The Greatest Lesson I Ever Learned - Liz Hentschel

As I entered full-time ministry in 1995 I read a book compiled by Dr Bill Bright entitled, "The Greatest Lesson I Ever Learned". It was a collection of stories from Christian leaders. It inspired me to ask various Christian leaders in Australia that I knew (or, mostly, knew of) for their story. These have been sitting in my computer for 10 years waiting for publication, but I didn't collect enough to warrant publishing them. So, I am now posting them as blogs so the stories can get out there. I trust you enjoy them as much as I do.

Geoff

Liz Hentschel

Liz Hentschel could be described as fun-loving, and passionate about bush walking, climbing trees, vegemite on toast, an intimate relationship with the Lord, God's heart for unreached people groups, and prayer.

Having grown up in country New South Wales she moved to Sydney in 1970 for nurses training. It was here that she met some Christian nurses and soon became a Christian herself. After further training in midwifery, and at WEC International’s Missionary Training College in Tasmania, she moved to Spain at the beginning of 1979 to engage in a church planting ministry with WEC (Worldwide Evangelisation for Christ - an interdenominational missionary society with approximately 1,600 members working in over 50 nations).

Liz describes church planting as going to an area where there is no evangelical church and "hanging around with people talking to them about Jesus". The "hanging around" meant going where the people were - to the parks, the sidewalk cafes, and so forth. Heroin addicts were often the ones most open to listen to the Gospel. Converts were then formed into little study groups/churches for teaching.

In 1989 Liz moved to the Netherlands to be part of the rounding faculty of WEC's European Missionary Training College. She is currently teaching "Missions" and "Old Testament Survey", (While working at the college Liz has completed a Masters degree in Missiology.) Liz is not one to not be involved in the lives of non-Christians and forms part of an outreach team to prostitutes. Furthermore, she has "adopted" the Kazakh people group (a Muslim ethnic group living in part of the former Soviet Union) and regularly prays for them. Her heart is very much involved in the Central Asian/Middle East region of the world, a predominantly Muslim area. Her longing is to see Islam crumble, and for the Gospel to penetrate the lives of those held for so long in deception. Her contention is not against Muslims, but against the evil powers that keep Muslims from seeing that Jesus is the Son of God and the Saviour of the world.

LEARNING TO FORGIVE

November 1982 is indelibly etched in my memory. The damp, dark winter sky hung low enveloping Kent, England. Having grown up in sunny country Australia, and recently lived in central Spain renown for its sunshine, this was indeed miserable weather.

Some friends had taken me into their home for a few days of rest and recuperation. What bliss. Walks by the sea, despite the windy and chilly weather. Piping hot cups of strong English tea. Love expressed. Warm fuzzies. This was like Heaven on earth. Peace. Enjoyment.

Four years before I had landed on Spanish soil as a young, enthusiastic, new missionary. With a Bible school diploma in hand, and following a commissioning service in my home church I had set off to make an impact on Spain for God. I'd studied all the appropriate subjects, and had experience in a number of different ministries. Ahead of me lay my missionary career. What exploits I would do for God! After all, I had obeyed the Lord. I had understood His heart for taking the Gospel to the unreached. Hundreds of towns, even larger ones, had no evangelical witness to speak of. My job brief was to evangelise and disciple with the aim of planting churches. Yes indeed, my work was going to make a difference to this country of bullfighters, flamenco and sangria!

And so I toiled. First came the learning of the Spanish language. Easier said than done I discovered. And I toiled. Why were relationships with some missionaries so strained? And I toiled. Young people that we met on the street, in the plazas, and at sidewalk cafes during the hot summer months came to our church coffee bar. A good number of them became Christians. What gregarious people these Spaniards were. We enjoyed the plain simple fun of "paella" cooked on an open fire in the bush, with everyone eating from a common dish. It wasn't exactly your typical Aussie BBQ. For a start, the blowfly population of Spain is nowhere nearly as high. Deep down, however, there was a niggling unease. Why were some missionaries such pains in the neck? Life would have been so much easier if it weren't for them!

And so to Kent ...

Over a bedtime drink my friends looked at me with smiles that reflected wisdom. "Why not take some time to be quiet with the Lord, Liz? Stay in your room tomorrow. Ask Him if He has anything to say to you. Reflect on your time in Spain. Let Him do the talking. You be quiet." Now, this was something new for me, your compulsive activist whose prayer life consisted of long lists and much talking. But this idea of listening to God... well, "I'll give it a go", I gingerly replied.

A new day dawned. Another day of dark clouds and fog. This was my day to listen to God. Still feeling rather proud of myself for having learned Spanish and discipled new converts, that is, the picture of success, crawled out of bed to start my listening.

Blow me down if I wasn't surprised by the first thing God said!
"Why do you call me Lord, Lord and do not do what I say?" Surely He didn't mean ME. After all, I had obeyed His missionary call and gone to Spain. That was at some sacrifice I'll hasten to add. "Why do you call me Lord, Lord and do not do what I say?" Oh that plaguing question! Now where was I? Oh yes. I had given up a good nursing career. I had left family,
friends and country. I had even survived without Vegemite! I had introduced some Spaniards to Jesus. I had... "Why do you call me Lord, Lord and do not do what I say?" I had driven through large areas of the country and given out hundreds of Gospel tracts. I had even visited door to door and suffered rebuff for the sake of the Gospel. Then there were the times when in pouring rain and skillfully jumping puddles I had stuffed tracts in hundreds of letter boxes. "Why do you call me Lord, Lord and do not do what I say?" I had... I had... I had not forgiven when hurt. I had blamed others for making my life miserable. I had harboured resentment in my heart. I had kindled that resentment until it became a root of bitterness. I had layed in bed at night unable to sleep and churned the resentment around in my stomach inventing conversations in which I rebuked, and condemned others. But did I confront them face to face? Never! These were not dirty rotten sinners I was hitting out at - these were my missionary co-workers! I had called Him "Lord, Lord" and not done what He told me to do.

Unforgiveness had become like a big ball of barbed wire inside my stomach. The slightest movement caused the barbs to jab. Ouch! Unforgiveness had found expression in barbed comments about others. It ate away at me, agitating, thrashing. I had held onto reactions which in turn bed bound me up inside.

Turning to Luke 6 I pondered verses 37 and 46. "Do not Judge. Forgive, and you will be forgiven." My heart was exposed. It was stony, cold, hard. I had judged others. I had failed to forgive. But, they had hurt me. Why was I the one that ended up with the problem? In the midst of trying to justify my position, my defences crumbled. I had failed to be open. I had failed to support those whom the Lord had sent to be my co­-workers.

Slowly, deliberately I expressed forgiveness to the Lord. "Now pray for them," He said. What? Hurts from the past threatened to bind me up again. "How can I pray for them when they have done this to me?" Fortunately I recognised the subtle tactics of the enemy who so quickly was trying to rob me of inner freedom. I began to pray. "Now get on your knees as a sign of submission to me", the Lord challenged. Down I went and poured out my heart on behalf of my co-workers whom I now saw as dear not only to the Lord but to me.

Forgiveness means to release another from judgement. I had indeed stood in judgement of others. That day I was confronted with a choice. Feeling somewhat painted into a corner by the Lord I made my decision. Yes, I would forgive. It slowly dawned on me that it was in fact I who had caused many of my own problems, simply by clamming up and being too self­protective to talk openly with my colleagues. To release someone from judgement brought tremendous freedom. No longer would that resentment rule my life.

A couple of weeks later I found myself back in Australia, shut away for the day to continue the forgiveness process. (I was prepared to stay longer if that's what it took.) Out came a big sheet of paper. "Lord, who else do I need to forgive?" Down went the names, one after the other. Tears coursed down my face as I remembered the pain that some of these people had inflicted upon me. That day I chose to forgive, and told the Lord so.

Two of the names stared hack at me as I peered at my list. These ones were impossible to forgive. The pain was too great. The damage too deep. A number of days later an older Christian friend who had become somewhat of a mentor to me sat beside me on the river bank. The smell of gum trees. Pink and white galahs chattered with white cockatoos in the branches overhead. My friend... and me. "I cannot forgive," I blurted out. My wise friend drew breath and quietly admonished, "The word is not CANNOT. It is WILL NOT." My heart raced. The adrenaline pumped. "I have my rights! They hurt me! I was the innocent party!" "Do you choose to forgive?" came her gentle yet firm reply. Here was a choice that would mean release from bitterness, or perpetual inner turmoil and a missionary life that would be continually hampered by the fact that I was refusing to do what God had told me to do. A battle raged in my heart. My friend said no more. Time ticked slowly by. Yes, I would choose to forgive. I did not feel like it, but I made a deliberate choice with my will. One of those that I struggled to forgive to this day knows nothing of that battle at the river bank. Others have remarked that this man took on a sudden spurt of growth as a Christian from that time on. A coincidence? I don't think so. He was released from judgement and therefore was free to grow.

And they all lived happily ever after? Don't you believe it! Unforgiveness/resentment is my area of weakness. The potential is there for me to be bound up by it again, and to bind others up in the process. Reconciliation is the message that threads its way through the whole Bible. Matthew 5:23,24 and Matthew 18:15 both speak on the issue. Whether I know someone has something against me, or I have something against someone else, the responsibility is on ME, not on the other person, to go and talk openly - not attackingly, not defensively, but humbly. From time to time seemingly small issues become a big deal and I am hurt. What I do with that hurt is my responsibility. I am the one who can turn the situation into one which is sweet through forgiving, or I can keep it sour.