been coming to church
due to a skin condition. We shared prayers and
medicines. We proceeded directly to David’s
house where we met with him and his wife Lucinda,
and his two sons. Lucinda makes a great chocolate
cake. David shared his hopes for the ministry
with the Cabecar tribe, the sacred trust that his
family received for ministry to the Cabecars, and
his gratefulness to God that He continued to provide
for their every need.
The
rest of the story is the story of a trip home, except
for one odd detail. As John and Daisy dropped
me off at the airport, at that very moment and place
on the curb appeared Anna, the missionary from “Mamre
los Palmes” on the Rio Serapiqui. Those of you
who read my letter from the last mission trip will
remember my description of Anna in perhaps less than
flattering terms, and more importantly my recognition
that she is God’s chosen instrument of salvation
to the people along the Serapiqui. I took the opportunity
to apologize in person, and she took the opportunity
to forgive in person, and we shared the next two hours
the news of God’s grace in our lives, and the
missions he had laid out for us.
In
the end, I look back on this trip with great humility.
I was physically in need of assistance from my indigenous
brothers to get to Bajo Bley and back. I was medically
subservient to the skills, knowledge and vision of
Dr. Urena. I was handicapped by language and
cultural skills in my ability to share the Gospel
-- a role taken by David Jones. So in the end,
what was it that I was there to do?
One
evening in Bajo Bley, I told Mauricio how much I appreciated
his knowledge and skill, his teaching, his great heart
and his great vision for health care of poor people
of the Talamanca. He explained his calling to
me, and then he said, “But I would not have
come here if you had not come. It is hard enough to
practice medicine where you know the language and
the common illnesses, but you have made a great effort
to come and do a difficult thing. I don’t think
I would have come if you had not come this time and
your other trips.”
So
there it is: We are all God’s workmanship.
I started in missions as an evangelist, I continued
as a physician, but my value was as an encourager. Anna
is uniquely made for the Serapiqui mission, John carries
skills in construction, outdoors, and Spanish, Mauricio
carries a vision and skill for better health of God’s
lost peoples in Talamanca, and David is uniquely made
for witnessing to the Cabecar tribe. And you,
too. You are God’s workmanship, you are
created in Christ Jesus to do good works that He has
prepared in advance for you to do. God bless
you, and you will find great joy in your mission.
