“You give me my shoes.” A small Rwandan boy ran up beside me, hands outstretched toward the hiking boots dangling from my backpack. I apologetically shook my head and he rejoined the sizable group of children accumulating behind us; we had apparently become the pied pipers of Bisoke village. One by one they took their turn:

“What’s your name? You give me pen.”

“Madame, we need a football.”

“Vous me donnez d’argent.”

The three-kilometer trek to our hostel suddenly seemed a formidable distance as a crisis of conscience descended upon us. These children were poor – the boy who asked for shoes had none; all were dressed in tattered clothing and they likely resided in mud huts and lacked the opportunity to go to school. The ever-popular question of “What Would Jesus Do” seemed to have a murky and ill-defined answer.

For some curious reason, no matter how many times I am confronted with poverty it takes me by surprise: I am always at a loss for how to react. Of course we could not give all of the children shoes or pens or money – and it certainly felt unfair to give these items to just one of the children. However, we claim to emulate a man who went out of his way to heal lepers and who said, “Whatever you do unto the least of these brothers you do unto me.” Yet here we were: four young volunteers on a short weekend holiday with a shoestring budget confronted with our very own Good Samaritan scenario, each urgently grappling with how to best love our neighbor as ourselves.

Muddying the waters even further was the notion of sustainability (teach a man to fish…). If we gave these children pens, they would certainly need more pens in a week, or a month, or a year. Though I am sure some other hiker or gorilla-trekker would continue to supply the children with pens, shoes, and footballs, what about the countless villages without tourists? Moreover, the thought of providing handouts made me feel like the rich, white westerner riding in on my white horse to save the day, which is an image I have actively tried to avoid during my stay in Africa.

I do not think Jesus intended himself to be anybody’s ATM, and he certainly did not present himself as an arrogant prince riding in on a white horse to save the day (quite the contrary: he was a homeless carpenter-turned-rabbi on a donkey who would soon be betrayed and crucified by the people he came to save). Every miracle he performed had a lasting and eternal purpose; through storytelling he encouraged people to invest what they had been given wisely so that it would be multiplied.

And this brings us back to the children along the road, when I began to feel like the offspring of Ebeneezer Scrooge and Cruella DeVille. I have no neat and tidy answer for this post; I honestly still feel a bit stingy. However, I am spurred on to advocate for free, quality education in East Africa so that children can grow up to provide for themselves; I will continue to support the work of those organizations involved in micro-finance and income-generating activities; I will develop partnerships with organizations that provide sustainable living solutions for those impoverished widows and orphans within my sphere of influence.

This “macro systems” focus, as we would say in “social workese,” aims to leave a lasting positive impact through improvement of the system. As Martin Luther King, Jr. once said: “One day we must come to see that the whole Jericho road must be transformed so that men and women will not be constantly beaten and robbed as they make their journey on life’s highway.” However, I find the “micro systems” still call to me like a siren song. Lasting change comes slowly for those children in Bisoke, who still walk that three-kilometer journey with no shoes…

-Sara

If you are interested to read more on this topic, Tony Campolo provides an interesting analysis on wise and sustainable giving on the God’s Politics Blog: http://blog.sojo.net/2009/03/13/the-perils-of-well-meaning-but-short-sighted-generosity

Of the stories that are told about Africa, many of them are found to be broken and discouraging. It can appear that the needs are so great that situations are hopeless, that any attempt to help is only a drop in a bottomless bucket. However, I am finding that in the hardship of people’s lives (mine and others), beauty is often seen with greater clarity than when life is easy.

A few weeks ago a colleague from Samaritan’s Purse Uganda invited me to speak at the “Orphan Care Equip Project”, a group of 45 widows who in addition to raising their own children also care and provide for orphans within their own households. After I had shared, a small, frail woman in her 60s stood to share her story. Her words were translated from her language into English and then back into two other tribal languages so the whole group could understand. Years earlier she had been married and lived with her husband on her own property. When her husband died, however, another couple approached her and, using intimidation and fear, forced her and her children to flee from the land that was rightfully theirs. As is often the case in Uganda, these people were most likely family members of her late husband.

Years passed and word came to this woman that the couple who had stolen everything from her had passed away and had left their children orphaned. As this woman sought to provide for her own children she knew that forgiveness must be manifested by action. She willfully took in the youngest child of her enemies and began to raise the child with all the love and care that she gave her own. It is hard to imagine the sacrifice this woman would have to make to bring another child into her care. It is even greater to think that this child was the offspring of the people who had caused her such great pain and heartache.

No church or non-governmental organization had convinced this woman to make this sacrifice. It was simply her own desire to demonstrate to God that she had forgiven her enemies amidst her own trouble and in spite of their lack of remorse. I am thankful for groups like Samaritan’s Purse, which allow people to share stories of hope and beauty, even in the tragedy.

-Jamie

Lately I find myself alternating on my ipod between Toto’s “Africa” and Enya’s “Storms in Africa”. However cliché and western (I do not think Toto had even been to Africa at the time they wrote that song), I enjoy the bit of familiarity as I take in bits and pieces of a fascinating story, both tragic and hopeful.

One of these bits came last Saturday, when I found myself at Owino market with my lawyer counterpart at IJM, Suhanya. This was not just any market – according to travel guides, Owino is the largest, busiest market in Kampala.  Indeed it was. Not a place to bring a camera (or a wallet for that matter), we clutched our purses tightly as we wedged our way through the crowded, narrow walkways that weaved in between stalls in which women cooked matoke (a traditional dish of mashed, unripened banana) and vendors sold everything from clothes to crafts to live pigs and chickens. Cries of “mzungu!” (”white person!”) filled the air – we were indeed the only mzungus there – and mixed with the smell of boiled goat’s meat, smoke, and rotting trash. We browsed among the vendors – fruit, beads, and a second hand blouse comprised our purchases – and shoved our way out an hour and a half after our entry. Neither of us had ever experienced anything quite like it.

As it turns out, there would be no opportunity to return. Three days later nearly the entire market burned to the ground. The vendors have been crying arson, some blaming the government and others blaming the bus company (which has been wanting to build a terminal where the market stood) for setting the market ablaze. Whether it was arson or not is anybody’s guess.  However, it is true that the fire department took over three hours to arrive at the scene, causing vendors to collectively lose millions of Ugandan shillings worth of merchandise – in many cases entire livelihoods.

There is something compelling about the rain here, though admittedly when the storm clouds roll in my initial thought is that I must now walk home in the mud. Driving rains appear in an instant and pass just as quickly; to me they are Uganda. I see children desperate to go to school; a child embraces me, beaming, as her school fees are paid. I see despair as hundreds of people lose their livelihoods in the Owino fires; I sit among widows learning how to raise chickens and pigs to generate income. I see a cynicism and disdain toward mzungus, arising from years of oppression and exploitation; I feel a taste of reconciliation as a Ugandan dance troupe invites us to join them as they perform traditional dances.  I see storms in Africa; I see the sun slowly trying to break through.

- Sara

A couple days ago I stood on a cliff overlooking the headwaters of the Nile River as the sun was going down behind the waters. We had spent the day relaxing on the banks, swimming in the shallows, enjoying the sun and conversing with Ugandan fisherman as they set out to navigate the waters in their tiny, dangerous looking wooden boats. Two young fellows offered to give me a ride out into the river, promising to bring me back; I didn’t believe them.

As I stood that evening, I began to reflect on the journey the water before me was just beginning. Even at the source, the Nile is a very powerful river. Here I stood in a resort with green grass and decent food, surrounded by a community that, though poor, is at least receiving basic needs and living in relative peace. This same river, swirling darkly in the twilight, will inevitably see things myself and no other human should ever have to experience. As it passes through Uganda, the landscape will gradually change from farms to desert sand, from villages and crops to a dry and dangerous scene, passing through a land on the edge of civil war. Fellow human beings living in certain areas of Sudan are living lives I would rather put far from my thoughts.

I was struck again with the calling that we as Christians must learn to answer. It is much easier to stand in the resort, the comfortable land of our Christianity. Jesus was clear that anyone who would follow him would shove off from the resort and begin that dangerous journey down the river into the place of caring for the needs of fellow brothers and sisters. Honestly, I didn’t want to look at the scene miles down the river; I would rather have thought about what I was going to have for dinner. Despite this, I am very grateful that Christ traveled down that same river to seek me out, and that he uses us to provide for the needs of one another.

In the words of Dr. Martin Luther King, “…If I can leave anything with you, let me urge you to be sure that you have a strong boat of faith. The winds are going to blow. The storms of disappointment are coming. The agonies and the anguishes of life are coming. But if you have faith in the God that I’m talking about this morning it doesn’t matter. For you can stand up amid the storms. I heard the voice of Jesus, saying still to fight on. He promised never to leave me, never to leave me alone. No, never alone. No, never alone. He promised never to leave me. Never to leave me alone.” Indeed he never has.

- jamie

I write you today with divided attention: as I sit writing this post at a small coffee shop in rural Virginia, I have one eye on the television and one eye on the computer screen.  In the frenzy of activity that has consumed us these past few weeks, it seems a momentus day has snuck up behind us; that is, the inauguration of Barack Obama, the first African American President of the United States. 

While in D.C. last week, we spent a day walking through the National  Mall and witnessing the preparations for this historic moment.  At that time, the bleachers stood empty, the stands unfilled, and the white house silent. As I witness now the glorious hope and energy that surounds those structures, I cannot help but swell with the emotion of the day.

To me it seems that today is a day of new beginnings, both corporately and personally. As we prepare for tomorrow’s step off the precipice of the unknown to fight for justice and peace across the world, our nation begins its own struggle for unity and peace in the coming months.

For all of you who join us in our work through prayer and support, we thank you.  Here am I Lord, send me…

- Sara

On December 25, 1864, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow sat at his desk and, in his grief, penned the now-famous poem, Christmas Bells. National and personal tragedy plagued him: a civil war raged on and, still mourning his wife’s sudden death three years prior, Longfellow had just received word that his son was seriously wounded in battle. Reflecting on Luke’s inspired words, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men, Longfellow expressed his doubt that goodness and peace can exist in a world so riddled with violence and hate.

Longfellow’s words have resounded in my ears during the Christmas season as I have been reflecting upon the journey on which Jamie and I are about to embark. His struggle reflects the process to which I, and I suspect many others, are subject. The overwhelming realities of war, injustice, and personal tragedy transcend time; indeed just over the past few days the news has been filled with unceasing violence in Gaza, suicide bombings in Sri Lanka and Iraq, and a Santa Claus killer in Los Angeles. It is a natural question for even the most amateur of philosophers: Where is the good in all of this hate? I am tempted to allow the enormity of it all to overcome any shred of hope that peace and justice can in fact be realized.

Yet as the prophet Jeremiah in his lament praises the Lord for His justice and goodness (Jer 20:7-18), so Longfellow’s faith ultimately penetrates his despair: God is not dead, nor doth He sleep. The wrong shall fail, the right prevail… Christ’s entry into discord and his victory over the evil that would destroy us reminds me of a line from one of my favorite Christmas hymns: A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices. For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn…

It is in this spirit that we do not freeze in despair, heads bowed. As the apostle Paul so profoundly told the church in Corinth:

We have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.

In and through us the Prince of Peace is establishing His Kingdom and, one day, He will fully restore this broken and disappearing world. Therefore, knowing our work is not in vain, we continue to strive for that “wild and sweet” notion of “peace on earth, goodwill to men.” 

Sara

I heard the bells on Christmas Day,/  Their old, familiar carols play/ And wild and sweet the words repeat/ Of peace on earth, goodwill to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,/ The belfries of all Christendom/ Had rolled along, the unbroken song/ Of peace on earth, goodwill to men!

Till ringing, singing on its way,/ The world revolved from night to day,/ A voice, a chime, a chant sublime/ Of peace on earth, goodwill to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth/ The cannon thundered in the South,/ And with the sound 
the carols drowned/ Of peace on earth, goodwill to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent/ The hearthstones of a continent,/ And made forlorn 
the households born/ Of peace on earth, goodwill to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;/ ”There is no peace on earth,” I said;/ ”For hate is strong, and mocks the song/ Of peace on earth, goodwill to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:/ ”God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;/ The Wrong shall fail, the Right prevail,/ With peace on earth, goodwill to men.”