Watching in awe as the world takes to the streets with the #BlackLivesMatter. And in some ways feeling disconnected from the crucial turmoil of the land of our birth, 1.9 million known coronavirus infections, 109 thousand known deaths, cities too numerous to count filled with popular uprising, articles and posts and advice and rage and prayer and lament and grief and hope.
But then I remember, our entire life rests on a foundational truth that Black Lives Matter, to God and to the world and to us. And that public health matters, that racism and poverty and disparity kill, that mercy and truth hold our hands and lead us forward.
The past week's view from the continent of Africa has been one of wrestling with the simultaneous sense of periphery and pivot point.
Periphery, because the unseen forces that drive the response to malaria or sickle cell, or make policies about education or trade, or direct flows of minerals and resources, cannot be captured on 8 minutes and 46 painful seconds of video, even though they are just as deadly. Injustice personified has helped spark appropriate reckoning; but also could lead us to forget the pervasiveness of the problem. Periphery, because we live in the bizarre reality of being a minority and having privilege, working in a difficult unpopular job where we can be both targeted and excused. Periphery, because we learned from and invested in multiracial church and community in Baltimore and Chicago in our training years, but left that behind to come to Africa. . . . and now we are both proud and nostalgic to see the massive crowds demonstrating support for justice.
Pivot point, because I can see African posts that look at the 400 year theft of humanity from these shores as a grievous loss of progeny, an inexcusable disruption of the lineage, a dangerous untethering of souls. From a place where the patrilineal connection to ancestors is centrally important to identity and negotiation and culture and power, the idea that 12% of the USA population had that systematically destroyed by human trafficking and the subsequent stamping out of family ties by separating and selling children is unfathomable. Where are the elders, the nations, to speak up for the rights of these descendants? And pivotally too, almost every life we intersect and partner with and extend ourselves toward is Black. 1.3 billion people, 16% of the world lives on this continent, and the highest rates of growth are here. Much of the world may not consider Africa pivotal, but as the likely garden of human origin and the likely future centre of innovation and human flourishing, maybe it is.
So bear with us. A few thoughts in a crowded arena of processing. Because the best thing we can all do for each other is to share our true stories, to connect on a human level, to do the hard work of understanding diversity and embracing it.
And for some people right now looking at life, there may be a desire to position one's trajectory such that pandemics and politics find you doing justice, loving mercy, and walking humbly (Micah 6:8, the verse we chose for our prayer card). If so, this is what it might look like.
First, the humbly part. WE MAKE MISTAKES. In this decade or the next I have no doubt that our eyes will be opened more and more to the extent of the harms we have engendered. Money spent out of frustration rather than intentionality, judgement rendered harshly of difference, pushing of our own agendas. In the thousands of voices right now, ours and others will say the wrong thing because we are wrong. We have to acknowledge that. Humbly means listening and learning, day by day, our whole lives long. Humbly means working small-scale and unseen, one patient, one student, one neighbour at a time. Scott about a week ago described his job on the maternity ward as finding the one sheep out of a hundred that was not going to make it into the fold of life. I think that's a good visual of the war-zone like chaos of many of our hours. It's not glorious and often not immediately obvious that it is even helpful, but over time the little acts of healing accrue into redemption. I listened to a TED talk interview with the founders of #BlackLivesMatter, three women who started the social media campaign in 2013 after the killer of 17-year-old junior-in-high-school Trayvon Martin was acquitted of murder. In it one of the women said that justice can't trickle down by focusing on the haves, it must bubble up in effervescence by focusing on the have-nots. That sounds very Biblical.
In the middle, loving mercy. A call to love in a time of sorrow is not simple. Here are the verses that have challenged me this week, from Psalm 119: 28-32.
And most importantly, the primary goal of life according to the verse: DO JUSTLY. The emphasis, grammatically, is on the DO. I think that has echoed in many posts this week. Don't be performative of empathy, get into the trenches somewhere and get sweaty, take risks, hands-on with skills or willingness. Get trained. Get experience. Let go of safety nets. Whatever calling one has, look for that marginal place to bubble it up into redeeming change. Whatever metric one has for decision making, make sure the adverb JUSTLY applies. Missions could be another word for Reparations. Freely we have received, freely give, because there are places and people who have been pushed down by the forces that propelled us towards degrees and health. In this year of loss and reckoning, if you are thinking of where to put your shoulder to the plow, here is a good place to start.
But then I remember, our entire life rests on a foundational truth that Black Lives Matter, to God and to the world and to us. And that public health matters, that racism and poverty and disparity kill, that mercy and truth hold our hands and lead us forward.
We were both happy to get a treatable diagnosis, for an otherwise fatal disease (TB) thanks to the good work of our lab and clinical team.
The past week's view from the continent of Africa has been one of wrestling with the simultaneous sense of periphery and pivot point.
Periphery, because the unseen forces that drive the response to malaria or sickle cell, or make policies about education or trade, or direct flows of minerals and resources, cannot be captured on 8 minutes and 46 painful seconds of video, even though they are just as deadly. Injustice personified has helped spark appropriate reckoning; but also could lead us to forget the pervasiveness of the problem. Periphery, because we live in the bizarre reality of being a minority and having privilege, working in a difficult unpopular job where we can be both targeted and excused. Periphery, because we learned from and invested in multiracial church and community in Baltimore and Chicago in our training years, but left that behind to come to Africa. . . . and now we are both proud and nostalgic to see the massive crowds demonstrating support for justice.
Pivot point, because I can see African posts that look at the 400 year theft of humanity from these shores as a grievous loss of progeny, an inexcusable disruption of the lineage, a dangerous untethering of souls. From a place where the patrilineal connection to ancestors is centrally important to identity and negotiation and culture and power, the idea that 12% of the USA population had that systematically destroyed by human trafficking and the subsequent stamping out of family ties by separating and selling children is unfathomable. Where are the elders, the nations, to speak up for the rights of these descendants? And pivotally too, almost every life we intersect and partner with and extend ourselves toward is Black. 1.3 billion people, 16% of the world lives on this continent, and the highest rates of growth are here. Much of the world may not consider Africa pivotal, but as the likely garden of human origin and the likely future centre of innovation and human flourishing, maybe it is.
So bear with us. A few thoughts in a crowded arena of processing. Because the best thing we can all do for each other is to share our true stories, to connect on a human level, to do the hard work of understanding diversity and embracing it.
And for some people right now looking at life, there may be a desire to position one's trajectory such that pandemics and politics find you doing justice, loving mercy, and walking humbly (Micah 6:8, the verse we chose for our prayer card). If so, this is what it might look like.
First, the humbly part. WE MAKE MISTAKES. In this decade or the next I have no doubt that our eyes will be opened more and more to the extent of the harms we have engendered. Money spent out of frustration rather than intentionality, judgement rendered harshly of difference, pushing of our own agendas. In the thousands of voices right now, ours and others will say the wrong thing because we are wrong. We have to acknowledge that. Humbly means listening and learning, day by day, our whole lives long. Humbly means working small-scale and unseen, one patient, one student, one neighbour at a time. Scott about a week ago described his job on the maternity ward as finding the one sheep out of a hundred that was not going to make it into the fold of life. I think that's a good visual of the war-zone like chaos of many of our hours. It's not glorious and often not immediately obvious that it is even helpful, but over time the little acts of healing accrue into redemption. I listened to a TED talk interview with the founders of #BlackLivesMatter, three women who started the social media campaign in 2013 after the killer of 17-year-old junior-in-high-school Trayvon Martin was acquitted of murder. In it one of the women said that justice can't trickle down by focusing on the haves, it must bubble up in effervescence by focusing on the have-nots. That sounds very Biblical.
37 days in the NICU and taking all three baby girls home. Triplet survivals are not common. Small unseen faithfulness of a mom, a family, nurses, cleaners, a well-wishing hat knitter, and a couple of docs.
Apologies I screen shotted this off a news story because the connection to what we had been feeling was so perfect. Caring about the 1 sheep is what #BlackLivesMatter is about.
My soul melts from heaviness;
Strengthen me according to Your word.
Remove me from the way of lying,
And grant me Your law graciously.
I have chosen the way of truth:
Your judgments I have laid before me.
I cling to your testimonies:
O LORD, do not put me to shame!
I will run the course of your commandments,
For You shall enlarge my heart.
Loving mercy means, it is not just about what we do, it is about who we are becoming. As we butt our heads agains the walls of evil day in and day out, a weary heart can easily become cynical, cold, constricted. Honestly just about every day I end up pushed to the edge and beyond and my faith drops off into angry defensiveness. But in this passage, even though the poet is pouring out a melted heavy soul of grief, is struggling to choose truth over lies, is clinging to God and feeling the impending threat of shame . . . the hope is this: in the struggle, God will enlarge my heart. Rather than protecting ourselves from videos of aggressively violent police or from daily interaction with hungry and hurting children, let us run the course while God enlarges our hearts.
Sickling cells plug up the small vessels and lead to excruciating pain. It is tempting to minimize or look away, to quickly treat and move on. Today's Kate Bowler broadcast with Wes Moore said that sympathy is a love that sees pain and feels sorry for the other person, but empathy is a love that feels your pain as my own. That is a Spirit-gift that we need.
And most importantly, the primary goal of life according to the verse: DO JUSTLY. The emphasis, grammatically, is on the DO. I think that has echoed in many posts this week. Don't be performative of empathy, get into the trenches somewhere and get sweaty, take risks, hands-on with skills or willingness. Get trained. Get experience. Let go of safety nets. Whatever calling one has, look for that marginal place to bubble it up into redeeming change. Whatever metric one has for decision making, make sure the adverb JUSTLY applies. Missions could be another word for Reparations. Freely we have received, freely give, because there are places and people who have been pushed down by the forces that propelled us towards degrees and health. In this year of loss and reckoning, if you are thinking of where to put your shoulder to the plow, here is a good place to start.
A resurrection never gets old. Wednesday she had a heart rate of 200, was hypoxic and convulsing. Septic shock. The staff got her the right fluids, antibiotics and oxygen and on Friday she was just a cute little girl in a frilly pink dress.
This team needs help. The Carrigan family (not pictured, medical and literacy) left a few weeks ago at the end of their 5-year term, and the Shickels (center photo, nutrition and project managing) are leaving in one week at the end of their 18 months. We are posing (with a little social distance) on Martyr's Day, a reminder of the rich history in Uganda of the Jesus Path, drinking the cup of suffering and finding the joy of redemption.
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