Tribute to spiritual fathers and friends

This has been a special season of reflection for me. My pace of life due to social distancing, long periods of biblical reflection, and not having institutional responsibility for church, mission or academy, has afforded a fresh vantage point on life. The visitation of death to loved ones close to me and the birth of a grandson, a new generation, has pressed me into a deeper appreciation of the notion of heritage and legacy.

 My earthly biological father was mercifully taken by Jesus after several years of physical deterioration and suffering. Ravi Zacharias, who was my Evangelism and Advanced Preaching professor in seminary lost a battle with cancer but gained welcome by our Lord. I received news of the positive diagnosis of Covid-19 and hospitalization of one of my Malian “fathers,” Simeon Dembele.

 The news turned in the other direction as our second grandson, Declan Christopher Patterson, was born. We are spending the first 10 days of his life in self-quarantine in San Diego to be ready to be with him in person.

 We were ready to move past death with this arrival, when one month after my father’s departure from this side of eternity, my younger sister Judy sadly but mercifully was taken by the Lord after a long mental and physical deterioration. She did not suffer at the end and after a couple days of hospice went peacefully. Our daughter had not yet had the opportunity to share the news of new birth with her aunt. It was a reminder of the words from the Common Book of Prayer that I repeated many times as a pastor at a memorial service – “in the midst of life, we are in the midst of death.”

 Peter Kreeft, philosopher from Boston College, has noted that death can move from enemy to friend when it reminds us to take stock and live life from the vantage point that our physical deaths are closer than we might imagine. What? The psalmist tells how - we will do well to number our days aright! How? By remembering that we are stewards of the days and moments that we get on this earth and not choosing not to merely exist as if we are owners of the time.

 Also helpful to this process of facing death as friend is remembering that we are not people who believe that this world and our temporal lives on the globe is all that there is. We are people who grieve – death is painful – but we do not grieve as the world (the Apostle Paul), but with hope of resurrection.

 During this time, I have had the privilege of processing life and death with friends. I have a prayer group that meets virtually every two weeks. 11 men from around the world. The different time zones mean that some of us are praying in the morning, others at noon, and some in the evening. During our prayer sessions I have heard them pray for me, asking God to send me new spiritual fathers and a release of anointing to the next generations.

 During this time, I was also sent a message from a friend who has prophetic anointing, “praying for you in this rollercoaster of a season. The most amazing thing I see is the legacy before you. I pray that the sweet can touch the bitter (meaning the mourning of our soul).”

 All of this added insight into my reflections on heritage and legacy. We are not merely individuals passing through this world. We are links in a chain, biologically and spiritually, that has impact beyond our immediate sphere of our impact and often beyond the imagination of the scope of our influence.

 This chain is our heritage and legacy. We are the heritage of those who went before and likewise we leave our legacy in those who come after us. And as I like to say, "our legacy is not what we leave for people (ie. land and wealth) but what we leave in people."

 The interplay of this larger community, those who invested in me, those who I am investing in, and my spiritual friends who are presently walking with me, give me an enlarged perspective on my life. As a result, I have been reflecting deeply on the influence of spiritual fathers and spiritual friends in our lives. My remembering brought to mind some of my spiritual fathers and friends from Mali. Who I am today, and my contribution to this world, has been greatly impacted by those fathers and brothers in the Lord.

Let me explain. So much of the wisdom and help I am able to give international and domestic leaders today flows from what I learned from those Malian mentors and friends. The people that I coach and teach are often in the process of figuring out how to live and minister in a new cultural and/or social setting that is not always receptive to King Jesus. The insights that I bring to their lives and ministries were learned through trial and error in Mali.

I learned through having my worldview challenged. I learned by having my American cultural blind spots exposed. I learned in the daily grind of being a foreigner and yet a welcomed and accepted outsider. I learned through the gracious welcome and partnership of Malian fathers and friends.

 Two of my fathers in Mali were Jacque Togo and Simeon Dembele. I guess I made the connection to this period of thinking about legacy due to Simeon's battle with Covid-19. 

 When we arrived in Mali, papa Togo took me under his arm. He came to me one day after a gathering and said, "Aboubacar, I see something different in you. You have a Holy Spirit fire. But sometimes your passion feels a bit American and needs a different style of outlet. But I also see teachability in you. I began as a houseboy with missionaries. I understand the difference between the cultures. If you will allow me, I will mentor you in the Malian ways." And so I began to learn a more culturally appropriate way to lead indirectl, behind the scenes, but still with faith and fire.

 I only had a few contacts with papa Simeon when we lived in Bamako but I immediately heard a man who was a deep well of wisdom. So, when I was called to the Field Director role in Koutiala, I immediately looked to him as a counselor upon our arrival in our new city. A couple of times when I was at a loss on what to do as Field Director for the Mission, especially in my role as liason with the national church, I sought out Simeon at Baramba. His wisdom was always pearl-like. Papa Simeon's photo hung on the wall of my church study when I was a pastor in Greenwich. It was a reminder to seek wisdom beyond myself.

 These two were perfect mentors for a foreign, exilic missionary, because both crossed boundaries. Togo, a pastor from rural Dogon country, was a missional pastor to the big city. Dembele, a cultural and social boundary crosser, who left Mali for his education and left social convention to invest in the marginalized gender of Mali, the women, lived as a quiet visionary when other men did not understand why he would develop an all-girls Bible school. Both men stood outside of the norm. Both were ostracized. Both were misunderstood. Why? Because the gospel of the kingdom demanded and called them to live differently.

 Because of their investment in me, they have added to my rich heritage and I live as expression of their legacy.

 I do not know the present situation for Togo or Simeon but I sent a message to my friends in Mali to greet them in my name. And  to let them know that I am carrying the gospel of the kingdom torch across boundaries and in socially unconventional ways as part of their ongoing legacy.

 On this journey, there are also fellow pilgrims. Friends. Partners - fellow partakers, heirs, and soldiers for the kingdom. I already mentioned my virtual prayer group and proppetic friend. But as I reflected on Mali, I especially thought of three special spiritual friends.

 Abel welcomed us into Mali. We were told by other missionaries that there were many things that would be outside of our scope of ministry. But he invited us fully in - to be family and full-fledged colleagues. We prayed together and we played together – the stuff of life. We laughed, we cried, we experienced the highs of kingdom breakthrough and the lows of poverty, physical and spiritual. His smile and open heart were our welcome to a new land.

 Emmanuel became my best friend in Koutiala. He prayed me through. One time when I was ready to resign as Director during a trip to the Ivory Coast, he and his wife Florence joined Ingrid to fast and pray that I would listen to the Lord and not my own inner frustration. While they prayed, God worked through another spiritual father on that trip so that I did not resign. It was not God’s will for me to resign at that time. Emmanuel’s friendship got me through. Why was he different? Emmanuel was just Emmanuel and so I could just be me. It was not missionary-national. It was not director-pastor. It was not black man-white man. It was servant-leader friend and servant-leader friend. It just was.

 Daniel became a friend at the end of my time in Mali. I had met him and knew about him, but not really personally. I approached him to accept one of the greatest sacrifices that I had seen in the Malian context. He was a governor, a trained advocate in law, and in a unique governmental position for a Christian in a 90% Muslim context. I went to him to ask him to leave the promise and comfort of that future to serve as the administrator for a visionary hospital in Koutiala. It meant taking a pay cut, working with obstinate foreigners, to lead a God-sized and "impossible" project? Only called people, with great faith, respond like he did. We became fellow visionaries and friends.

 That hospital has delivered over 10,000 babies, including births in a prenatal clinic named after a Malian professor who died while giving birth through a simple procedure that the hospital now handles without complication. In the midst of life, we are in the midst of death. All of those friendships find legacy in every person served and every baby born in Koutiala today.

 As a result of this reflection on how rich my life is because of spiritual fathers and friends, I sent a message to these three to thank them for being faithful to the Lord and to me. Part of their legacy flows through me beyond the Koutiala hospital as well. Why? As we serve in cultures around the world, I am regularly reminded that Mali gave me the tools to do what we do today. Mali taught me to read my Bible with Semitic and culturally alert eyes. Mali taught me to see kingdom theology over Western based theology. Mali taught me that relationships are more important than truth. Jesus did not die to preserve truth, he died as the Truth to preserve us. My understanding of the gospel would have been limited without this key insight. Mali has played a significant role in who I am today.

 But what is Mali? Mali is just a name without the people. So when I say that Mali played a significant role in who I am today, I am saying that Malians are the ones who invested in me and given me this heritage so rich and legacy ever growing.

 So I give thanks to the Lord for my spiritual fathers and friends who made Mali such a rich experience for us.