Where’s the Beef?

Transcribing the biography of an African missionary isn’t for the squeamish.

In remote Africa, before cooking their beef, they’d have to first carve off cysts.  Yes, I said cysts.  Butchers would sell anything–even a cow they’d found dead in a trap.  And the nationals enjoyed eating raw meat, so it caused some deaths.  And kids would stand around a butcher:  “Any little piece that would fall on the ground, they’d grab it and eat it.”  Well, thankfully (whether doctrinally correct or not), one of the other missionaries took Leviticus 19:26 literally (“You shall not eat anything with the blood”), and the church was the catalyst for instigating regulations against eating raw meat.

Why am I talking about this!?!  Okay:  like those African children, we, also, are known to take in something because it looks or sounds good.  It’s juicy.  It’s delectable.  But the icky part is, the rottenness isn’t discovered until we’re infected.  Or dead.  It’s the classic story of the Sunday school teacher mixing doggy-doo into the cookie dough:  we ignore whatever’s wrong with what we’re being told—and eat it anyway.  (Hey!  Wait up!  Them ain’t chocolate chips!)

This same missionary also prayed for the demon-possessed.   Again:  something rotten is getting inside.  He says he couldn’t help people who had not come to Christ, but Christians could be delivered.  As he was leaving, he always warned them:  “They’ll be back.  Don’t let them in.  Say, ‘I belong to Christ; I have nothing to do with you.'”

I’m a typist.  I’m not here to dictate whether it was Satan or psychosis.  But I can dogmatically say one thing.  That’s very good advice:  When there’s something rotten on the floor, no matter how juicy it looks, I’ll pass.  And whether it’s dish, dirt, or doctrine, I’m checking closely for chocolate chips.

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