I was Charlie Brown. I
used to have the yellow shirt with the jagged black stripe to prove it.
My other acting experiences in High School were minor
characters (putting it generously) - I played the Barrister of Munchkin land
(which I felt like was just one step up from playing a banister in
munchkin land!), a singing tree, and an unnamed character whose costume
reminded us of the Jack of Hearts. So,
when my fellow classmates found out that I would be playing the role of Charlie
Brown in a student directed play, the most common comment I heard was -
"That part is perfect for you."
(I still am not sure if that was a compliment!) It was a fun experience but more work than I
expected, having to rehearse those lines every day to keep them fresh on my
mind.
I'll contrast that experience with the time our choir put on
a dinner theater and I sang 'C'est Moi' from the musical Camelot. I happened to be singing just in front of my
parents' table and my Dad, realizing that I was having serious trouble with the
lines, put down the video camera, stood up, joined me in the song and we
finished it together. Most of the people
in the audience thought it must have been planned, and we got a rousing round
of applause. In that case, I had not
rehearsed my lines well, and I quickly lost my way. Since then,
I have really appreciated the irony of needing my Father to come to my rescue
in order to finish singing a prideful song of self-sufficiency!
I shared these two stories with my friend Mario a couple
weeks ago. Mario is one of my closest
friends. I have probably spent more time
with him than any other Mozambican. He
and I have been all over northern Mozambique together. He is my parents' age and jokes about being
my "Mozambican Dad." He likes pushing the limits of my knowledge of
the Makua language, coming up with increasingly obscure terms to expand my
vocabulary. We have literally been stuck
in the mud many times together. We have planted churches together. And I was there the day he buried his mother.
But, Mario is a recovering alcoholic. He will go through stretches of time where it
is not a problem. But, then he gets
pulled back into drinking. A few months
ago, after an incident, we had a delicate conversation about it at his house
and I told him I would not be able to take him with me to the villages north of
town - we agreed that he would be on a sort of probation.
A few months later, I walked to his house and found him
completely wasted. The next time we met,
he laughed it off, but I insisted that we needed to take it seriously. And that is what finally led us to the open
and raw conversation that day about how alcohol keeps capturing him. We talked through everything that happened
recently. He shared how some days it is
easy to walk past the group of his old drinking buddies. He talked about how when
he declines, they mock him... calling him 'Amwara Yesu' - 'wife of Jesus.' He shared how some times the pull from
alcohol is too strong and he gets sucked back in again.
And finally, he asked
me: "How can I break free?"
My response: "I
don't know."
I have never dealt with alcoholism, so I encouraged him to
talk with my teammate Jeremy who used to work at a drug and alcohol recovery
center.
But, then I borrowed a tactic from Jesus' playbook and told
him a couple stories.
In ways that fit his context, I told him about having to
rehearse my lines in order to play Charlie Brown well. I also told him about being seriously
under-prepared to sing at that dinner concert and needing my Dad to step in and save
the day.
We talked about the importance of 'rehearsing truth'.
It is a powerful phrase (that I have blatantly stolen from
Rachel) that has been helpful for me in re-framing the importance of spending
time each day in prayer and Bible study. There are times (many, many times) as I
stumble out of bed, get the coffee started, and try to jump start my brain that
I wonder if having a quiet time is worth it. But this concept of 'rehearsing
truth' has helped me re-imagine what 'quiet times' are really about.
Quiet time is about rehearsing my lines for this day's
improv. play. It is about reminding
myself of the truth I need to say that day.
It is about rehearsing lines so that I remember the character I have
been called to be in God's story.
So, I encouraged Mario to take a few minutes each morning to
'rehearse truth' - spending some time in the Word and in prayer, making sure he
has his lines down pat. I told him that
I had no allusions that this would be the 'magic bullet' to deal with his alcoholism. But it certainly could provide him with ample
ammunition, and be a layer of bricks in the wall between him and the life he
wants to leave behind.
My hope is that by 'rehearsing truth,' Mario and I can both be
well equipped to play our roles in God's drama here in Mozambique.
Grace and Peace,
Alan