All to Jesus, I surrender;

All to Him I freely give;

I will ever love and trust Him,

In His presence daily live.

The old hymn “I surrender all” has become a kind anthem for me these last few months. The only place I can remember singing it was as a teenager at the end of a Youth For Christ rallies while the preacher would call for commitments to Christ. At the time it seemed an odd song to sing at a happening youth event, but perhaps stranger in a hospital bed in Bangkok.

Going to youth rallies as a teenager was like entering another world. I would always try and invite guys from my local school to these nights and I am sure that going to an all boys Tech school where few us could meet girls increased the acceptances. There seemed to be only two rules with the nicknames we gave each other. If your name didn’t end with a “y” you would gain it and if it did end in a “y” you would loose it. So one night I can remember being on the train to the rally with Matty, Bloomy, Patty, Johnny, Cooky and Tone (short for Tony) all of us looking tough with our flannelette shirts open, blue stretched jeans and ankle high, fur lined “Roller” desert boots with bands like AC/DC and Motley Crew pental penned on their sides. Sure we had our fair share of zits and Bloomy had his brothers Sex Pistols t-shirt under his flannelette which I wasn’t sure how it would go down at a youth rally, but we were smoking!

Once the train arrived at Flinders Street station we would gather at the steps and then walk up Swanston Street through all the lit up food shops, avoiding the trams, into the heart of the city. We would wait in the foyer of the majestic, white Roman pillared, Collins Street Baptist church which seemed more like a theatre than a chapel, surveying the scene and trying to get a seat together in the balcony section. However, most other youth groups had the same idea and since most of my mates smoked outside, when the ushers finally let people upstairs we would always miss out and end up near the middle on the lowest level. As I surveyed the crowd, I noticed few other blokes there were as cool as us in our flannettes, although I was getting worried about people starring at Bloomy’s Sex Pistols t-shirt. Few girls however, had as many ear rings or the cool mohair camel patterned jumpers like the ones in our youth group. Nothing could stop us now.

As was the tradition at the start of these rallies, the lights would go down and we would all scream and yell to the sounds of 2001 Space Odyssey. I think there was some kind of slide show and voice over and then Clive Stebbins would get up and tell such bad jokes that people had to laugh so he wouldn’t be embarrassed. I remember him being like a Kermit the frog in the Muppet show, googly eyes blazing, keeping things moving, trying to keep the gags flowing, winning us all over. Clive was an institution and my mum remembers going to the same YFC rallies in the 50′s with Clive comparing.

That’s when it happened. The house lights suddenly went up. Every body stood up to the thwack of the seats reverting it their upright position and flicked through the navy hymns books in front of them to sing “Oh for a thousand tongues to sing”. I can still remember waiting for Bloomy to wack me in the arm for taking him to such an archaic place.

This was the early eighties in the hight of the “worship wars” when good evangelicals seemed to only sing songs over a hundred years old to prove they had not given into the charis-maniac movement and their simplistic, happy clappy chorus’. My church had a seven o-clock youth service (the old-timers there called it the “seven o’clock circus”) that had come alive with charis-mania and so I was used to singing songs like “God has not given us a spirit of fear” which sounded like an old Doors number or Larry Norman’ s “Wish we’d all been ready”. Why is it that the musical sounds of the 60′s and 70′s become contemporary Christian worship a decade or two later?

I tried to ignore Bloomy tugging on my flannelette and closed my eyes, grimacing, ready for impact. I had known Bloomy since the first day of high school and knew of his older brother too who held the title of “the toughest kid in school” when we arrived. Of course being 6 foot 3 and having a full beard in fifth form – not just bum fluff around the edges, but real, thick beard – made him pretty intimidating even to teachers never mind first formers. Knowing younger brother Bloomy might offer me some protection. When his brother gave him hit behind the head with an apple core from 20 yards that first lunch time, however, I released they might not get on. The younger Bloomy and I became friends all through the early years of high school and we got on well despite the threat his brother posed.

It was when I started attending Christ’s Church’s young group in the second year of high school and had an ecstatic experience of the Holy Spirit that I knew God was real. I had this sudden boldness that only comes from experiencing God first hand. Our school didn’t even have a final year at the time so there were few prospects for us other than trouble. Now there was hope that we could beat the conveyer belt that had taken most of the older boys on into stealing cars, smoking weed and fights. After my encounter I would throw my lot in with Christ no matter where that might lead me or what my friends might think. While Bloomy had given me a hard time at first, like most of my peers he simply had no experience of church and could not categorise me. And of course, when they heard there were cool girls at this youth group, my circle of friends seemed to expand. Hence Bloomy, was at a youth rally singing “Oh for a thousand tongues to sing”.

Bloomy was swearing under his breath by this time. “How the f.k do you read this f.king thing?” Bloomy got out so I could hear. My cheeks puffed out with relief. Having never seen a hymn book before he had no idea how to follow the words four lines down at a time. With a few quick points with the fingers following “the wonders of his throne” he calmed down and even tried to sing along. Why is so much attention given the finding contemporary worship songs, when there are hormones?

I think it was a pastor from Sunshine with a Canadian accent, Bill Forster, who gave the Gospel message that night. He had these amazing slides about how big the universe was and then how small it was and how God was behind it all.

“Don’t put off knowing this God.” Bill challenged.

“While “I surrender all” is sung if you want to know this God and surrender your life to Christ then come down the front.”

“All to Jesus I surrender, all to him I freely give.”

“If you brought a friend, turn to the now, offer to come down with them.”

“I surrender all, I surrender all”

Of course since I had brought a few friends I started looking around. I looked to my left at Matty first. He had been a part of the youth group a few months and was a bit younger than me. He shook his head. Disappointed, I looked around for a few others, trying not to get Bloomy’s eye as the risk seemed greater, but he was grabbing my flanny again by this time.

“C’mon.” Bloomy said and I followed close behind.

I am not sure if they design the aisle in these churches to be a downward slope, but it felt like once we stepped out in the aisle we slid down the front. Not a chance of changing our minds. I must admit I tried to hide a tear in my eye as Bloomy and I walked down the front. One of the toughest guys I knew was surrendering him self to Christ.

“I surrender all. I surrender all. All to thee, my precious savoir..”

********

It has been at least 18 years since that night at the youth rally, but it somehow it has stayed with me. In fact as I lay in Smidtivay hospital, my forth hospitalisation in four months in Bangkok, that tune “I surrender all” returned to me and I could not get it out of my head. There I was lying in a foetal position, the now familiar IV drip needle irritating the top of my hand, palms and souls of my feet cold and bright red, going through fevers with a head-ache like some-one was hammering away on inside my skull to the rhythm of my pulse… and humming “All to thee my blessed saviour…” I am sure the nurse that caught me once thought I was delirious. I didn’t care as at one point I felt like my life was draining out of me and we later found out that my platelets – stuff that holds the blood together – were free-falling from normal 400,000 to 38,000. For the first few days the doctors thought it could be Dengue fever but then they were also worried about a virus in my heart. The diagnosis however, seemed to change with each shift of doctors.

At one point it was relief to be diagnosed as Dengue. At least we knew what was wrong and that I would eventually get better. It also negated our insurance company claims, who were refusing to pay for the last hospitalisation (over AUS$3,500) and this one saying it was all “pre-existing”. I had eaten a bad hot-dog at a soccer match in May that gave me Dysentery. It was a few weeks after our initial insurance had lapsed and over a month before we signed up again with them. When a fax from the insurance was brought to my bed-side saying they refused to guarantee any treatment I could not helped but be amazed at what a hot-dog to cause. Dengue fever symptoms four months after I ate it!

Anji was making the trip from our slum to hospital each day with our Amy and was starting to wear down. The next few days are blurred as all I could do was just lie in bed feeling like I had been hit by a truck in the middle of deep Bangkok smog. I do remember Anji’s crying pleas on the phone to the insurance that, “a hot dog couldn’t cause Dengue.” The diagnosis however, kept changing each day and between my mum in Australia and Anji here in Bangkok the insurance had a lot of angry and frustrated phone calls. Later we found out the Anji was doing all this running around and chasing the insurance with Dengue fever herself.

At one point my fevers stopped for about 24 hours, but as my platelets were still dropping the doctors were concerned that I could have a virus in my heart which could mean six to eight weeks in hospital. The insurance were still not willing to guarantee treatment. If one week in hospital was $3,500 what would eight weeks cost with surgery? Anji, who was showing Dengue rash by this time and was getting weaker by the day, was getting no where with the insurance. The Doctors suggested we fly back to for treatment in Melbourne. This would be free because we had a health care card and would use our return ticket. We could also get a different insurance company to return with. Going home early however, was not something I wanted. Our neighbourhood in Klong Toey were doing all they could for us, providing meals, looking after Amy at times, even offering their blood for a transfusion, so I didn’t want to turn back now and let them down. But with Anji lying half conscious on the sofa next to me and Amy doing her best to stay still watching cartoons on TV, what choice did we have?

My vocation as a missionary in a slum also seemed to flash before my eyes. What if I don’t have the health for this? Just as it all seemed too much I sensed God intervene. Keith Farmer from Sydney rang saying he and John Bond from Perth had activated a prayer chain for us. With our existing supporters, I realised that this meant that every state in Australia had churches praying for us, believing God wanted us here. Steve Addison, my mentor for over a decade also rang, and helped to put things in perspective. “God has led you all this way, trust him with whatever is next.” He encouraged. “I surrender all” I whispered to myself as I put the phone down. I gave back this Bangkok ministry to God – it was his after all not mine – and all the ego and identity I had placed in it. If God still wanted me here it was up to him.

My head-ache was right behind my eyes so, unable to read, I listened to a tape by Franciscan priest Richard Rohr. He was talking about “liminal space”; the space God does his transforming work being like standing in a door way between two rooms. It is when we are in a “no-mans-land” and see beyond our illusions and assumptions to what is real and true about us and the world. His quote from Thomas Merton seemed just for me,

“Faith, patience and obedience are the guides which must help us advance quietly in the darkness without looking at ourselves.”

After replaying this quote and then writing it in my journal, I whispered, “Lord, please give me this grace”. In an instant I felt like I could trust God and could look beyond myself and my own control. I could trust God in the threshold between my old life in Australia and whatever my new life God was opening up, however long it took. We would continue to follow what guidance God had been revealing to us. Even if we had to go back to Melbourne for a time, I knew God’s presence was with us, opening up new possibilities even through this darkness.

In Thailand smiling is often used to keep face and calm things down. However, it was a bit disconcerting when the Doctor came in about the fifth day saying with a big grin, “if your platelets get below 40,000 it is really dangerous. You can start bleeding from the ears and mouth and then the brain and then you die within 12 hours.” Anji and I laughed along and then Anji asked “how low are Ash’s platelets?” “Oh, 38,000, but don’t worry! It is definitely Heamorgic Dengue, see the rash on your arms, you don’t need to go to Australia. Just don’t cut yourself, lye still and you’ll be fine.” The doctor said leaving the room. Anji and I kept laughing, or we would have cried.

A few days later, having laid still and avoided shaving, my platelets did go back to normal and the insurance eventually admitted my Dengue wasn’t caused by a bad hot dog. We were able to go back to our home in Klong Toey and mum was willing to come from Australia to stay with us and help us as we recovered.

One night Anji and I watched the romantic comedy “Keeping the Faith”. Jake Shrame (Ben Stiller), a Rabbi, and Brian Finn (Edward Norton), a Priest, have been friends since childhood. They are reunited with their other childhood friend Anna (Jenna Elfman) who has turned from being a tom boy to a top executive. Both Jake and Brian fall for her. Of course this is more complex for a Priest. After Brian makes a fool of himself by propositioning her, finding out that Jake and Anna had secretly been an item, he confides to his older priest mentor about giving up the priesthood for a woman.

“I’ll tell you something, if she’d kissed me back, I don’t think I would be sitting here now. I’d have given it all up. She didn’t but I kept thinking about what you said in seminary. That the life of priest is hard and if you could be happy doing something else, then you should do that.”

The older priest laughed, puffing out his cigar smoke. “Ah ha, that was my recruitment pitch. Which is not bad when you’re starting out because it makes you feel like a marine. But the truth is you can never tell yourself there is only one thing you could be. If you are a priest or had a woman it is the same challenge. You cannot make a real commitment unless you accept that it is a choice you make again and again and again. I’ve been a priest over forty years and I fall in love at least every decade.”

“You’re not going to tell me what to do here are you?” Brian smiles.

“No, God will give you your answer.”

God was giving me my answer too. This scene spoke to me about free surrender but also the responsibility that flows out from it. Rohr calls it “contemplation and action” and named his centre in the US after it. Out of the grace found in the surrender of contemplation flows the grace to be response-able. Few of my friends survived their teens and early twenties as Christians. They simply couldn’t make the choices for Christ “again and again and again” as the passage of life unfolded. Surrender was in, but being response-able to Christ’s ongoing call for action, well that was something different.

With the average missionary in Thailand lasting less than three years, barely long enough to be fluent in Thai, I am aware that these first hurdles. It’s like Christ is saying I won’t give you a crown until I know you won’t hock the jewels. The Thai people are so precious to Christ, that only surrendering to Christ and overcoming hardships will help introduce Christ properly. In 2 Corinthians 11:23-33 the apostle Paul writes of his hardships that mad him a minister of Christ. He lists off the imprisonments, escapes, tortures, hunger, nakedness, being left adrift at sea, and facing death. It is these experiences of weaknesses and his willingness to continue on in the Kingdom Cause that gives him credibility as a Gospel worker, not his contacts, superficial result or academic credentials. “If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness.” Bangkok is an international city with state of the art hospitals, communication and education systems. Compared with Paul, Christ or even contemporary missionaries in more isolated contexts we have few hardships. We have however, received a grace to serve Christ in a slum and this grace is discovered from out of our own weakness.

Christian mission is not about fighting for our ideology, a grim holding of our ground in the face of adversity. Rather it is a continued surrendering to the Living Christ, seeking his grace to respond to his heart. What Bloomy did to “I surrender all” all those years ago is part of it. However, surrendering all each day to God, in the midst of chaos and living out this call on our lives is what makes the difference in the journey of discipleship. There can be no “once for all surrender” when our hearts and minds struggle for control, desperate to drown out the soft whispers of the Spirit saying “I am worthy to surrender all.” While our time-lines for language learning and starting new projects have been pushed out, we will continue to serve Christ in Klong Toey slum as long as God gives us grace to do so.

Ashley Barker

U N O H

October 12 2002

Related Articles:

• SUDAN & BURMA: CHRISTIAN REFUGEES IN PERIL
• Pray for the World 6 February 2012
• PRAYER OF A HUMBLE SERVANT
• Prayers for Help in Times of Trouble
• Pray for the World (January 31, 2012)

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