There’s a lot of talk these days about saving the environment and going green. I’ll join it, but not to declare any new high budget plan in saving the world or a great scientific discovery that will cut down on emissions and bring an end to global warming. These are good and needed, but if you look at my math and science report card from high school it will all make sense.

What I will suggest will probably be boring, unromantic, annoying to think about and certainly not culturally hip. I am talking about simple, everyday stewardship and what I learned from my Rwandan host family who could not accept the disposal of a toothbrush.

For weeks, my stoutly bristled and minimally used old toothbrush sat in the trash. The reason behind its disposal was honestly lazy. It had laid in the sink for a few days, and after pondering about lingering spit or things that could happen to it only in a third world country, I tossed it, resorting to the many extras I had brought, when it would not have taken much effort to clean and reuse.

Paper, plastic and various fruit peels piled up onto in the trash can. Oddly, on the day when my host family kindly and without my request came and emptied my trash, the toothbrush remained. This continued to occur, and every time I saw the toothbrush alone in my trash can, frustration built.

Greatly annoyed by my host family’s refusal to give up it‘s preservation, I hid it in a paper bag and won the unspoken battle.

Weeks later, however, I realized my mistake and the potent message my host family had taught me about stewardship. If there is to be substantial change to the environment and mass consumption, it must start with the small things, like using a toothbrush until its truly unusable, and yes, everyone‘s favorite, recycling. This way of living will probably bring more discomfort to us than any multi billion dollar save the world plan would, but its cheaper and will end up teaching us more.

In December, world leaders met in Copenhagen to discuss the environment and the growing fear of climate change.

The conference was full of deliberations and several countries proposed deals the size of Bill Gates bank account. But maybe it would have been better if they all came to visit Rwanda and saw that toothbrush sitting in my trash can for weeks.

Or better yet, they could have just stayed home and examined their own garbage.

Unshaken in a Shaky Bus

Ah, the joys of public transportation in a third world country.

Only four months of it have passed, and save a wreck, I’ve felt, heard and smelled about all it has to offer.

Before one two hour bus ride, I began to feel dizzy and was soon informed that I looked very green. Good to hear 10 minutes before venturing down a very curvy hills. Thankfully that days lunch was not seen by the other passengers.

That is not to say vomit has been lacking. Its come from babies and a mother, one who was one seat away. Regurgitating clouds also spew on travleres through an occasion broken window.

There was the 24 hour bus ride from Rwanda to Kenya. Whether they were intended to be speed bumps or they formed naturally, I felt their bump hundreds of times through the night along with the spray from my neighbor opening a sprite can. At least I had two hours of sleep unlike my companion John, who had about 10 minutes.

Personal space and quiet aren’t a premium here either. A stranger will put her head on my shoulder for a while, someone’s knee will jam into my thigh, a cell phone will bust out music with all the noise its volume can hold, or the driver will answer his phone 30 times--it really happened. Lets not forget the honking, which in Rwanda is polite and means “hello, I don’t want to hit you.”

Most recently, it was a dirt road full of ruts. I sat in the back of a minibus in what looked to be a two person seat, but held three people. Knees cramped by the seat in front of me and only half of me on my own seat, I anticipated a chance to exit and let me legs be free from their short incarceration. The word for the day had to be shaken, both physically and emotionally.

David happens to use that word in Psalm 16:8. “ I have set the Lord always before me; because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.

In the next four months of public transportation, my body may be rattled, bumped, thrown, jerked, or puked on.

Yet, I need not be shaken.

Christmas Break by the Lake

Traditional, small mud hut and thatched roof? Check. One pig and a few rabbits? Check. Tattered clothes and no shoes? Check. Dental records? Check.

Dental records?

It seems that a man who lived in the conditions previously mentioned would not have access to dentistry, but neither would you expect they describe the life of an 81 year old man and his wife. His leathery face was one of many we saw that day as we toured the islands of Lake Kivu.

All the inhabitants were fisherman and farmers, the latter harvesting corn, beans, sugar cane, coffee and the like. With no electricity or running water, their worldview is radically different even compared to someone who lives in the capital city of Rwanda. Who knows how they would respond to the sights of cities like Beijing, London or Los Angeles.

The children on the islands were no different. As a rare and up close white visitor, my friend and I were followed all the way around one island by at least 10 children. Though we soon stepped off of the island and into our boat, the chase continued.

Boats however, tend to overpower swimmers, and we soon returned to our beds, mosquito nets, lamps, and brick cabin. What of the 81 year old man and the excited children?

Back to their fields and mud huts.

The State of the Holidays

Considering how often we must be reminded of the “true meaning of Christmas,” holidays in America are deeply formed and overtaken by our culture. This probably isn’t news to you.

Before attempting to analyze the state of the holidays, I must first acknowledge that how some people celebrate the holidays does not define how all people celebrate them. My critique is general, so all of it does not apply to all people. Nor do I wish to convey that all the ideas our culture endorses are evil. But as a whole, the holidays that have a Christian history often lack a Christian message.

Celebration has become a license to indulge in our sinful wants and pleasures. Valentines Day is marked by infatuation and promiscuity, Thanksgiving can become an excuse for gluttony and Christmas reveals our ever wanting and lusting for more.

If I continued to rant about our sin soaked culture (hey, that sounds like all the other ones) then I would be but another clanging symbol. But why is it that so many have chosen to party in the spirit of the world rather than with the Spirit of Christ?

My first inclination is to say what the church needs is a much clearer, less muffled voice. But this voice is not muffled by the oppressive hand of our culture. It is muffled because there are to many conflicting shouts within the building and it is hard to understand what everyone is saying. There will be no resolved voice until we begin to listen to Christ and be his hands and feet, not a puppet manipulated by our culture. We will always live in culture and cannot excape it. That does not mean it cannot be changed.

Our guidance to being the hands and feet of Christ lies in the conviction that the life that God offers is far superior than anything the world offers us. God makes available to us water that quenches all thirst, bread that cures all hunger, a relationship with the one who gives eternal life. The joy of the holidays belongs to the church, for in our grasps is joy beyond beyond. Our hands should be lifted towards the heavens and our feet should be dancing.

So be it? But how often it does not take being.

At one point the bride and bridegroom exchanged their vows, and rejoiced together. The bride however, rejected the Bridegroom at the reception dance, and cannot be found.

Where is the bride you ask? It is of more value to know that the Bridegroom is still on the dance floor, patiently waiting to lead her.

Beyond Fanta and an Omelette

There was no running water and no power. Yet never before did I feel so thankful to come home as I did that night.

The joy from my homecoming went beyond my departure from Kenya and a one night stay in Kampala, Uganda--a city full of noise, dirt, pollution and chaos. My current home, Kigali, is just as poor if not poorer, but is cleaner and less chaotic. At least, I have not had to weave through quite so many people and traffic, banging on the back of cars to let them know they were about to hit me.

Entering the house to the smile of my host mother Gaudence and later to a high pitched joyful noise from my host father, Augustin, was enough. For Augustin and Gaudence however, my expectation of what was “enough” hospitality was a low one.

I had only lodged at their home for 3 months and had only been gone 9 days, but for them my arrival called for more than warm greetings. It was time for fanta.. As those in the south call soda coke, our friends in Rwanda extend the brand name Fanta to all types of soda. To soda loving Americans, this comes across as no grand gesture. But in Rwandan culture, fanta signals a celebration. When a wedding, graduation, or special event comes, its time to pull out fanta. It may have been leftover from their daughters’ baptism party the previous day, but still, this is fanta.

As the candles were lit for dinner, the light revealed not only the fanta flavor, but what they knew to be my favorite dish, an omelette pregnant with thickly sliced French fries, onions, and green peppers.

All amidst the power outage and lack of water, the love and joy of my host family were unmoved. Their simple hospitality exposed something much deeper than omelettes or fanta can outwardly express; a contentedness rooted in a love for the Creator and His created.

It would be easy use this story to criticize affluent society and everything we lean on instead of God, but I would rather point to a life of simplicity and thanksgiving. As our hearts become solely focused on Christ in this life, all else fades way. As the Apostle Paul writes in Phillipians, because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ, we can count all things--internet, electricity, television and running water--as loss.

Perhaps even Fanta and omelettes.

The Clerkhood of All Believers

It seems that there is always a subject in which a schoolboy or schoolgirl asks “Why am I studying this? I am never going apply it in real life.” At the Rwanda Yearly Meeting one week ago, I was faced with a similar question as we talked about the job of the clerk in a Quaker business meeting.

The topic was fascinating and it was a privilege to learn from the experience of the speaker, but still, I wondered: “How could I possibly apply the duties of the clerk to my daily life? It was then that I remembered the words of Thomas Kelly in A Testament of Devotion, writing on the life of John Woolman. “He yielded to the center and his life became simple. It was synoptic. It had a singleness of eye. ‘If thine eye be single thy whole body shall become full of light.’ His many selves were integrated into a single true self, whose whole aim was walking in the presence and guidance and will of God. There was no shouting down of a disgruntled minority by a majority vote among his selves. It was as if there were in him a presiding chairman who, in the solemn, holy silence of inwardness took the sense of the meeting. I would suggest that the Quaker method of conducting business meetings is also applicable to the conducting of our individual lives.

For those unfamiliar with the Quaker practice of conducting business, the primary role of the presiding chairman, or clerk, is to listen for the sense of the meeting. The sense of the meeting is the decision it appears God is leading the group to make.

We may never be called to be the clerk of a meeting, but we will always be called to be the clerk of our own lives. As Kelly suggests, we are to be the presiding chairman of our different selves and search for truth in each voice that speak into our lives.

Some of them we listen to too much. To expound on Kelly’s analogy of a business meeting, it may be our own, or perhaps it is that of a “weighty friend” who is wise but does not always speak the truth. Another voice we may depend on too little or even ignore because it does not speak of a popular action. Then there is the voice of the majority, which to go against takes great faith and wisdom.

Rising through and above all these is the voice of God and the voice of Satan. Call me a heretic, but sometimes the two can be hard to differentiate. This is not because they have any similarity, but because the enemy twists are thoughts and loves to give us meager justifications for decisions that are not fully surrendered to Christ.

At times, the threat of Satan’s seductive voice can be overwhelming. But it is at those same times we realize our weakness, and turn our eyes to Christ. He gives us grace to discern, and His grace is strong.

Daily, Christ calls us to clerk and order our own lives according to His will. I would also propose that the best clerk of an actual meeting is the one who has first mastered the clerking of his own affairs. Here are some queries that have been helpful in my attempts to do this.

-Are there some voices in my life that need to be silenced?

-How have these voices formed me and hindered my relationship with God?

-Is there a small, humble voice which I don’t listen for or ignore?

-How does my view of this voice’s source affect the way I listen to it?

The Light Shines Always