From Mess to Message: Preaching in Azerbaijan

Welcome to honesty hour. I confess I felt completely inadequate to be on the Race. And yet, I can see the miles and miles I have grown and been stretched and was refined and came out the other side looking a little bit more like Jesus.

Rewind to September: we were in Kathmandu, Nepal working with our ministry hosts. All the schools were closed for festival week, so we hosted a “Kid’s Camp” to relieve some of the stress off working parents.

At this point in the Race, I knew and understood I was wildly underqualified to be here. All four of my teammates had experience working in children’s ministry and showed up with a plethora of creative ideas carefully mixing fun with learning. I just showed up humbled and ready to learn.

The finale of Kid’s Camp was a backyard acting showcase of a classic Bible story. The kids were split into three groups, each with the direction of one of us ‘adults’ (loose term). My group presented a smashing hit of David and Goliath, even though I had to whisper all the lines to our little four-year-old David.

Another group performed the story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. I’m embarrassed but honest enough to tell you that I had no idea what story they were talking about.

The three names roll off the tongue so quickly that I was always left utterly confused – unsure what they were saying, where the syllables separated the words, and clueless as to how I would research what I apparently missed in Sunday School.

After that, I was embarrassed but motivated. I discovered my new party trick of being able to read on moving vehicles, and I started reading the Bible on our daily three-hour roundtrip bus commute.  

I started in the New Testament and finished Matthew in the first day. I was hungry, and it was like eating for the first time. Reading the Bible became my hobby. My duty. My daily commute activity. I wasn’t religious about it, I was just hungry and knew I could make a lifetime out of getting to know the Father better. There was obedience and practice, patience and fervor. I finished the entire New Testament within six weeks.

Fast forward to March: we were in Baku, Azerbaijan working with our ministry hosts. Our host pulled me aside and said she would like one of us to preach the message tomorrow at Youth Church. 

The next day, I brought it up with the team. Mind you, Team Cartographers is a bunch of nerds. At training camp back in June, all three of them attended a “Preaching” breakout session while I was taking photos in the “Storyteller” session. One isn’t better than the other, but ALL THREE OF THEM have notes on sermon structure and had practiced writing one for the Race. So, when presented with the opportunity to preach, I assumed one of them would snag the opportunity.

Yet, we did the responsible thing and waited earnestly in listening prayer. After some time, Elijah said he thought the girls should preach. Mind you, we were in a Muslim-majority country and that’s not reaaaally the norm around here, so I got a little nervous. Hannah giggled and said ‘you’re gonna hate me… but I think it’s supposed to be you’. When Ian got back from the washroom, we thought this would be the final test, to which he laughed and said, ‘yeah, it’s Kati’, and all eyes fell on me.

I was annoyed. A little angry. Sad. Resistant. Uncomfortable. I really don’t love talking in front of big groups, and I already felt wildly inadequate and unqualified to even be here. I lacked the training they all had. I had never written a sermon before. I could write a novel of excuses and then I realized I was letting fear be the author.

Then, that still small voice in my head said, say yes. I’ve got you. I want to use you. Fine. I surrendered. Use me as a vessel for your Kingdom; use my mouth, the stage, your words. Let them hear only you, not me.

Again, we waited patiently in listening prayer to know what to speak on. Again, Hannah said, ‘you’re gonna hate me… but the story of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego keeps coming up’.

I was annoyed. I felt the blood rush to my head. I closed my eyes and held my breath to try to stop the stream of tears that were now falling down my face. Through the ugliest ugly cry, I quelled my rising hysteria and explained to the boys why a simple Daniel 3 story with a catchy Veggie Tales song was causing such a dramatic response. I told them I had never felt so stupid, so inadequate or so unworthy when I didn’t know that simple story.

Again, the still small voice in my head said, I’ve got you. I want to use you.

And with trembling hands and sweaty palms, He proved (again) that He does have me in the very palm of His hands. I showed up with my wholly vulnerable and holy Kingdom loving self, decorated with joy as I witnessed Heaven come a little closer to Earth in that youth church. 

I claimed truth. I claimed freedom and redemption. I stood face to face with what once brought me shame and disappointment, and I used it to bring Kingdom and life.

The lies that I am unworthy, inadequate, or unqualified are dead, put six feet under along with control. I have released the fear that the Lord won’t use me, or I can’t be a ‘missionary’ until I am perfectly content with God.

Instead, I choose to believe that church is us meeting in the questions, bringing fresh eyes to old stories. Church happens when we get smaller so the love of God can get bigger. I choose to believe that this love is a holy and wild sanctification process that keeps me in awe of God and needing more of Him.

I know His character because I have spent hours pouring over it, reading every detail I could digest (and still do). The shift from exertion into exultation let me fall more and more in love with WHO He is and who He says I am.

He is the reason I can be confident and courageous. It was never about me or that stage, but about HIM. And with that brave voice, somehow, I also spoke at the Women’s Conference two days later. Lord, my hands are open for whatever you have next.

Join me in prayer: Lord, help us remember that you are bigger than our questions, your love is greater than our insecurities, and we really do get to make a lifetime out of getting to know you better. Thank you that we are always growing, always hungry, forever a process. Thank you that the answer is never simply, “I don’t know”; it’s simply “I don’t know, yet”.