The experiment began on a rainy day.

I walked onto the airport grounds, navigating through the shallowest parts of the puddles, I noticed all the office doors were firmly shut, daring me to even try. I imagined the various workers huddled inside, trying to stay dry, and even warm.
The idea of a weekly bible study seemed like a hit when I mentioned the idea last week. But, as I scanned around,  7:30 am on this wet Monday morning, I couldn’t find those same friendly faces eager to join me, and it seemed like a forgotten dream.

The twin blue roofs of the fire “shed” at Loki Airport. We meet there for church and bible storying.

I walked up to the fire-shed. At bigger airports it would be an actual Fire House. Here in Loki, the fire department occupied an open area under a tall blue metal roof. The cement pillars, probably 30 feet tall, look like a spire from a Dr. Seuss book, as the wriggle their way up to support the blue corrugated iron roof. The big, modern, yellow fire truck occupies a quarter of the fire shed, and some … unique… wooden benches are arranged next to the truck, in the middle of the shed. They look ready to collapse any minute. Without walls, the rain swirled in, leaving everything open and wet. I turned and looked longingly at the restaurant. Maybe, we should meet there…

 

The fire-shed did not invite me in.

I walk into the office and explain why I’m here. Both workers seem surprised. I  tell them I’ve talked with the airport manager. They look at me silently, asking me with a stare, “Why did you have to bring this irregularity on us?”
And that’s how it began. Eventually people came. I offered chai out of my thermos I brought (trying to entice people to brave the weather). A small crowd gathered, but none of the airport officials came, against my hopes. Instead, they were mostly the local Turkana people, hired as day laborers to cut the grass.
“I want to tell you stories about Jesus.” I told them, through a translator. “Many times you see me come to the airport, load up the airplane, and then fly into Sudan. But I want you to know me, and I want to share what stories there are in the Bible with you.”
Loki

So Monday after Monday we inch through Mark. I pick a short passage, then memorize it in story form and practice on my kids. On Monday morning, I show the Bible to them. It’s always good to prove I didn’t make any of this up. Then I lay it, closed, next to me, and begin the story from memory. I get a kick out of several airport members who routinely hand out bibles so they can follow along. It’s great that they do that, but the point of all of this is for them to listen to the story, and with enough repetition and Q & A, they can almost recite themselves.

The group changed over time.

This morning it was mostly the local Turkana “kibarua” (casual day laborers) present. Some days several police officers come, or our security staff. Usually it’s a mix of the educated and the hired hands. They all understand the story on differing levels.
The airport chaplain, in bleached and pressed Salvation Army whites, sat next to me. He’s been a bulldog when it comes getting spiritual activity organized at the airport. The previous chaplains came and went, ready to serve, but not pushy. Not Major Moses, he’s put his heart, soul, and voice into rallying people to the fire shed for Sunday morning fellowship and this weekly bible study.

Major Moses, the Loki Airport chaplain, offering his hat to Jack.

Just as I’m about to start the story of Greek woman coming to Jesus in Tyre, asking for help with her demon possessed daughter (the whole dogs get the scraps from the children’s table story), a Hawker 748 starts up, slowly it seems. Each turbine emitting a grating whine as it idles.
Major Moses asks everyone to sing. What songs? asks the translator. Sing in Turkana, Moses replies, while we wait for the jet to pass.
And there at the airport the most amazing sounds come pouring out as these elderly mamas and men, most sitting on the cement floor, some still wearing their layers and layers of beads, sing Turkana tunes about Jesus living in their heart.
After the noisy turboprop airplane departs, I tell the story in English. I practiced with the interpreters a few days ago, and they can repeat the whole story in Turkana, which they do.
And the large group sits there, engaged, and responding to questions.
It’s always thrilling to me that God works that way. Under the blue tin roof of the fire shed, I never feel I have enough to give. I don’t know how to ask people the right questions so they can understand why Jesus does what He does. Why would ask about giving children food and not giving it to the dogs? Why did he put his fingers in the man’s ears, spit, and then grab his tongue? But God uses my weakness, and Moses’ tenacity, to build something that engages the hearts of these amazing people, living in a world so different from my own.
And on days when I can’t make it, usually because of a flight, they carry on without me. That’s the best part, because there will be a day when I won’t be here anymore. It’s just inevitable. It’s nice to know this can still go on.
Moses talks to me after the session is over.
“You know the last guy who worked in the office here at the fire department never used to attend church. But when we kept meeting in front of his office like this, he said how could I not come. Now he really appreciates the chance to study and understand what the Bible says.”
I used to dream of facilitating a “Bible storying” ministry for the Turkana people. God shifted that into a desire to reach the airport staff with a weekly bible study. What I had no clue would happen was that this would eventually turn into a fulfillment of both dreams.
Not anything I can take credit for. But my pulse always quickens as my breath shortens whenever I see how God works.