February Fast 4: Silver and Gold have I None

Much is made of the indignant reaction of the scribes when Jesus told the paralytic his sins were forgiven. But what of the four men peering through the hole in the roof? What were their reactions in the moments between the proclamation, “Your sins are forgiven,” and the ensuing command to, “Rise, pick up your bed and go home?” They had not carried their friend for miles in search of salvation. They had not fought crowds and vandalized homes hoping for forgiveness. They had sought the Jesus who made the lame to walk and the blind to see. To those men the forgiveness of sins must have sounded like a bitter refusal of what seemed to them to be the more salient need.

When Nigeriens see white skin what they really see are dollar signs. It is the status symbol equivalent of driving a Mercedes. Walking through the markets I am instantly profiled and shopkeepers mentally add 50% to their normal asking price. Even the children in my neighborhood, who see me walking to the baker’s almost every morning, never tire of asking the Anasara (white boy) for a handout. They know who I am. They know I live in a modest apartment and drive a motorcycle. Yet they can’t dissociate the connection between white skin and money. This racial profiling is a mild nuisance in the neighborhood. It can grow to tremendous frustration amongst price gouging vendors. In evangelism, however, it can inflame into a curse.

During my first visit to Chileda my friend, Allie, had told me that he had accepted Christ as his savior. He told me there were at least 10 others in the village that had made similar confessions thanks to my evangelistic efforts. It was Allie who implored me to return within the week to meet with him and the other new believers. Greatly encouraged, I agreed to return despite the strain it put on my already tight February budget. As a result my friend and Fufulde interpretor, Alzouma, and I rode out to Chileda early that Thursday morning. We rendezvoused with Pastor Lawali at the town square and waited for Allie and his friends to come.

Allie was the only one who came. Not wanting to waste the morning (and the fuel that had brought us there) the four of us found a tree nearby where we could sit and talk. I shared from John 3 about Nicodemus and being born again. By the time I finished sharing three other villagers had taken seats to listen. Lawali, Alzouma and I then took turns sharing our personal testimonies. We then asked Allie when he first accepted Christ and what inspired him to do so. He said that he had accepted the first day I preached by the flooded road and that it was my sermon that had inspired him. What then followed this awesome and encouraging time was a series of events I will never forget:

“So when do you think you will be able to come back?” Allie asked.

“Well, I have a busy schedule this month but I am already planning to come back March 5^th,” I responded

“Well, all of us work in the fields and some of our fields are far away,” Allie explained. “If we do not know you are coming it will be difficult for us to meet with you. That’s why some could not come today. You should call me to let me know so I can tell people.”

“Ok, what is the phone number I can reach you at?” I asked, pulling out my phone to type in the number.

“Oh, I don’t have a phone,” Allie said. “You need to buy me a phone,” he added.

“I’m not going to buy you a phone,” I said. “I don’t have the money to buy you a phone.”

“That’s not true! You have the money to buy me a phone. You just won’t. How can you expect a plant to bear fruit if you won’t water it?” he argued

Normally, he would be right. But this is February. So with a clear conscience I responded, “Honestly, I do not have the money to buy you a phone. And even if I did I still wouldn’t. I told you from the beginning that I came to share the Gospel, nothing else. If you are looking for money or gifts then you came to the wrong person.”

“Well, if that’s the case then I’m no longer going to follow Jesus. If you don’t give me a phone then Jesus and I are finished,” he concluded, clapping the dust off his hands for emphasis.

At this point the conversation took a turn I didn’t expect. The truth was spoken from the most unlikely of sources. One of the strangers that had come to listen stood up and started speaking:

“Don’t listen to Allie! He’s a liar! NOBODY in this village has accepted Jesus. We are all Muslims. Maybe some have questions, maybe some want to listen to your teaching, but NOBODY has accepted Jesus.” In my heart I knew his words to be true.

Allie, irate with anger, jumped up to defend his honor. “You lie!” he shouted back. “I have accepted Jesus! I believe in Jesus! If it weren’t for this cell phone business I would still follow him! It’s because of that that I stop following.”

“If that is the truth then you never really accepted. You never really believed. You just said you did so you could get a cell phone. You are nothing but a swindler and a con artist!”

Allie can no longer stand it. In a rage he charges the bystander, throwing punches with reckless abandon. A couple of stout blows are landed before the bystander realizes he’s in a fight and starts throwing punches of his own. Lawali and Alzouma and I, with the help of the other two bystanders, jump up to separate the two combatants. Eventually they are ripped apart, still shouting curses in Fufulde. Allie, between curses, manages to free his right arm and stretched it out toward the bystander with extended fingers, giving the Nigerien equivalent of the middle finger. The bystander, still being restrained, spits at Allie over Lawali’s shoulder and returns the gesture.

After much arguing, most of which I did not understand, Allie calms down and the bystander storms away. Allie then gets the guts to make one last request for a phone. This time I laugh. “I won’t give you a phone, “ I said. “But if you ever stop thinking about that and want to learn more about Jesus, I will be here to teach you. “ With that Alzouma, Lawali and I mounted our bikes and took the road home.

Peter and John once told a lame man to rise and walk. This man, however, had a different sort of blessing in mind. He was looking for money. The moment just before he was healed his solicitation of funds was refused. I wonder how he felt in that moment just before the miracle. Was he upset at the refusal? Was he mentally cursing Peter and John as a pair of self-righteous Jews who refused to help a man on hard times? While the man did not get what he was looking for, the gift he received was far greater than the alms he had requested.

It would have been far easier for Peter to drop a few coins in the paralytic’s palm. It would have required almost no effort and even less faith. But the immediate blessing would have come at the cost of the greater miracle. And on that particular day, the coin was not an option. What did it take for that man to walk? Nothing. Nothing was necessary. I don’t mean, “nothing was necessary” as in “it was not necessary for them to have anything.” I mean, “nothing was necessary” as in “it was necessary for them to have nothing.” Empty pockets were a requirement.

The streets of Niamey are literally crawling with widows, blind men, cripples and lepers begging for money. When I have money in my pockets these beggars can be seen as a nuisance. In February, when my pockets rarely held more than 500 CFA, these beggars ceased to resemble parasites. Even when being hassled for money, my empty pockets allowed me look past the open palm to the person extending it. I think it no small coincidence that the most ridiculous outburst I have ever seen following a sermon happened during the month of February. Any other time I would have been indignant with such a brazen request. I might have joined the bystander in labeling Allie a swindler and a cheat. But because I had nothing, because I could honestly say, “Nokia and Samsung have I none,” I felt no offence and less resent. I needed no defense because I had nothing to protect. I was not a wealthy man rejecting the poor man’s plea, insulted at the asking. I was his brother in suffering who could find no fault in his trying, laughing at the absurdity of the asking.

It’s hard to love people when you are constantly on the defensive. It’s hard to pray blessings on those you view with caution and suspicion. It was because I had no defenses and no suspicion that I left Allie with love, rather than bitterness, in my heart. I prayed for Allie the whole ride home. Maybe this is just the moment before his miracle. Maybe, like the four friends or Peter’s paralytic, he is only upset at what appears to be the denial of his request. Perhaps he will someday understand the blessing he was offered instead.