Common and Uneducated

Back in America

2010-05-26T20:55:00.000-07:00

I left the land of a thousand hills, rich tea and coffee and beautiful people I dearly love.

I am back in the land between the atlantic and pacific, of juicy cheeseburgers and beautiful people who I dearly love.

Thanks for following 8 months of my writing. I will continue to blog, but on a different site: round thoughts.tumblr.com.

If you are tired of hurting your eyes by reading online, or if you want to exercise your ears a bit more, I would be happy to meet with you.

Email me at dcsmiller@gmail.com.

Northern Rwanda

2010-05-13T08:19:00.000-07:00

2010-04-30T13:57:00.001-07:00

To inform my cross cultural work and for fun, I have been reading a book about mission established church’s unhealthy dependency on Western resources, called When Charity Destroys Dignity.

The author, Glenn Shwartz uses a piercing quote from an article in a 1995 Time magazine:

“Developing Countries which develop spoil the mission of the self-appointed First World shepherds who look upon the Third World as their flock. For them to play savior there must be someone to be saved.”

Those are harsh words. Could they be true?

D for D: The River Crossing

2010-04-28T02:34:00.000-07:00

Poking its head out of the deep water, the island was home to the most precious and lightest metal in all of the land of Umha, called Selfelp.

If only not for the river. At this time, none in the village knew how to swim nor dared to face the river, which the locals of Umha called Pabertee.

That was until the day a man from the land of Deefordee, Mykal Felps, came to share his wisdom of swimming. He started a business that gave two choices; customers could pay him 15 Lucras to learn how to swim across the river, or 30 Lucras to be carried across on his back. The villagers were glad for his coming and rejoiced that the foreigner did not know the worth of Selfelp. They immediately took advantage of it.

His first customer, Nev Ercan, exclaimed “I will be rich! I will be so rich I will even pay the 30 Lucras for Mykal Felps to do my swimming for me.” So Nev Ercan payed the money to the swimmer in full. At first, Nev was amazed at how easy it was to get to the island, but that soon changed. After collecting the nearly weightless Selfelp, Mykal Felps told Nev that he had become too weak to carry anyone but himself back across the river. Nev was stranded.

The next day, a new client, Jess Ikan, came to the swimming master from Deefordee. Much like Nev, Jess Ikan was ecstatic about going to the island in search of Selfelp, but she chose the less expensive option of being taught how to swim. As Felps taught her, she struggled and struggled, and it took many tedious days and a few more fees, but it gave her the ability to cross the river herself.

To her great joy, she was able swim back and forth from the island several times a day. After multiple trips back and forth from the island, she started a business selling the Selfelp, and Jess Ikan became the richest woman in all of Umha.

After recovering from teaching Jess, Mykal Felps was finally able to help Nev back to the mainland. However, Nev continued to depend on Felps to take him across the river, and while Jess made several trips a day, Nev often sat waiting idly for Felps to recover and carry him back. His business struggled greatly, and Nev Ercan was never able to compete with the work of Jess Ikan.

---------------------------

The story above is a Discipling for Development skit put into my own words with slight modifications. Discipling for Development, or D for D, is the program used by our mission in several different communities in Rwanda and which greatly shapes our missions philosophy.

Through the power of God, the program seeks to transform the whole life of both a community and a development practitioner, teaching the community to be good stewards of everything God has given them and to be good problem solvers who rely on God rather than outside funding or decision making. Doing this is no easier for the practitioner than it is for the community. As demonstrated in the story above, it tries to feed a man for a lifetime by teaching him to fish, not giving him fish and feeding him for a day.

If you want to learn more about D for D check their website athttp://www.navigators.org/us/ministries/movingmountains/tools/articles/Discipling%20For%20Development%AE1 .

Here is the link to a blog by one of Evangelical Friends Mission's couples using D for D: bradchelseacarpenter.blogspot.com

If you are really thirsty for more, you might want to check out the book When Helping Hurts by Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert. One of the D for D founders said that if D for D wrote a book, that would be it.

2010-04-25T13:10:00.000-07:00

Westernization or Globalization?

2010-04-21T02:54:00.000-07:00

Despite their exclusively affluent theme, airports are still telling of a country’s size and wealth. This was apparent to me flying from Kigali, Rwanda through Addis Ababa, Ethiopia and finally to London--must I say the country?

Rwanda’s small international flight stop claims but a few security checks, and one gate. Midday on a Tuesday, there was no wait going through security and only a few people in line for check in, which happened to be after security. But don’t expect an airbridge to connect passengers right up to the plane. This is old fashioned, walk out to the runway and climb up stairs to the entrance of the aluminum bird.

The next stop was in Addis Ababa, whose country has nearly 60 million more people than Rwanda, and provided 12 gates for travelers. This bigger but still small airport not only spoke to the size difference between the two countries but to Ethiopia’s religious standing. Along with signs that direct travelers to the loo, there are also those which point to Muslim prayer rooms, and it is not uncommon to see Muslim garb walking by.

This is not the case at Heathrow in London, but neither is finding any similarity when it comes to size. Their unique signs instruct travelers to leave 20 minutes to walk to certain gates. London’s international monster has 5 terminals, and the place of my departure, Terminal 3, had 42 gates alone. A sixth terminal could be on the way.

Preceding security, I asked an airport employee “Are there restaurants after security? If your mom ever told you there wasn’t anything as a dumb question, she didn’t know about that one. The stores around the waiting area of Terminal 3 made it just as much a mall as an airport, bursting with 10 restaurants and bars and 37 stores. An advertisement boasted rightly in saying they have whatever food needs you have--fast food, sit down, relaxing restaurants and formal dining.

In journeying through these airports of drastically different cultures and places, there was a common thread throughout them; the influence of the West, and especially America on the rest of the world. It was a perfect example of the tragedy and joy of globalization. Though it brings people together and enables better communication, it tends to bring more joy to the west, making travel much easier, and more tragedy to the rest of the world bringing a loss of culture and influence.

Because the West is the most materially, technologically and militarily advanced, the international standard seems to have become more western than international.

The language of airport signs? English with the local language. But what if I only spoke Swahili or Kinyarwanda or German? Even western countries are disadvantaged in language compared to those hailing from America or the U.K. There is no way I could navigate a foreign airport. International dress? A suit and tie. Although hard to believe with their popularity amongst Africans, suits are not the indigenous attire. And while there may be a huge difference in quantity, there certainly are stores and restaurants in airports round the world, even if a bag of m and m’s do end up costing nearly twenty dollars--globalization touches food, too.

Here’s to the day when globalization is influenced by the globe, not just the rich and powerful parts.

16th Genocide Memorial Week in Rwanda

2010-04-13T09:31:00.000-07:00

A Rwandan Wedding, Part 2.

2010-03-17T09:03:00.000-07:00

At a medium sized church in a rural sector of Kigali, a preacher poured forth words in his Bantu language, and much like all the other church services I have been to in Rwanda, I left oblivious to his message. One of the few words that was familiar to my ears was “akaramata,” which means forever in the local language of Kinyarwanda.

In my mind there were many things he could have been describing with this word; the time it took to finish the service, the length of a man’s suit coat that went down to his knees, or the title of one of Rwanda’s current radio hits. In reality, he was talking about the wedding of my friend Rodrigue and his fiancé Aimee.

The day started off in the same way it did with the civil ceremony last week--spending a few hours trying to meet up with groom. Apparently, in Kinyarwanda, 7:30 means 9:30 or 10:00. The delay was due in part to his getting a haircut during our intended meeting time, but also my lateness, and mostly my ignorance of where his new but temporary wedding home was. Often times in Rwanda, the groom will rent a house with electricity to better welcome the many visitors who come the week and even months following the wedding. It is somewhat of a honeymoon location.

Upon my arrival at this house, being one of three groomsmen, I was placed in and at times locked into a small hot, room with the groom. During this time I heard a few wedding traditions I will probably never speak of, reviewed my duties for the day, and just waited as people hurried in and out and made sure all the plans were in place and we had everything we needed. And that was mostly my duty--sticking with the groom.

Around noon we ate lunch, then went back to the tiny room to change. For a moment I was concerned there would not be space, but that was until I was informed I could stand on the bed, which hoarded about three fourths of the room. We dawned our all white suits and shoes with red ties, and entered into two small SUV’s adorned with red ribbons and bows.

Bumping over roads and praying our way up slippery hills, we came to a house where we picked up the bride and her maids. First, however, the bride and groom drank milk together, representing that the dowry of cows was given to the bride’s family, and it brought good milk (Rodrigue and Aimee did not seem to think this, for it was hard to tell if the milk even went past their lips). Then, the caravan of cars continued, and it was time for the church ceremony to commence.

The protocol for this part of a day was not much different from an American wedding. But the seizure like dancing of the wedding singer, the amount we perspired in our suits, the hooping of the audience and conversely the serious, funeral like expressions made by the bride and groom were far from what an American would expect (this is typical, it was not a sad wedding).

Pictures followed and then the reception, where it seemed like every person present gave a speech.
There was cake, and it was cut by the bride and groom, who each served it to each other’s family. The groomsmen and bride’s maids repeated this action, only this time distributing it to the audience.

Around 7 oclock, there was one more event left at the groom’s house, which I only partially attended, because my taxi driver needed to go, and public transportation after dark in a place I did not know well was not a good option. Departure was the most confusing part of the day for me, going from people telling me I am hungry and need to eat dinner, to the taxi needs to go now, to I need to change clothes to I don’t have time to change, back to I need to have dinner, with me asking if I can say goodbye to the bride and groom between every plan change, and all this within a span of 10 minutes.

The day will never pass from my mind, akaramata.

Communion

2010-03-08T07:16:00.000-08:00

Preceding physical communion, pastors often refer to 1 Corinthians 11. In verse 27 and 28 of that passage, Paul writes “whoever, therefore, eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of profaning the body and the blood of the Lord. Let a person examine himself, then, and so eat of the bread and drink of the cup.” In the past, those two verses have instilled a sense of worry, fear and guilt in my heart.

In the past, I have never taken the elements at a friends church where fingers and palms are cleansed with sanitizer before hand, and the wine is replaced with orange fanta.

In one sense, our call to self examination should make us uncomfortable--being accountable to God and others almost always will, for can we ever say we have been transformed to a perfect citizen of His Kingdom on this earth? However, The very act of communion is a recognition that we do not have to be perfect.

The time of self examination is not a place where we should agonize and obsess over whether or not our life is in perfect condition and we are untouched by sin; for that very reason Christ‘s body was broken and his blood shed. The call to communion is a call to fellowship with Christ, by confessing our sin, accepting his love, declaring his grace sufficient and allowing Him to wash our feet.

What profanes Christ’s body as Paul talked about is rejecting grace by being too worried whether we are in the perfect condition to accept Christ’s sacrifice or mark ourselves unworthy of his work.

It is for that reason that we don’t even have to sanitize our hands before touching the bread and wine, for it is in remembering Christ’s sacrifice and accepting it that we are cleansed.

A Rwandan Wedding, Part 1.

2010-03-07T02:16:00.000-08:00

After accompanying the groom two and a half hours later than scheduled, sitting in the back of a car saturated with an excess of cologne and almost showing up at the wrong party, I attended my first Rwandan wedding.

There are typically two different ceremonies, one called civil and the other religious. The former is peaceful, but in the latter fights often break our between the two families so it is not often practiced.

Not really, but today was the civil ceremony where the groom gives a dowry to the family of the bride, traditionally of cows. Next week, I will blog about my experience as a groomsmen in the religious ceremony.

The event was held at the bride’s house , where three tents where set up, one for the bride’s friends and family, and one for the groom’s. The third tent was where the bride and groom came together, uniting the families.

Dialogue between family representatives took up most of the ceremony, which also included dancing, singing, gift giving, and most importantly the family of the bride’s acquisition of imaginary cows. “Imaginary” because in most cases, the bovine are either in another location or money is given in their stead. In this wedding, representatives from each side went outside the walled property to make sure the unseen milk makers were utterly perfect. To my surprise, the friends of the groom honored me as part of this examination. Being one of two white men there, the audience was greatly entertained by my participation in such a deep cultural tradition.

At the end there was a reception with a full meal, a prayer, and final word from each family. The bride and groom were available for about 10 minutes, and then separated--I know this because I went home with the groom--for they will not live together until the religious binding next week.

My angle and camera were limited, but here are some of the shots I could muster that could reveal some of the quirks of a rwandan wedding.

8 O'clock Dinner

2010-02-21T02:17:00.000-08:00

No one would dispute that transitioning from life in America to sub-Sahara Africa comes with many radical changes. But who would expect one of the hardest among these not to be to food, but the meal time?

In a country where many live only to find food and survive the day, it seems petty to complain about the time I “come on the table,” as some say in African English.

But beginning dinner between 7:15 and 8:30 can bring that out of an American. Don’t forget this American has been hearing another language all day and wants to go to bed at 8:30. Unfortunately, that’s not much of an option when your hostess has been cutting, peeling, and cooking for the last hour and a half ”for you,” as my hostess usually says to guests about remaining food, even after devouring a mountain of rice, beans, French fries, some mushy green stuff and vegetables. The hot tea must not be forsaken either, for as my host family also says “How can you survive without tea?”

Night after night, I have grumbled about it (and still do), but as I have often waited and listened for the definitive sound of pots clanging down on the table incremently over fifteen to thirty minutes, the sin of myself and much of American culture surfaced--our dependence upon food to keep us chipper.

In the states, we can bless it and thank God for it all we want. But rather than it being a privilege, it has become something we deserve. To go without one meal or even a snack is challenging, and I know this from my own experience.

How is it that we are so dependent that often our mood changes because we lack only a little? How can I justify my complaints about eating dinner at 8 when so many would do much to have a third or even second meal at any time of day?

Well, its only 5:30 now, so I will have a couple more hours to ponder that one before dinner.

2010-02-03T06:30:00.001-08:00

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

2010-01-26T02:21:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-06T02:45:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-23T00:33:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-18T02:28:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-04T07:48:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-01T05:11:00.000-08:00

Colors and Noises of a Rwandan Graduation

2009-11-26T03:28:00.000-08:00

On Sunday, November 22, I went with Dave Thomas to a Bible School graduation in northern Rwanda. A seat in the missionary’s SUV was a coveted one. All ten spots were taken, and the last spot was filled by an unexpected traveler. After a two hour drive through the beautiful hills of Rwanda, we arrived at the church where the ceremony would soon take place.

The interior walls were painted a bright royal blue, and the people were no less clad in color for the joyful occasion. The women wore their best dresses while most of the men dressed in suits. I was not focused on who had the best attire, but the most loudly dressed was by far the worship leader. He wore white, pinstriped pants, a pinstriped shirt and a red tie with white polk-a-dots.

Most people sat on wooden benches, save the church leaders and missionaries, who sat on stage in an assortment of leather, wooden and plastic chairs.

Despite the formality of dress, the schedule was loose and informal. The whole event lasted four and a half hours, lasting one hour more than planned. It began with the entrance of the graduates, who danced and sung to the beat of a raucous synthesizer.

The leaders gave many brief remarks, several choirs came to sing, and another speech was given. After an hour or so, the students received their diplomas--more like a packet of papers--shaking hands with a line of leaders.

Next came a thirty minute sermon and even more speeches from the leaders, laced with hallelujahs and amens. Often at the end of a statement, a quick drum beat or musical interlude rose up from the speakers, much like the band of a comedian plays at the end of a joke. Throughout all this, the audience--mostly those on stage--were up and down taking pictures and whispering in another’s ear. Three times my missionary friend and I got up, and three times we returned only to find our seat was taken.

The graduates then gathered in the middle of the room, received gifts, sang a song, and danced emphatically back to their seats. Of course, the regional needed to say a few more words and prayer before it ended, but after that the ceremony came to a close and the reception commenced.

Though it was much longer than my liking, I am sure God was pleased, and that’s all that matters. Actually, He was probably ready for more.

A Feast of Football Culture

2009-11-15T09:22:00.000-08:00

On Tuesday, Brad and I went to The football stadium to see the actual FIFA World Cup Trophy. It is on tour through Africa, so we had to go see it while it was here for one day. The president, Paul Kagame, was the only one allowed to touch the cup, and hoisted it up to the cheers of about 15,000 people. It was the first time for both of us to see it in person, and will probably be the last unless Papa Dana sends a big check for me to go to the World Cup in South Africa in June. It won’t happen.

Then on Saturday, we went to a World Cup qualifying game; Rwanda vs. Zambia. It was a delicious morsel of football culture. The entertainment began an hour before the game when a group of fans adorned in the Rwandan flags came dancing, blasting their air horns several rows in front of us. The game started and stopped, but the horns never did.

During the game, eight players were “seriously” injured and taken off on a stretchers. Five of them immediately reentered the game after they got off the stretcher on the sideline.

It was a fun atmosphere but unfortunately the game ended in a 0-0 tie. I wish I could say more about the game, but I will not attempt to be a sports fan who knows nothing about the sport but completely analyzes the performance.

2009-11-08T02:37:00.000-08:00

Sitting Around the World

2009-11-07T23:51:00.000-08:00

I was recently in a discussion about poverty when a more story about a poor Rwandan woman was brought to the conversation. In rainy season, the woman was able to grow some food with what she had and provide something for her family. When dry season came around, her life turned and became quite stormy. She was unable to get enough water, and simply sat. While her family struggled to eat, she sat. While she herself starved, she sat. She had no sense of her identity in Christ, thinking she could do nothing about it.

If this poor woman would have expressed her action in words, I am afraid they would sound something like this: “I am poor and I am stupid, so God wouldn’t possibly give me of all people the strength to do something about it. My community cant change either, so maybe a rich person will come along and give me money. That will fix all my problems. Still, I am hopeless.”

Unfortunately, these heartbreaking words are often the mindset of the poor, and this is not just an issue with one woman. Her story represents the story of many Rwandans.

I don’t think the lady in Rwanda is much different from many Americans who constantly have work and plenty of money for the “necessities” of life; food, clothing, and shelter. In Rwanda poverty is obvious, laid bare for all to see. It is everywhere. The poverty of America is often hidden within us, but wherever we go we carry it with us. You just cant see it.

Our reaction to difficulties is often like the poor womans, and I know this from personal experience. Our feet may be scurrying around, but spiritually, we sit, worrying and soaking in our sin. Instead of bringing our problems into the light of Christ, we relish the darkness, and keep it to ourselves.

We could confess our sins and sorrows to God and our family in Christ, but no. Our thought process often goes like this “No, it would be too humiliating. What would other people think? Surely they would think poorly of me, and I wouldn’t want to be like those people who have laid bare their troubles, they aren’t respected. I am hopeless.”

At that moment, we reject the power of the cross, and we forget who we are; a child of the living God.

This presents quite a paradox. Our cultures and customs may be vastly different, but as creatures of God, we stand on common ground. When God opens our eyes to the motivation of all our works, both good and evil, we see that we are all searching for the same thing. We are all searching to know Yahweh.

Football Pictures

2009-10-24T02:25:00.001-07:00

This is Where I Live

2009-10-24T02:23:00.001-07:00

TIA

2009-10-16T05:30:00.000-07:00

When one first takes residence on the great continent of Africa, the gut checking yet blaringly obvious statement, TIA (This is Africa) is quickly learned and engrained in the thoughts and language of expatriates.

Every weekday, I have a ten minute walk to school down a dirt road. The way is full of children pointing and literally screaming “Umuzungu! Umuzungu!” (White person! White Person!), or “How are you? How are you?” Often times when I say hello, the response I hear is, “I’m fine,” before I even ask how are you? Who teaches them English anyway? Oh wait, that’s me. Some would say, TIA.

This weekend, I am planning to checked for amoebae. I am not sure what they are exactly, but I googled it and on wisegeek.com it tells me that “The amoeba is a relatively advanced form of unicellular organism. Amoebas are able to extend and remit their cytoplasm, or internal fluids, and form blob-like arms called pseudopodia. They use these to grasp food particles and propel themselves through microscopic terrain.” I don’t know what that means, but they could be in my intestines! Some would say, TIA.

Currently I am downloading the new version of itunes. I began working on it about 5 to minutes ago, and so far about 1/25th of it is loaded. But at least the green loading bar is in sight now, it was not 5 minutes ago. Some would say, TIA.

On Sundays, I often hear people singing, synthesizers rocking, and pastors passionately preaching. I hear many people worshipping God, and during the week I am sure there are many worshipping as they hoe their gardens, build walls, sell food, and get vehicles out of a ditches.

Whenever I come home from work, my host family greets me with "welcome," food on the table and generous hearts.

I hear stories of incredible faith through war, reconciliation workshops, and victims forgiving murderers, taking them into their homes as family.

TIA.

Reading the Bible with the Spirit

2009-10-03T07:05:00.000-07:00

This is not about Africa. I read this quote in To Kill a Mockingbird.

"...sometimes the Bible in the hand of one man is worse than a whiskey bottle in the hand of--oh, your father..."

This quote demonstrates that it is not about how much, but simply how we read the the Bible.
Through our own eyes, it easy to twist and to change and to add to what the Bible says. Yet we cannot begin to comprehend its truth without the guidance of the Spirit.

When how much we know about the Bible is abused and when we misinterpret it for our own satisfaction, Christians and Christ are easily misinterpreted.

Reading the Bible should not be approached with the fear of making a misinterpretation or a mistake, but with a complete trust that the Spirit will lead us to what He wants to teach us and will let us know when we put our own beliefs into the word before the Spirit puts it's word into us.

We can change the Bible, but we cant change the Spirit, and we can read the Bible as much as we want, but without the Spirit it means nothing.

Read with the Spirit baby!

A Taste of Heaven

2009-09-26T03:06:00.000-07:00

"God is so good, God is so good, God is so good, He's so good, He's so good to me." These were the words of my heart and mouth as I sat around the dinner table with John and our Rwandan host family praising the Lord together in English and Kinyarwanda.

Before that we had exchanged new words from our native tongues, laughing much along the way. It was a simple scene as we sat and ate together, yet it was also quite profound, reflecting our future home in heaven. It reminded me of Revelation and the gathering of Christians from every nation worshipping the Lord.

Afterwards, John and I both mentioned how full we felt of the love of God, and how blessed we felt to have such a great host family.

Yesu ashimwe!

A Taste of Home

2009-09-25T07:35:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, John, Brad and I shared a great time of community in a nice, American coffee shop. Or at least we thought we were in America.

Walking into the café, we immediately felt at home. This place, called Bourbon, was complete with leather chairs, bzingu, (white people), English speaking waiters, internet, and blended coffee drinks. It was a great time of fellowship.

Today, John and I went back. I enjoyed a bowl of fresh fruit while John chowed down on a

cheeseburger and fries. This will definitely be a great place to unwind in the future.

Sweeping the Dirt With Jesus

2009-09-19T06:30:00.000-07:00

Almost every morning during my ten minute walk to African Christian Jungle School, I have seen someone bending over, sweeping the dirt road in front of their homes or businesses, with a broomstick that lacks the actual stick.

Sweeping the dirt?

What is the point of that? Many people walk on this road and will quickly walk over the “tidied” dirt, not to mention that wind or rainfall soon may pass.

When living in a foreign country, one often categorizes cultural incidents as “right,” “wrong” or what it really is most of the time, “different.” In my immediate reaction to seeing the sweepers, I categorized it as wrong. But my thoughts about it quickly changed from wrong to right. Different wasn’t even an option. The people who sweep the dirt are simply acting our of pure graciousness and desire to make their home look its best.

In approaching situations like this, our first reaction is to wonder, why would you do that? Yet we do not know the hearts of the people or the reasons behind their different actions.

Coming from his abode in the heavens, the ultimate culture crosser was, and is, and will be Jesus. It seems like coming from Heaven to Earth, would be quite the transition, except for the fact that he had already done it through telephone, I mean, prayer, with people in the Old Testament. Besides the fact that he was God and was perfect, he was able to reach people because he knew their heart. He sat with them by a well, ate with them, and washed their feet.

If he were here today, I imagine he would understand exactly what the people who sweep the dirt were doing, and why. In fact, I think he would be sweeping the dirt with them.

God, Provider of Toilets, Part 2

2009-09-17T04:27:00.000-07:00

The other night I walked into a bathroom about the size of a outhouse, constructed from mud brick. After observing a large cockroach on the side of the wall, I all of the sudden was able wait until morning quite easily. I cannot say I was not very thankful for this bathroom at all.

As I thought about it more later, I realized I had missed the point. I was focusing on this little cockroach that was probably not going to do anything, when I could have gloried in the fact that there was actually a toilet seat, a rare sighting in one those bathrooms.

This story reminds me of something a friend said in open worship once. He talked about the focus feature on a camera, and how often times we choose to focus on the unpleasant things in life as opposed to what is good. In my experience, I had to be reminded of the good of a nice toilet, not letting my mind be transfixed on a cockroach.

This sounds cheesy, I know, but when cockroaches crawl on the outhouse of your life, what do you choose to focus on?

Our House

2009-09-13T01:59:00.001-07:00

God, Provider of Toilets Part 1

2009-09-12T02:45:00.000-07:00

As we conversed and ate dinner together recently, the big news that we had been anticipating throughout the day came in “The toilet is ready!” “Who wants to go see the new toilet?” Promptly dropping our plates and walking across the street with excitement, about 10 of us went to behold the new throne. Beyond the leaked water from the old toilet, we saw the shiny new one, quite technologically advanced, with two buttons on top, one for a stronger flush than the other. We made sure to applaud the plumber and celebrate the new arrival.

If you wondering why I am writing this or why you should care, its not because I think toilets are funny. Its because I think God takes delight in this kind of community; a group of his followers, called to declare good news to the world, rejoicing over a new toilet.

I cannot really imagine anything like this happening in the states, mostly because we are often blind in seeing how a toilet and little things like it can reveal God’s goodness. Things like running water and a nice carpet floor pass us by. Proverbs 1:20-21 says this: “Wisdom cries aloud in the street, in the markets she raises her voice; at the head of the noisy streets she cries out; at the entrance of the city gates she speaks.” God’s goodness cries out in the streets, in the markets, and yes, in the bathrooms too.

Next time you walk by your bathroom, see God’s goodness and thank Him for it.