A few weeks ago I experienced an unexpected joy. It was my last night in Oz as I faced my fifty-first meeting, in my third city, in fourteen days. My tongue felt six inches thick, my throat was cracked red and my head was dizzy longing to hit the pillow on my sixth bed for the trip. This wouldn’t have been so bad, but a couple of hundred smart dressed 15 to 20 year olds started to arrive through the church doors ready to hear me speak. I was so spent that I wasn’t even sure I could put an intelligible sentence together never mind persuade any-body of God’s heart-beat for the poor.
That’s when it happened. A huge Islander walked across the room and shook me by the hand.
“Remember me?” My mind was tanked, but I did know this guy. His eyes smiled.
“Huh. Its me Anthony, well Anton now. I used to live with you fellas.”
My knees buckled, nearly toppling over as I realized who this was. This was not the fuming, angry, skinny fifteen year-old Anthony, I’d last seen fifteen years ago. Here was a weather beaten, but peaceful man, now known as Anton. He was the last person I’d expected to see at this church, not least because last time I’d heard he was doing a very long jail stretch.
Anton spoke fast, letting me know how he found Jesus in solitary confinement. He had remembered how I had bought him fishing rod for his birthday and how we caught plenty of fish that day of a hired boat. I’d said, “one day you’ll be a fisher of men.” Alone in jail Anton said to God, “If you get me out of this jail I will speak your truth for the rest of my days.” Anton did get out of jail, tried to find me and for the last four years as well as holding down a steady job he has been sharing Jesus with all who will listen in a kind of gutsy, street-level way. Anton saw this new life as a kind of fulfillment in those words I vaguely remember saying years ago.
A kind of joy instantly sprung up, lifting my spirits. As I got up to speak in front of so many fresh faces, a torrent of stories and insights splashed out of me. Some I hope will find their mark and make some difference. Few there that night would need to be transformed the way a fifteen year old Anthony had after all.
After the service I went back to a mutual friend’s house for dinner and Anton told me his whole story. I met too some of his friends and neighbours who band together to love and serve Jesus in their inner-city Adelaide neighbourhood. They kept prompting Anton to tell this story or that. “Aye, you’re the fishing guy then, are you? Heard that one a few times!” one said. Like, Anton, none had easy lives, but like Anton all were seeking to find a fresh way forward with Jesus and desperate for other to know this transforming power too.
Within 24 hours of that dinner I was dragging my luggage through our slum neighbourhood’s narrow lane ways toward my home. I often feel flat and empty after such crazy trips, questioning their worth. When I rest up I do see their value, but this time even this long, dark walk carried a deep sense of joy. Sure speaking, writing, lecturing and scheming for the kingdom has its place, but nothing beats hearing how God uses our small deeds done with a lot of love to bear fruit in ways you least expect it. Viva the revolution of the small Jesus-deeds!
Ash Barker UNOH Director – Bangkok Chapter
Check out more of UNOH's Wild Ones stories on the Wild Ones blog
Shalom Mark
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