Just another Sunday Morning

The sun casts its shadows and creats colors of clarity in the early morning.

Cool crisp air wraps around and fills my lungs, offering a welcome reminder of the sacredness of winter; offering reason for celebration of life itself.

Two morning worship services complete with children's choirs and a feast with breads from around the globe as we celebrate World Communion Sunday.

A peaceful afternoon preparing to celebrate the life of a loved member of our community.

An invitation by another family preparing to return from different corners of the world to to celebrate and honor the life of their beloved mother.

Cherished moments indeed.

If my cup was overflowing before, then we better get prepared for a flood...

Thoughts for Maundy Thursday

"Around the table of death and life, bread and wine, where we can still meet each other, there are sounds to hear if we listen carefully. There is the sound of going down into the abyss and being lifted up, heart and body, not to heaven but to the good earth. There are sounds of the lively ghosts of God, laughing still with love. There are the sounds of men and women, stirring, standing. There is the sound of the season's changing. And wine. There is the sound of day breaking. And bread."
--James Carroll

Plumblines for Justice

A couple of weeks ago, I was walking back to my office after meeting with friends for lunch when we saw an innocent construction worker standing on the corner. I have no doubt our simultaneous reaction to him caught him off guard as we exclaimed, "Plumbline!" and immediately asked to take our picture with him.

With my co-worker Chett and our local
plumbline-holding construction worker.
Photo Courtesy of Amy Stapleton

You see: for me, a plumbline has become much, much more than a construction tool. It is now a reminder of our theme verse for the organization I work for, the Methodist Federation for Social Action (MFSA). At MFSA, we often quote Amos 7:8, "I am setting a plumbline in the midst of my people, I will never again pass them by." Plumblines help us to stay level, to keep on track, and at MFSA, to stay in line with the justice to which we are called to bring to God's creation.

Fast forward a week and I cross that same street as we arrive in front of the US Supreme Court Building to take part in the Affordable Health Care Witness. This time, I am walking on the exact same corner talking to folks and listening for good quotes I can tweet as I carry a sign (pictured below) that reads, "People of Faith for Heath Care!"

The photos we took throughout during the witness have become some of the most commented-on posts on MFSA's Facebook page. It has led me to reflect on why and how, which has become a great inner-dialogue about more than social media strategies. It has also been an invitation to consider what we do that matters, that affects lives, that allows people we are working so hard for to truly know that we care. How does our work impact individual lives?

Most of the time, it doesn't. It feels like red tape or too much paperwork. But the reality is, it does. It trickles down. It leads to small moments like a staff outing to the Supreme Court (less than 1 block from our office) so we can stand together, firm like plumblines of justice who are called to step in on behalf of those whose voices are not being heard. Our national platform allows our voices to be heard as those of faith leaders who care about all people and take seriously Jesus' call to care for the sick.

We are just a collective group of imperfect people trying to (and often falling short of) living our lives in accordance with the call Jesus has placed on us. Imperfect or not, moments like these are the ones that make me grateful for the opportunity to do this work to which I am called, with nothing less than the best team I have ever had the privilege of working with.

MFSA staff in front of the Methodist Building following
the Affordable Health Care Witness on March 26

Reminiscing

(...I just found this in my drafts folder, dated  12/12/11 and thought I may as well post it, whether I intended to at the time or not. So old or not: enjoy!)

I have a friend who keeps posting one-word status updates and it reminds me of a colleague I had in South Africa who went through a similar phase.

I can't believe Christmas is nearly here, and in just over a week I'll be in South Dakota to celebrate with my biological family. This makes it difficult for me as I also spend a great deal of time thinking about my family in South Africa, missing them dearly, and wishing I could also be with them.

The weather is getting colder and soon the snow will be flying, and its strange to realize it would feel just as normal to be preparing for a braai or finding ways to avoid the tourists as they flock to the beach in the midst of hot, sun-filled days in the Cape.

I feel out of touch with Advent because I don't have people to light my Advent wreath with at home (Hannah and Rachel).

Last year at Christmas I was preparing for a marathon of worship services I would be leading - and my heart longs to be back in that role.

In 3 days - on December 15 - I will meet the one-year anniversary of the big operation I had last year to have melanoma removed from my right temple.

Oh, how things have changed in that year.

Over the past 2 weeks I have had opportunities to spend time with friends who know me well and with whom I have no need for "walls" or "filters" - and it has been good. And it has invited me to reflect on the many incredible people I have in my life, near and far.

and it has made me think: it has been a long, long time since I felt genuinely "homesick" for a people or place I call my own, and yet that is where I find myself. Oh, how this holiday season makes me long for the people, the places, and the family that are so far away. Perhaps moreso because it is such a season of change, and I wish I could be there helping out...

and as so much is changing, I find myself wishing more than ever I could be with my family on another continent.

Here's to Advent as a season of change and a season of anticipation. As I continue to process the many changes within myself over the past couple of years, I am also excitedly and impatiently awaiting the experience of what this next season shall bring for me.

My prayer for the next couple of weeks is that I not get too far ahead of myself in anticipation but that instead, I find moments to rest into all that is offered to me in the present.

Happy Anniversary

Today marks my first anniversary of a day I never imagined I would face. A day that I am simultaneously very grateful for, and that I wish didn't have to exist.

One year ago today, I met my friend Emily. One year ago tomorrow, I met her parents and my good friends- Jen and Matt.

One year ago on the 11th, I was celebrating with the world as the 2010 FIFA World Cup came to a close. I remember that day vividly: the cheers, the celebrations, the crowd of somewhere around 40,000 people from all over the world gathered to watch the Word Cup Final - Spain vs. Netherlands - on a big screen at the Sandton Fan Park. Indeed for me, that was a great day.

The next day (Monday) was filled with sorrow as we heard news that there had been two terrorist attacks in Uganda: bombing aimed at similar groups who gathered joyously to celebrate this world event. Groups who had no idea how much their lives were about to change.

On Tuesday I woke up to news that one American had died. Not just any American (it wasn't the nationality that hit me so hard)- he was a friend of many of my friends. I didn't know him well, but I had met him once. It was suddenly much, much closer to home. and I felt connected to this tragedy in a way I didn't understand. I desperately wished I could do something, but like most tragedies around the globe: there was little I could do from far away except pray. I did a lot of that...

Around lunch time I became restless and had "had enough." I felt claustrophobic in our house (we weren't working at this point, as it was our first full week off from SHADE). So I informed my roommates that I was going out to the mall where I would browse and sit in a coffee shop and read my book and just be "out." They agreed this was a good idea, so before we knew it, we found ourselves sharing lunch in a coffee shop with our books and half-written letters lying beside us. It was a day that was filled with good conversation, with the company of friends who challenged one another but were good for each other, and above all: it was good for our souls.

Rachel had been in contact with folks from Pennsylvania, who gave us word that a couple of other Americans had been on a Mission Trip (from a Methodist Church) and were in critical condition. They were to be flown down to Joburg where they could receive better care than the bursting-at-the-seams hospitals in Kampala.

Before we knew it we found ourselves looking for complete strangers in a South African ICU. The nurses were kind and we told them why we were there: American Missionaries who were asked to visit the Americans and offer support until their family could arrive.

I'll never forget that night.
 
We met Joanne, Emily's grandmother, and her greatest concern was over her grandaughter. We assured her she was nearby and resting well... as we had just been to see her. Emily... was sleeping when we arrived. We prayed over her. Then, at the prompting of a nurse, we gently woke her to say hello, to pray with her. I can still hear that quiet, sweet, scared voice like it was yesterday. The thought of it has literally given me chills.. I wrote a little more about that day in an old post you can find here.

The days that followed were unexpected. We showed up in the morning to greet Emily's parents, sure they'd want to know who had been to visit their daughter. We immediately knew who they were when they walked out, as it was winter and Matt was in shorts and flip-flops: straight off the plane from America. We introduced ourselves and intended to leave, only leaving behind a number "in case you need anything" - but honestly not sure we could offer them much. I'm so glad we were wrong.

Emily had evidently been asking where her "3 angels who came to visit last night" were: and there was a bit of relief to realize she wasn't crazy, and I imagine they measured us up to be normal enough - at least for 3 girls who choose to live in South Africa.

So we stayed. We took some "dubers" (Matt’s favorite word for foreign currency) and got them a local phone... and then stayed for lunch. And dinner. And lunch and dinner almost every day for the next 4 weeks…

It has been a long, hard year for my friends. Bur progress has been made, all are home, and while life is still anything but normal compared to one year (and 3 days) ago,  I am grateful to be carrying on with this journey alongside them.

To my Kerstetter family: you have been an incredible blessing to my life. Thank you. I love you all.

Holy Thursday

Tonight I had the privilege of being one of few to worship at Mount Vernon UMC here in Washington, DC.

This is a place I have instantly begun to feel at home in. After only having attended once before (on Sunday), I already recognized faces and even remembered a couple of names. I found the place incredibly familiar and didn’t really feel like a visitor. It is an incredible feeling to have that feeling in a church. Especially in a city that is in so many ways still foreign to me.

It could be said that it is common for a service of footwashing to occur tonight: Maundy Thursday. It is the night that we not only remember Jesus’ last supper and sharing of bread with his disciples, but it is also the night that Jesus humbled himself - and his disciples - and washed their feet. Jesus didn’t just invite that his disciples - and all of us - follow his lead and humble ourselves as servants: Jesus commanded it.

That always strikes me. That Jesus commanded something: and yet we only really talk about it and act on it once a year. It got me to thinking about other ways we figuratively “wash one anothers’ feet.”

I was thinking about this as I went up to have my feet washed by the Deacon of the church: my good friend Jason. I observed the care with which he poured the warm water on my feet, and how delicate and intentional his hands were as they “worked” to dry my feet. This process really is humbling and beautiful.

Then came the hard part: I sat down.

Let me be honest: especially as Holy Week has arrived, I have missed serving in a church. Crazy, I know: but while all of my clergy friends are running around fretting, my life has carried on “normal” and my only focus on the holiness of this week came tonight: at a service I thought about not attending because I was so tired.

So as I sat in my pew half thinking about servanthood and Jesus’ commandment, I was also half thinking about wanting to be more actively involved in leadership (and leading worship) in a church.

That’s when it happened: I literally had to restrain myself.

I saw my Deacon friend Jason kneeling, sitting before the bucket with water and clean towels, waiting to wash others’ feet: but no one was coming. We had finished: the last person was having their feet washed by the pastor on the other side of the room. But Jason just waited. As if he didn’t notice.

And the longer he sat there, the more I thought, “I should go over there. Someone should wash his feet.” The voice telling me to do so grew louder and louder as I contemplated what to do. Was this the voice of God telling me to go and bless him in this way? Or was this my other voice: the one who wants to be involved. The one who has a hard time letting go. and most of all: the one who has a hard time just being served.

I didn’t go.

I wish I could say it was because this last part occurred to me in time to be content and listen more closely to Jesus’ command to be humbled and both serve and be served.

But I can’t say that.

All I can say, is that I didn’t go because about the time I had convinced myself it would be okay and I wouldn’t be stepping on toes in this new (albeit homely) church if I did so, the music stopped and I realized the others had finished.

Before I knew it the candles were extinguished and the alter was being stripped.

Before I had time to finish processing, people were starting to leave in silence.

Silence that came too quick. I knew it was coming, but I wasn’t ready for it.

But all the same: it has arrived. let the night of prayer and fasting begin as we move onward toward Good Friday...

Music

“Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be this hard.” -Coldplay, "The Scientist"

That’s what I love about music. Its poetry with a beat that triggers something, that moves so deep inside you don’t know its hit you until you can hear the words echoing deep inside.

I love that lines which seem so simple on some days, are complex and life-changing on others.

I love the challenge that comes with words that speak truth into my life. Truth that was there all along, but that I needed help seeing and understanding.

I suppose that’s why music is so important. Why it serves as a lifeline. Why most significant journeys or moments in my life are memories triggered by the music that spoke to me during that time. For music has spoken to me in moments of great sorrow and pain, as well as great joy and celebration. It tells of heartache and it tells of struggle. It tells the story of overcoming and stories of new life.

Music tells stories. Stories of your life. Stories of my life. Stories of those we will never meet. Stories.

Who would we be without stories? Our stories make us whole. Make us human. Bring us together. Connect us.

In the end, its the stories that are said so well in lines like this one that draw us back to earth from wherever we are, be it drowning in muck and despair or high on a joyous cloud or joy. And when we are drawn “back to earth” - its there that we meet and encounter and share our stories with “others” - stories without which we would cease to exist. Cease to be human.

We were created for each other. We were created to share stories. Historically, music was used for this. Today, nothing much has changed. Music helps us live, understand and share our stories.

Today, I’m grateful for the music in and of my life.

Happy Halloween!

In South Africa, they don't really celebrate Halloween

If I were in the USA, I would spend most of today buzzing around and preparing for the evening. I would have a costume picked out by now, and would have at least considered wearing it to church. This afternoon I would make sure all the sweets were ready, and anticipated the arrival of children as they come “trick-or-treating” in the evening.

For me, Halloween is an incredible example of what it means to be in community. While most of the year may pass without seeing some of my neighbors and their families, on this day, a simple porch light left on in the front of the house would indicate that all are welcome. Children would come dressed as their favorite cartoon character or superhero, and parents would walk with them, enjoying one another’s company almost as much as the children enjoy an excuse to dress in costumes and eat sweets.

For this one night, no one thinks about anything but the children. For children and adults alike, bed times go out the window. No matter if you are 5 or 55 or 95 years old, everyone dresses up, at the very least with a smile across the face, and is reminded of the importance of their role in the community. Each porch light left on is another opportunity to say hello, share a sweet, and check in on one another.

In some ways, this big community event reminds me of the Fete we’ve just had. People come out from all over to greet and support one another and to play an important role in the ongoing life of the church. Costumes were optional, but in the end everyone gets to go home with a treat of sorts, whether from the Lucky Dip, the Food Shop, the Good As New stall or one in between. There’s something for everyone, even if more often than not that something ends up being “the one thing you never knew you always wanted.”

Its traditions like these - be it Halloween or Fetes or other shared traditions we have - that remind us of the importance of community and invite us to get to know one another better. In many ways, Sunday mornings (for Christians) are like these annual traditions of gathering and supporting one another as a community. Wherever you find yourself today, take time to look around. Who is this community that surrounds you? Have you greeted them? Surely there is someone you don’t know or haven’t talked to in a while: why wait for a holiday or special occasion to greet them?

Plumstead Fete

This afternoon was Plumstead Methodist Church’s “Fete.” For my American friends who also come from churches who are not familiar with the idea, a Fete is a fundraising event, sort of like a Bazaar. For an entire year, people save up goods to be sold (cheaply) at the Fete. There are multiple stalls, and you can find almost anything: “like new” childrens' clothing and toys, handmade items from cards to clothes, used books, and an array of miscellaneous items that could only fit the category “white elephant.”. You know what they say: “one man’s junk is another man’s treasure!”

Of course, the most popular booths, true to human nature, tend to be the ones with food. Homemade sweets (we took home a cake and banana loaf) and jams (got some of those, too!), or the food shop, where people have donated food to be “sold” at a price discounted from what you would pay at the shop. You can get a cup of tea or coffee (or cool drink) inclusive of sweets or biscuits to go with them, or you can stop in for breakfast or lunch: the breakfast of bacon and eggs with toast was such a hit it sold out. Then there are items worth waiting around for: a picnic set and the most decadent cake of chocolaty goodness I have ever seen was a “raffle” item. This cake that was donated was so amazing it raised R700 - that’s $100! For a cake! I didn’t win it, but I did get to try a piece later, and I have to say: it tasted as amazing as it looked!

This huge event, stretching from the front garden (with activities for the children) and all through the church, was a great fundraising success. But its more than that, too. Its a tradition worth celebrating.

I’ve been at PMC for a couple of months now, and this was the first time I’ve been to church and been able to spend time with the community purely for the sake of spending time with them. Sure, there were fun things to look at and everyone wanted to support the cause. But that alone wasn’t reason for anyone to come. Not really. If it were, everyone could have simply handed over the cash they intended to spend and skipped the day altogether.

But then we wouldn’t have had a day well spent in reminder of what it feels like to be in community. I wouldn’t have met the spouses or extended family of people I see in church on occasion, or share in Bible Study with. I wouldn’t have been surrounded by people from both the 07:45 and 09:30 morning services, the Sunday school children, AND the youth, all in one place at the same time. If it weren’t for the Fete, I wouldn’t have been able to catch up with so many people without worrying about time constraints or what order or worship is coming up next…

Sure, the Fete is a fundraiser, and to be honest, it is sadly necessary to help meet the fiscal needs of the church. But its so much more than that. And this year, I’m grateful for the reminder of how great it is to be part of such an incredible community.

Friends.

Here it is nearly midnight and I’m exhausted and somehow WIDE awake. Not that its a surprise, given the excitement of the past week.

This past week I was blessed to have two visitors come and spend a few days with me. My friends Amanda and Hannah, both fellow young adult missionaries with The United Methodist Church, took their leave to come and spend time with me here in the beautiful city of Cape Town. Hannah, my former roommate and co-worker while I was in Joburg/at SHADE, flew down from Joburg to spend 5 days here, while Amanda deserves a medal for flying all the way from New Orleans, Louisiana, USA for only one week’s stay.

The week was filled with tours, site-seeing, wine tasting, coffee drinking, beach-sitting and mountain climbing (well, only a little because my knees are still not well). The weather was very cooperative, as it was clear and beautiful all but one day. Pretty good for this time of year!

We did have a hiccup in our journey, as a puncture on the side of the highway left us with one handbag and very expensive camera being stolen. Certainly one of the most difficult and helpless feelings I’ve experienced in a while as we watched a man run away with all of  Hannah’s belongings. While it is always sad to lose things, the great sentimental value of her belongings that ran away before our eyes were definitely the greatest loss, putting into perspective the things we take advantage of. We could be heard wishing he had taken all of our money and valuables but left behind things like her little red notebook filled with thoughts, memories and priceless writings, while at the same time we were grateful to be safe and were “just glad no one got hurt.”

Despite the struggle and heartache that came with this isolated event, we found ourselves making the very best of the time we had together. We even made light of the unexpected couple of hours spent in the Khayelitsha Police Department, as it provided an opportunity for Amanda to have a small tour of a township and a look into the RSA police. By the way, I must say: I have never, EVER had a better experience with police than we had that day at the Khayelitsha Police Department. To the officers and staff we encountered: well done, and Thank You for your incredible service and dedication. Hats off to you. Really.

Despite the unfortunate circumstances requiring our presence there, the couple of hours spent being well cared for at the PD were more representative of this week spent with good friends than of the 2 minutes that caused much distress. (And for any worried about safety, I remind you of the first words out of Amanda’s mouth upon a discussion about safety: “Wait, you’ve never had anything like this happen? I’ve even been mugged in New Orleans - it happens everywhere!”)

So that’s our check back into reality, and looking back over the rollercoaster of the past week, I am left with few words other than “Thank you.” Thank you, Amanda and Hannah, for your visit. It is SO GOOD for me to have the reality check of friends. Friends who serve as a mirror, really, as through time with them I am able to see reflections back of myself. Reflections of ways I have grown, adapted or changed over the past 12 months. Next week will mark one year since I first arrived in South Africa, and this visit was 2 things for me: a timely reflection back on who I am and how I’ve grown, and time to be refreshed and renewed through opportunities to be surrounded by familiar, welcoming, gentle friendships that offer perspective, reassurance, love and support that can only be given by an “old” friend who knew me prior to this experience.

Afternoon Tea

Summer is finally getting close. Here in Cape Town, it has been raining a lot… and while I understand that rain is good and healthy and we need it… I’m also just ready for it to stop!

Mostly, this is because I know that the rains stopping are a sure sign that summer is arriving. and I can’t wait for summer! The gloom, the cold, the overcast skies, and now the rain here in Cape Town, have become daunting and old, and I’m ready to move on to new things!

That is why I was so pleased to see sunshine this weekend. It was still a bit cool, but as long as there are semi-clear skies and sunshine, that matters little.

To celebrate the beautiful weather and (almost) cloud-free mountain, we had afternoon tea at Kirstenbosch gardens this afternoon. As much time as I’ve spent in Cape Town, and somehow I had never been to Kirstenbosch, so this was really a treat! It was a perfect day for it as I sat with Lisa, Amy, Jess and Greg and took in the day’s final rays of sun, watched adorable children take turns rolling down the hill, and snapped a few photos.

All in all, a great way to spend a Saturday afternoon/evening.

Blessed to be a Blessing

My friend Veronica runs a school for 3-5 year olds in a run-down, difficult community. Appropriately named "iThemba," which means "Hope," this school in Capricorn (part of the Vryground community) is across the street from a drug house and few houses down from a shabeen. There is no sense in trying to protect the children that attend her school from what comes alongside such settings: they already know. By the time the children (ages 4-5) reach her classroom, they’ve seen it all. They know more about life and its hard lessons than most pre-teens. Or at least more than I did when I was that age.

For example: one morning this week, they had a discussion about how things were going for them at home. As they sat innocently in a circle on the carpet, two of her pupils (again, 4-5 years old) told a story of how they’d accidentally lit a bush on fire: while smoking cigarettes. Last week, she reports, they had a conversation about condoms and what they’re used for, because one of her students brought one and asked, and other students snickered in disbelief that they didn’t know. If she doesn’t talk to them, Veronica says to me, someone else will. It may as well be a conversation in a safe, controlled environment.

I will never be one to tell you that I had an easy childhood. I didn’t. From a young age, I too saw and experienced things no young child should ever have to. And yet, I cannot even begin to imagine what life is like for these children.

So today, I asked if I could just come and spend the day with them. I had no agenda except to support my friend who has a very, very difficult job. After being shown around the school, I made my way the the playground where the children were carrying on doing what these children should do often but seldom get the chance to: play. I ran races, spun in circles, pushed swings, climbed on a jungle gym cheered as they took turns on a slide.

I saw and experienced what I was told to expect, but how it felt cannot be so easily described. The pain, the distress, and the need to be loved was more evident in this group of 50 children than in any other group I have ever encountered. It was heartbreaking.

and yet… while it may be selfish, it also absolutely made my day. Not to see the hurt and the pain and the need, but to be able to see them be loved and cared for. Not by me! Good heavens, I hope I was able to love them a bit, but they need more than an afternoon. They need consistency and discipline and structure: these too are forms of great love. At this school, I know they have that.

They have that because my friend Veronica and her colleagues are the most committed, hard working, loving people I have ever seen at work.

Others told me what a strong, wonderful woman Veronica was and that maybe a visit would be an opportunity to encourage her. No doubt this was true, but it also served as something more: an opportunity for me to see the hands and feet of Jesus hard at work in the form of a beautiful woman who knows nothing less than how to love people well.

I pray that my own ministry can one day be even a remote reflection of what hers looks like. and I pray for Veronica’s continued courage and passion as she works to share the love of Christ with the children of her school in Capricorn.

It Is Well...

This week I had one of “those moments” when all felt like it was right and good in the world again.

It had been a while since such a moment passed for me, and it was quite a relief.

I am always marveled at the passion, hard work and dedication of people who have served through important ministries for long periods of time. Once a week, Plumstead Methodist Church hosts a soup kitchen-type ministry known as “Hands and Feet.” It is a ministry to “street people” in the area, takes place each Tuesday morning, and has been led by one such dedicated individual for the past seven years. I appreciated the time, thought and effort he offered as he introduced me to a few people and offered some thoughts on the community, the program, and why its important. I am looking forward to returning and hearing more.

Following my visit, I entered into another conversation about the history of the ongoing mission related ministries at the church. I discovered a space to learn, a space to ask questions, and a space to reflect on my “outsiders” perspective of what mission in a church  - in this church - does/can/should look like. Though a brief conversation, I discovered it to be a life-giving one. and in the midst of that discovery, I discovered something else: that perhaps this is the conversation I was called here to have. It certainly fits into my “job description,” but more than that, I am realizing that these are the questions I feel called to ask alongside the support, leadership and hope I feel called to give.

It has been a while since such a short, simple conversation was so rejuvenating - and I am grateful to be called awake for such a case as this.

Reception

Well, friends: it is official. I must be back working in a church again; I can consider no other good reason for sitting in a meeting for nearly 3hrs in the evening!

I have spent this week as a bit of orientation as I prepare to dive fully into work here. In the short few days I have been here, small but important steps have been taken toward settling in. I have been given an office at Plumstead Methodist Church, I have made my first home visit and as a result a few new friends. We have even come up with a contract and job description, which we presented for approval at a church meeting tonight.

No matter where I go, no matter what titles I am given, no matter how much experience I’ve had, there is still one thing about any sort of ministry that remains consistent: it frightens the daylight out of me! Perhaps this is why, though I anticipated a warm welcome by this church who has been nothing but kind to me, the reaction I got tonight was somehow both overwhelming and incredibly humbling.

I was not just welcomed as another order of business, as perhaps I expected. My reception came with responses of genuine joy that I would be able to stay for longer than a few days this time. I received an overwhelming response of joy and thanksgiving that I am not sure I can express in words except to say that it could not have been warmer.

The warm welcome, of course, only humbles me more in acknowledging the privilege and power of change that can come in the next five “short” months. I am reminded of what great opportunities lie before us - both for me and for the congregation. I am reminded of who has called me, why I am called, and that for these reasons, I must push on regardless of the circumstances that have brought me to this place.

I am grateful that today I have been given more reasons to celebrate this journey, difficult as it may have been. and I look forward to more days of celebration and joy in the months to come.

The Sound of Music

Tonight I was blessed with the opportunity to spend the evening supporting one of the incredible young people in my life. Nissia, the youngest of Mama Tembo’s five daughters, is a joyful, lovable ball of energy, and more than once “dramatic” (in the good sense) is a word I have used to describe her.

Nissia came home in February excited that her school was holding auditions for a musical she had never heard of, “The Sound of Music.” Excited, Hannah, Rachel and I immediately began to sing our favorite songs from this classic musical. We laughed, sang, even wrote out words to songs so we could teach her before her call-back. Every time we turned around, Nissia was practicing!

Her hard work paid off. Nissia was cast as one of the children, and her joy and excitement could not have hit a higher level (even for Nissia - and that’s really saying something!). We immediately promised we would see her when performance time came.

I’m not sure where time has gone since then (its almost June!), but the time finally arrived. Tonight, we filled our car and made our way to her beautiful school. To be honest, I was REALLY nervous for her - like a proud mother! To no one’s surprise, though, she did AMAZING, and the show was great! I am so proud of her, and so happy to have been able to be a part of this big night for her - her first time in a theatre production!

During intermission, the guest of honor, “grandfather of South African Theatre” John Kain was introduced. During his short speech, he noted that he has enjoyed watching the audience and proud parents almost more than the students. He too questioned who was more nervous… parents? or students? I laughed as I realized that for the first time, I felt like the proud mother.

It is good to be here. To support her like my child, or like a kid sister; to be a family. It is good that though we have struggled together and independently through a great deal, on night’s like tonight we get to come together and celebrate accomplishments too.

It is good to be family.

Following an Example

I am sitting in a session of Synod at which we are discussing same-sex relationships, and I am silently crying inside right now.

It is so difficult. It was appreciated that both sides were given an opportunity to be heard.  First to be heard was the side that was the “sympathetic and embracing” position. The persons presenting were asked to be neutral and not state which side they agreed with, but to present neutrally. One person to present each side. The first person alluded to the fact that they were not pleased to present the pro-side, but was faithful to this request of neutrality. He read off of a powerpoint with a few side comments to explain. Overall, it was a factual, honest, unemotional argument.

Then comes the second argument. That which is against. It began with the speaker stating, “I do not agree! and I am prepared to tell you why.” Obviously, a different beginning, as his argument was emotionally charged and sought to engage the synod in a different manner. He deconstructed church policies, reading through a list that include statements such as, “seek to be well-informed,” and proclaiming, “I do not agree!”

What is it that we should ever NOT seek to be informed about? Seeking information, compassion or understanding does not mean one should have to change their minds, even. But how dare we condemn anyone without first having compassion for them? Did Jesus not do the same thing? Yes! In the Hebrew Bible it says that one who commits adultery should be stoned to death. Does Jesus not forgive the woman who is caught in adultery, saying, “let he who has no sin, cast the first stone”?

This is a message of compassion, forgiveness, love and kindness - how does this example of Christ escape us for “these people”?

As a church, we seek to follow Christ. Yes, it is true that Christ condemned sins. But in doing so, he never excluded or exiled sinners. He invited them to follow him. He welcomed them. He said that ALL are welcome at the table. He went out of his way to help both those understood to be sinners, and the faithful who believed. More often than not, these people were the same: Doesn’t he say that it is the sick who need a doctor? If we acknowledge we need Jesus, we acknowledge we are all sinners. Therefore we must make our way to a place where we do not condemn one another, where we do not judge who is sinning where or when, or whose sin is “greater” than another.

As a (global) church, we must not lose sight of our primary call. We are called to live faithfully into the example Christ has set before us. When it comes to the tax collector, the lepers, or the adulterers, for a few among many, how is it that we see and wish to share Jesus’ compassion and love and inclusion of these persons, and yet we consistently fail to share Jesus’ compassion and love and inclusion for others? Today, the issue at hand is homosexuality. Not long ago, it was women in the church. Not long before that, it was slavery.

How do we discern?

We do not have to have a solution. We do not have to all agree. But we do have to keep following Jesus. We do have to follow the path of Jesus which has been set before us: a path of compassion. A path of kindness, forgiveness, and love. A path of welcoming inclusion. No one said following Jesus would be easy. Inviting, welcoming and learning from those with whom we disagree will never be easy. Nor was it easy for Jews to welcome gentiles. Nor was it easy for anyone to walk away when Jesus said, “let he who has no sin, cast the first stone.” As times changed, it was not easy for Bishops to recant their public statements that slavery is discussed clearly in Scripture and should not be condemned. This journey is not an easy one. In fact, Jesus promised it wouldn’t be. My hope is neither that it would be easy, nor that a decision would be made to tear the church apart. Rather, my hope is that we might continue journeying together on issues which are most controversial, and as we do so, may we practice the mercy, love, and compassion Jesus has first shown us.

What If...?

I was tested for HIV today.

I did not realize until this morning that I had in fact never been tested before. How is it possible not to "realize" this? I always "knew" my status. In the US, we are simultaneously privileged and naive, and though HIV/AIDS is still prevalent in our communities, it is in different ways. In different quantities, to start. I bet most people I know would say they have never met anyone who was HIV positive. I also believe they would be wrong, but would instead believe that most people have never met anyone who told them they were HIV positive. So they never knew; the face of a person who is HIV+ is not different from the face of a person who tests negative. I know this first hand, I have been surprised on many occassions to learn colleagues or friends back in the US were HIV+. and I won't lie: its scary to find this out. Fear, though we know better, can overcome you. Fear of getting it. Fear of losing your friend. Fear of stigmas. Fear! Fear. fear. why are we a people who are so afraid?

As I sat in the VCT clinic with my students filling out forms to be tested, I got an unexpected knot in my stomach. The fear was setting in. "What if..." - a powerful question, isn't it? Nearly all of the students (voluntarily) got tested, including some who had never been tested before. I was encouraged and anxious - the "what if" question was not just for me, but also for the 13 students I had with me on this particular day...

I went last. The sight of a needle to pierce my skin made me squirm. I hardly felt the poke through my finger for the blood... but the waiting! oh, the waiting how that 60 seconds can be so difficult - so full of anxiety and fear over something I "knew" only an hour before! "What if..." The question had to be asked... "What if..."

As the clock ticked and I waited for results, I thought of the many who had sat in this chair before me, and the many who would follow after. We share this seat. We share the prick into our finger. We share the fear and anxiety as we watch the blood slowly make its way down the test tube...

We share important questions... "What if..."

It is probably good this test is so quick. All of this emotion, all of these questions, all of this fear - and the entire test from the nurse walking in the door to when I knew my results, probably took about 4 minutes. Tops.

Yet in that 4 minutes, I discovered an abundance of questions that begin with, "what if..."

And as I prepared to leave with the students on to our next visit (home based care visit with HIV+ clients in a neighboring township), I realized that these are questions that need addressed.

If we can ask these questions in the fear, anxiety, or reality of testing positive, then we must also ask ourselves how we would want them answered. As caregivers, it is our responsibility to find the most honest, comforting, helpful answers to these questions for those we are surrounded by every day.

What if I test positive? Then I can still live a healthy life.
What if I get sick? Then my community will care for me.
What if I need ARVs? Then the local clinic or hospital will get them to me at no cost.
What if I am malnourished? Then my community will help teach me to eat better.
What if I feel down or depressed? Then my community will support, visit, and pray with and for me.
What if...
           Then my community will.....

We are the community. What are we doing to help respond to these questions?

HIV has changed all of our lives. We are either infected, affected, or both. What are you choosing to do about it?

Esther's Funeral

I went to a funeral today.

I never met the young woman we are grieving today. She was the daughter of one of our DRC satellite leaders. She passed away on Sunday after weeks in intensive care; she came to South Africa in hopes of medical care that would save her life after they could no longer help her at the hospitals at home in DRC.

Esther Kalanga Mulowayi was 25 years old:
    Only one month older than me.
    She was healthy.
    She was happy - a newlywed, married in 2009, less than one year ago.

How quickly life passes us by as the words of the season rang in my ears during the service, “From Dust you came, and to Dust you shall return.”

There are countless reasons to mourn her passing. Today we are mourning.

There are also countless questions to ask. As the questions come in and the grief set in, I have spent a lot of time talking with Lucille (one month older than me). We have spent time reflecting on our own short lives that could be taken at any moment.

I am reminded to be grateful for all I have. For all that our lives have offered us, and more importantly, (we hope) others.

Today I am (perhaps selfishly) not ready to grieve the loss of Esther’s life. Instead, I am thinking about what I would want today to look like if it were a memorial service in honor of my own life, even at the young age of 25. I would want it to be a celebration.

I would want the small congregation not just to grieve, but also to celebrate the many good things of that have been shared over the past 26 years. It would be a celebration that of a life fully lived, even if it was cut “short.” I hope it would be a celebration of a life in which every day was lived fully, embracing each moment in refusal of letting mistakes of the past or fears of the future dictate the present.

Today, I celebrate. I celebrate that even if Esther and I did not meet in this world, we will meet in the next.

I celebrate that though we never met, Esther’s life has brushed mine.

Hope In The Dark

Today is Valentine’s Day, and what better reason for a feast, fellowship and celebration than to celebrate our community that has gathered and become one because of the One who first loved us? So we had a Valentine’s Day party last night at Mama Tembo’s home.

I arrived in the afternoon surprised and excited by the scene painted before me. There were a couple people hanging out in the office, by far the quietest place on campus. Several were up in the guest house where the cleaning (the goat, ducks, chickens and doves) and cooking of our feast was taking place. I headed that way but didn’t make it, as I was distracted by the ongoing soccer game in the lawn. It was great to watch them as even Papa joined in the friendly (albeit intense) game. I eventually walked through the dance party in the garage and made my way to the pool to find the same thing: contagious joy.

Despite the incredible fellowship and contagious joy and laughter throughout the evening, my favorite part of the day came at its close. As dinner was finished, Freddy began to DJ and began playing songs as shout-outs to different groups. “This one goes out to Zambia!” he proclaimed as he turned up the music. It was a familiar song to many, and soon the 5 students from Zambia were all up and dancing. It was only a matter of time before others joined them as well, perhaps encouraged to do so when even Mama Pastor (Tembo) got up to join them. By the end of the song, half the group was up and dancing, but it took them so long it was quickly decided we should play the same song again.

The song repeated and people continued to join the circle. Then, in the middle of the song and completely unexpectedly (there were not even storms to speak of!), all power went out. The music stopped, the singing quickly faded and you could feel the movement of the air grow stale as no dancing remained. The silence hung heavy in the air as no one moved or spoke a sound.

As if out of no where, a voice began to sing, picking up the song where it had left off. Before anyone knew what was happening, almost everyone had gotten on their feet to celebrate together in the darkness. One song turned into many as songs of praise and worship were lifted higher, louder and more melodically than they had been all night. It was a sight to see - or more appropriately - hear.

It was unlike any other worship we had shared together before. Rather than fearing darkness, it was embraced. It was almost as if we were safer together in the darkness, without light to shine over our brokenness or fears. The only light to shine in the group was the metaphorical light shinning from each person in the circle, and yet it may well have been the brightest light I have ever seen in my life. As our eyes adjusted and our dancing eventually slowed, we closed with passionate prayer and thanksgiving to our God who has shown us again today the many ways to find light in the darkest of places.

An incredible physical reminder of why we are here and who we are here to serve. How great is our God to shine so brightly in such a small, dark place!?

Community

Today, the rain has gone, the wind has ceased to blow, and it is very, very hot, inside and out.

I sit in a quiet house, on a quiet farm, in the peaceful, quiet little village town of Drumblade. There are few things to disturb the perfect silence out here. Occasionally, the dogs will bark, mostly at each other as there are no unfamiliar passer-bys to keep them entertained or excited.

We woke this morning to get out and enjoy some fresh air before the heat became too much. Our usual walk to the end of the road and back was almost eventful this morning, as we saw people out and about for reasons other than heading to or from a long, labor-filled work day. We greeted our unfamiliar neighbors as they were out on morning walks and tried our best to stay out of the pathway of other neighbors hurriedly driving past, impatient with walkers in road as they made their way to destinations that remain unknown to us.  As we walk, we wonder aloud: what do people here do? Where are they off to in such a hurry at 9am on a Saturday? We know this village has a lifetime of stories to tell; we are slowly becoming a part of these stories and look forward to hearing of the stories past.

As we approach the Tuck shop, we realize the distant person opening the shop has recognized us: it is Cindy, who we hoped would soon join us on these daily walks through town. We greet her, pleased to have any ‘familiar’ face to greet us along our way. We learn this is her shop as she tells us about her busy week and as she apologizes that time got away from her this week but she still hopes to join us next week. Perhaps her husband can go on bike rides when we walk each day, as a means to keep him accountable to exercise also. As she tells us this, a small group of cyclists passes us, and I am reminded of how much I miss having a bike and people to ride with; the thick, unforgiving heat of the morning reminds me of many days on tour last summer.

Cindy quickly starts writing notes, and we soon realize she is active on committees throughout the neighborhood. She is enthusiastic about putting out a notice that I’m looking for a bike to borrow for the year I am here; she insists there is no reason to buy one for such a short period of time. I drift in and out of the conversation, dwelling on information she offers, invitations she offers, the relationships she is looking forward to developing during our stay here.

Finally, today, it is beginning to feel like there is life in this small town, and this brings me hope. I am hopeful as the mysterious going-ons of the community are at hand as we are promised a radio by the end of the week, whereby we will have access to the community broadcast system. We will be in the know of community gatherings, volunteer opportunities, or needs/wants as they have their own form of “Craig’s List” that is broadcast each morning between 9 and 10 each morning. They even have a ride-share program the radio is used for so that people like us - people without transport to town - can potentially pick up rides with others heading that way near the same time. It is encouraging today to be reminded of the shared life and fellowship and networks of a small town, and I imagine that this small town is, in many ways, not so different from the small town I come from in South Dakota, a small town called McCook Lake that I will always call “home.”