Dave & Amy Terpstra

A couple of nights ago one of our Mozambican friends came over for dinner. He picked up the guitar in our main room and began to play a song in Shangaan. Abigail and Alyson sat on the floor and sang along (they know most of the words to Shangaan worship songs). It was a beautiful moment to observe.

And there is a something about this scene that is very missional to me. If the gospel is like music, too often we think that spreading the gospel is like having a concert. And of course, that is part of it. There is nothing wrong with packing a concert hall or stadium to “play our song” as Christians. Billy Graham and Jesus spoke the gospel to very large audiences with amazing effects. But there is something very different when a musician comes into your home and plays. It is intimate and raw. Even though the songs are the same, the music penetrates us differently.

The same is true of the gospel. When we tell the stories of our faith, when we talk to each other about the history of God’s people in our homes, when we talk about the resurrection on a car drive, or when we take communion together over dinner, we play our songs best.

By no means am I opposed to concerts. I am just a fan of “music” in the home as well.

No, we are not planning on visiting the States anytime soon, but I did get to witness the first stage of an amazing homecoming this week.

We have several friends here in Mozambique who work with boys from the street at a place called Masana. Usually these kids end up on the street because their parents can’t afford to keep them at home, or for whatever reason the kids just want to run away. So they go to beg and live on the streets. Masana has a great reputation on the streets as a place to get a meal and also get cleaned up (drugs and alcohol are a major problem for street kids). They also lead dozens of boys into the Kingdom of God.

Today, in addition to witnessing the aftermath of a relay race that involved eggs and milk, I got to witness something spectacular. A boy was preparing to go back home.

Every time a boy chooses to go home, the staff at Masana spends time preparing the boy and his family. They don’t just pat him on the back and say good luck.

There is a special ceremony at Masana’s center. All of the boys get together. Someone retells the story of the prodigal son. And then the team at Masana presents the boy with a new soccer jersey (new robe), new Nike flip-flops (new sandals) and a ring. Then they have a feast, just like in the parable (except usually not a fattened calf).

In addition they provide a whole suitcase full of items for the returning kids, and enroll them in school. They pay the school fees, buy the uniforms, and help the family with several months of food. They check in with the boy every week for the first 6 weeks, then every month after that.

On the wall in the main room of the house is a picture of each of the dozens of boys they have helped return to their homes! Today they added one more photo! Praise God! Praise God! Praise God! A son who was lost is now found! It doesn’t get any better than this! I love this job!

(p.s. I am cooking up some REALLY exciting things with Masana if you are interested in partnering with them in the future. Stay tuned!)

One of the most unexpected phenomenon we have experienced while being here in Mozambique is the surprising amount of contact we still have with friends and family back home. Although we aren’t nearly as plugged into people’s lives as we once were, and we don’t get to watch our nieces and nephews grow up, we are still graciously kept up to speed on a lot of what is happening.

One of the interesting side effects of this connection is how safe people feel venting to us, or sharing secrets. As a pastor, I was regularly entrusted with quite a few secrets and confessions over the years. However, this feels different. Regularly when talking to someone who needs to get something off from their chest they will say, “Well, I suppose it is pretty safe to talk to you since you are half way around the world…”

It’s true. We are half way around the world. And I guess that makes me your virtual missionary bartender. You can pour out your sorrows and secrets knowing I will take them to the grave…and there is very little chance I will run into anyone who cares about them.