a high priest who is able to empathize (Hebrews 4)

The "recliner" in ICU has to be one of the most uncomfortable chairs I've experienced. I have wiggled and twisted to try and find a comfortable perch, but to no avail. I thought perhaps not sitting nicely was the unavoidable side effect of a chair that is designed to lie flat, but have discovered that's not true either. It turns out that when completely stretched out, the chair keeps you at the perfect angle where you're not actually sliding off, but you think you might at any moment. I finally figure out that if I hook one leg over the armrest, i gain just enough confidence that i can doze a little without fear of ending up in the floor. It would be comical if the setting weren't so serious.

I sit with my friend whom I love. With each breath, she is a little less my companion and a little more an empty shell, one step closer to freedom from the body that has tortured her. One step closer to restoration. Despite everything that I believe about Jesus, I feel raw, and sad, and helpless.

My mind goes often to a story of Mary and Martha in the Bible. Their brother Lazarus has died, and Jesus is late in arriving. "If you had been here, he wouldn't have died!" rages Martha. (But I do not feel rage at a lack of a miracle. I feel heart-broken. ) Jesus approaches the mourners, the tomb of his friend Lazarus, and he weeps. Jesus wept. Jesus knows that in a few minutes he will do the unthinkable - he will bring stinky-old-Lazarus back to life. Mary and Martha will grieve no more; they will be reconciled with their living, breathing brother. But in this moment, they weep, and Jesus weeps with them.

From this comes my consolation tonight. Not from the platitudes that ease the rational mind but leave the soul exposed: she won't be hurting anymore... she'll be in a better place... I'll see her again someday... oh, her joy, her joy! No, tonight my consolation comes in knowing that Jesus knows all these things too but - right here and right now - I am hurting and Jesus weeps with me. My God grieves with me. God, who made the Universe! who will raise Diane and eventually all of us from these lives which cause us pain and hurt, this same God of sun and moon and stars ... sees my tears and weeps with me.

What Hilary Clinton and I have in common

The day before we left, we met with the General Secretary (center) the Assistant General Secretary (right), and the Moderator of the Blantyre Synod (left) ... (churches form together into Presbyteries (like a diocese), Presbyteries together form a synod, synods together form the denomination). Alex Maulana, the GS, said something that really stuck with me: Here in Malawi we say, "I am because we are."

You know, Descartes said, "I think, therefore I am" which -when shifted to have a parallel structure as the African quote -would read "I am because I think." Compared in that way, Descartes seems a little cold and self-absorbed. I think, and that's all I need, just me and what I can produce and imagine and be on my own ... that is sufficient for my existence. I suppose this is technically true, but it's a limited view of who we are.

The GS's quote is an African philosophy Ubuntu, or uMunthu in Chichewa. It can also be understood as "I am what I am because what we are together," or the African proverb, "alone we are vulnerable like a wild animal, but together we are a community." I like this a lot. I have been able to become what and who I am not by my own wiles, or by stepping on people's toes ... but through the encouragement of the people who love me, and through the success of the people around me.

My first thought was how this applies to American politics, but also neighborhoods and general attitudes. We seem to have developed a "protect your own first" philosophy that considers "the greater good" a noble pursuit (reserved for others). I have often thought lately that we needed to be willing to put aside our own agendas to a build a community that nurtures us all, but my thinking was missing one key piece. You see, this uMunthu, this interconnectedness does not require our buy-in. It simply is the truth. Whatever community , culture, society we build - whatever we are - is who we become as individuals, like it or not. So it's not a matter of adopting a more community-mindedness, but being aware of its reality.

Now here's another facet to consider ... what's your "we"? Years ago at my SIL's graduation from Queens University, the keynote speaker told us that, statistically speaking, when someone has $100 to give away he is way more likely to give it to someone in his neighborhood. Like maybe the family down the street that's hit hard times, or the homeless guy he regularly passes on his way to work. The speaker's challenge to us was this: How big is your neighborhood? Do you see yourself as part of a world-wide neighborhood, and how geographically far are you willing to let your $100 go because your metaphorical neighborhood knows different boundaries?

When I was asked to address the church in Kamalatisti, I told them of our English song, "Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world; red, brown, yellow, black, and white, they are precious in His sight; Jesus loves the little children of the world." (sorry PC people, I still love that song.) and I told my new Malawian friends that when I look at their faces, and when I look at my face, I am reminded that their God who is my God who is our God is so big, and so good. I am coming to realize that all God's children all around the world are my "neighborhood," my "we," and that I am because we are. So now what is my responsibility?

And let me just add one more point: don't for one minute believe that I think giving to people in other countries is more important than taking care of people here at home (or vice versa). There is plenty to go around. What keeps people everywhere from getting enough is greed and corruption and human-frailty. The good news is that there are people who are called to be involved locally, nationally, globally ... and it takes all types to really makes this "global we" thing hum! So figure out which one you are, and get busy working (without feeling snotty toward those with a different call). As Frederick Buechner so eloquently put it: “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” So what's your gladness? And what breaks your heart? How big is your neighborhood and who is your "we"? And what are you going to do about it?





~~~~~~~~~~

(and if you think it mght be the people of Mozambique, let me know. I'll hook you up! :) You can choose: a well, a school, a church, leadership training, evangelism training, skills training - fisheries, tailoring, or carpentry! - continuing ed. for Sebber, or "whatever the project needs most" is always an excellent option. Ooh, or how about Sebber's car? Get this: she's been limping along with a vehicle that had some quirks ... like how you have to help the windows roll up even though they are power windows, or how every time you get under 7 miles/hr, the doors start locking or unlocking incessantly. But the day we were leaving, something in the suspension gave way and this happened.












Imagine if this had happened while we were on the bumpy dirt roads of rural Mozambique? Or while she was there by herself?! Remember, this is where she spends a great deal of time. So anyway, "reliable vehicle for Sebber" just got nudged a little further up the list of priorities. )

Heading home

As I write this, it is the night before we leave for home. I haven't been able to post everyday, or even write every day, and I certainly haven't told a single story chronologically! I have so much more to say, but it all comes out in jumbled bits and pieces, not coherent writing. So if you want to know, ask me. I'd LOVE to talk about it, and LOVE to help you get involved with the Outreach Foundation and all the fantastic things they are doing.

Here are some of my favorites photos, just for fun.




I love this because the street address is "behind immigration."







Nedson!






The light switch for the bathroom always seems to be outside the room, except this one - cleverly placed in the wall to be accessible from inside or outside! But, so much for privacy!




I liked this sign, but I especially appreciated the irony that we were standing in a 19th century church.





These are the latrine caps; this one clearly not in use. I don't know if the half-inch elevation helps you stay cleaner somehow, or just gives instructions!





Next time, I would totally take more soccer balls. We had plenty for the villages and schools we visited, but we could've given away four times that many just throwing them out the windows. Everywhere we went, we saw pick-up games or just little knots of kids playing with garbage bags rolled up to be soccer balls.





This is my cousin Betsy. In this photo, we were goofing off, trying to get our head-wraps ready for Sunday worship. She's the reason I'm on this trip. She came last year with her husband and their three kids. She wanted to come back this year but the timing kept the rest of her family at home. She called me up and said, "do you want to go to Africa?" and I didn't even have to think about it! it's been so so fun, and inspirational. I'm hoping for life-changing, but I guess that remains to be seen.

Betsy infiltrated Sebber and Sarah's kitchen - no easy feat - and she let me tie the chitenga on her. I'm thinking her next trip might be an extended stay.






And here's our happy little group.

Roughing it.

I'm not talking about camping. I'm talking Hotel. Have you ever stayed at a hotel with goats in the courtyard? Because I have.





And how about this? There's was no light in the hall at all at night, except this:





And guess what? It doesn't even have a candleholder. It's just stuck in the wax on the floor!

This is the Zobue Hotel, and is by far the most rustic of our accommodations. Mwanza was nice, and Tete City was similar, although they did have wifi (however slow), laundry service (just leave it in the basket in the morning, it was done when you got back in the afternoon), and a terrific Baobab tree to sit under while you enjoyed your morning coffee.





We are in the Gold Card Hotel in Malawi now, which is at the end of a very bumpy dirt road, and has a sign out front that says "Internet cafe." (it's not true!). But the bar is comfy, and the bartenders are friendly. Betsy bought a game at the market today, and they showed us how to play. They even let Betsy win.

I will say that I have stayed more primitive places - you know, camping - but I've never felt more warmly cared for!

Growing Places

When I was in college, I had a professor admonish us to "nourish the growing places." Trees, he said, are growing places, but so are universities, and - in our lives - we must nourish the places and people who help us grow.

I hadn't thought of that in a while, until I was talking to Nedson about where they build schools. He said, "We only build schools where they are already learning. When we find people gathering for school under a tree, or under a shelter, that is where we put our school."

This is one more example of the Outreach Foundation meeting a community's needs as they perceive them from within. The vision was that each village would have a well, a school, a church, a clinic, and a maize-grinding mill. I've posted about the importance of a well, and I think the importance of a school is well-recognized. But let me show you this photo...







This size school would house about 250 students in each of 2 or 3 shifts, depending on whether or not there is electricity. The third shift might go until 10 or 10:30 at night, but this would be older students and adults.

And check this out...





On the right, the old teachers' housing. On the left, the new! You see, the government will send the teachers and pay their salaries, but the teachers have to want to have come! If all the village can offer is a mud hut with a leaky roof, you won't attract a quality teacher ... if you get one at all. But if you build a "burnt brick" house (they mold the bricks, and bake them in a kiln made of dirt, then cover the structure with concrete), then the teacher can bring his family and you are suddenly much more appealing.

So when you find the children having school under a tree, and you build them a school, and you build their teachers housing, you are nourishing the "growing places" in that village.

Beauty

There is beauty everywhere here. Like in the smiles of these joyful people...







Or the breathtaking view you take in as you're photographing, oh, a latrine...





But there is also beauty in the ingenuity of people. Look at this terrific art, which gets washed away every rainy season, but gets painted right back up...






Or this resourceful child and his "up-cycled" toy...





I'm thinking my children will never get store-bought toys again. I'll just point them toward the trash heap and say, "have at it!"

Sebber

It is difficult to tell you how impressed I am with the work that is going on here. Let me tell you about my new friend Sebber.




Sebber grew up in a rural village in Zambia. She is a nurse and a midwife, and is working on a degree in public health. She came to Tete to work in a clinic/birthing center, but was held up for almost two years because of political red tape. She spent those two years establishing the health ministries aspect of the Tete Province Holistic Evangelism Project.

Sebber writes the scripts for the dramas on topics from orphan abuse and HIV/AIDS prevention to the importance of soap. She also goes into the villages educating the people and also treating things like ringworm.

Sad truth: if you want to have your baby in a medical facility, you can come to the village of Khanga, where they have a clinic.








Here Sebber shows the labor and delivery room...



The sink, it should be noted, is only a drain; the clinic has no running water and no electricity apart from a solar panel.

So here is where they sterilize their instruments.









Now, since none of the villagers have cars, these women must come up to 50 km walking or by bicycle, and they must come when they are in labor because they have no way to tell if their time is near. Next to the birthing room is the recovery room where they are allowed to stay for an hour before they go back to their village. an hour. two, if there's no one waiting, but there is very often a line.

Since this is not always practical or even possible, Sebber trains "traditional birth attendants" in each village. She's trained over 300 so far. Here's one from Mameme2...





She gives them birthing kits. When I first heard of the kits, I couldn't imagine that she could train uneducated people to use sophisticated tools and drugs. Do you know what the kit contains? A plastic sheet, so the mother doesn't give birth on the dirt. A knife, so no one hunts for a rusty can to cut the umbilical cord. scissors, so no one uses a stick to cut the perineum. Little stuff like that, and it's remarkable the difference it makes for the health of baby and mother.

Sebber is incredibly well known and well respected in these villages. Everywhere we go, they know her. She is also stunningly beautiful and well-groomed all. the. time. I asked her how she does in the villages, are they intimidated? (because she surely intimidates me!) Is she able to be approachable? She says she had to build her reputation as "down-to-earth" but that is wasn't hard to do. She came from a similar village, and she says the mamas are very very proud of her and what she has become.




(notice the wad of plastic bags she's holding. It's their soccer ball.)


And truthfully, she could be anywhere, doing a million different things, and making a lot more money ... but she chooses to give her life to the people of Mozambique. She stands with them, and works to help them have healthier and more productive lives. And precious babies like this one...






or this one...




or this one...