Soul-sapping injustice and injury, what is our hope?

 Yesterday's Psalm was 23, which we've all read to many times we tune out. But I dutifully did read it through and the phrase that struck me was "he restores my soul." Not the most obvious image of a shepherd. Grass and water to meet our needs,  straight paths to safety, even a staff to pull us from wandering, all make sense with the image. But soul restoration gets at the deep weariness of wilderness. 

Our souls have been sapped this July. We knew that bringing the Area together for a retreat would meet resistance on some level, though probably never expected the venue to cancel, the country chosen for being our most stable to become our most fragile, several families in health or trauma crisis. God met us and we are deeply grateful. But that probably didn't set us up for returning as nearly the lone workers left in a remote place full of its own sorrows. And frankly, who would have guessed that the BANK would be the hardest part of the week?

Bringing justice in the form of water, nutrition, education, medical care, translation, truth, love, costs. It actually costs money as well as time and energy. 30+ years ago we had to do all our banking and administrative tasks in the capital, and we couldn't even drive there in a single day, so a lot HAS improved. (Does anyone remember photos of us counting out cash whose highest denomination was worth less than a dollar, to pay for buildings and salaries? Or our risk traveling on the nearly impassable mountain roads plagued by bandits? We are thankful that banks now exist out here.).  But one of the hidden costs of still living on the margins is that systems jump ahead aspirationally without capacity to meet their own requirements.  People assigned to less desirable posts are often trying to follow rules they have almost no understanding of, and tasks that should be straightforward can eat up hours, days, weeks. Though we're a mission with a long history and track record, we find ourselves having to jump through hoops designed to root out criminal intent and negligence. Long story short, the bank froze our accounts for Christ School and BundiNutrition with zero warning this week, and presented us (piece by piece) with two lists of 26 steps required to reopen them, mostly forms obtained from Kampala, signed by people in Bundibugyo, returned to Kampala for the sole "certifying" authority to put their stamp on, then returned to the bank branch in Bundibugyo. That's still 7 to 8 hours drive each way. 

We have spent hours daily this week searching old files, meeting people, downloading forms, sitting at the bank manager's desk. It's Saturday afternoon, and we have 12 of the 26 requirements done, our CSB accountant  is now fully involved, plus some help from a MAF administrator, and advice from former team. We were able to keep the nutrition program running this week and next on the repayment this month of money stolen last year. But if the bank decides NOT to let us access all the donor funds and parent tuition fees we've banked, then staff payroll on the 30th of July could be late for the first time in the school's history. Which feels very soul-sapping. 

As soon as we returned from the retreat, the soul-sapping of real people with real problems met us too, accidents and illnesses, sorrows and losses. The bank inefficiency and arbitrary unwritten policies are painful, but even worse are the non-bank local money-lenders. A friend had borrowed the equivalent of about $200 a year ago, and with the compounding interest he owed closer to a thousand less than a year later, with threats of jail. Injustice hurts real people, and we understand the Jesus who crashed those tables over in the temple courtyard.

One of the lines from our retreat that sticks with me is the "open wound of hope".  (Thanks Doug McKelvey). We have enough hopeful imagination to look ahead, to know that the muck of injustice is wrong. But that makes living with the current world hard. I had a surgeon in my prayer group, and I told him this open wound of hope can't be stitched up with fine plastic-surgery-sutures, cleanly quickly closed and forgotten. Instead it's a wound that has to be healed by "secondary intention", cleaned and packed with gauze, then the bandage ripped off to cause a little bleeding down to healthy tissue that slowly fills in. Lament is the name of that scrub. Acknowledging the suffering, calling out that it is wrong. Sticking with the care over months not minutes. Celebrating the beauty of a shiny lumpy scar tissue, like Jesus did on his hands and feet and side. 

This is how our soul is restored too. Psalm 119 prays "expand my heart". Not by a neat stitch, but by stretching and a serging of the frayed edges that result. Refilling the soul with hope.

visiting sick friends in the hospital, an "overflow" area we built many years ago for NHC still in good use!

Some days we need the trucks to preach

And most days we need to life our eyes to the hills and remember our help will come, even if the clouds obscure the view.

East and Central Africa Retreat: Hope in the Midst of Grief

 Two weeks ago (see post below) we were in the storm, at night, tossed by waves and about to capsize, wondering how to get 180 people to a retreat in a country descending into protest-met-by-violent-suppression, wondering how to help our team leader from Congo who was dangerously ill with a severe post-influenza pneumonia needing medical evacuation, juggling some needs of other people we supervise going through trial and crisis, trying to support and connect with family at home after my nephew had a near-fatal motorcycle accident, all in the context of our newly pared-to-three Bundibugyo team bearing the weight of water and Christ School and nutrition and life. In that rocking chaos, we turned to Jesus with the same questions of the disciples long ago, are you awake? Do you care? And we asked you to pray.

You did, and Jesus was with us.

Serge East and Central Africa, July 2024 

The retreat was rich and full, Anna was discharged from the hospital yesterday, and my nephew is on his long road to recovery . . . we are grateful for all of that. But the image that came to me today is not a smooth lake with gentle sunshine, far from it. Rather, a boat in a current that is the Spirit moving us into the veiled future, still asking for faith, still gripping the sides, out of the storm but into the stream.

Our speaker Doug McKelvey, author of the Every Moment Holy series of liturgies for daily life, spoke of hope in the midst of grief. He acknowledged the weakness, incompletion, disappointment, struggle, and sorrow of our journey, and the resistance we meet when trying to bring God's good to a broken world. And he did so in his poetic, articulate and scriptural way. . . . all the while pointing us to truth, that this is ultimately not our story but God's, that through the scars He is redeeming all into beauty. That our limited resources are a bowl into which He pours the wine of transformation. That we are shaped not by our past mistakes, but by the future glory God is creating out of all of us. That we are loved.

The four mornings of teaching where hopeful and real. And accompanied by community worship, personal individual reflection time, team by team sharing, and then re-shuffling the deck to meet in small groups and pray. The four afternoons were free for community-building at the pool and ocean, and the evenings drew us back together to hear from leadership, have extended worship, see "family videos" our SEAM team has produced, and dream together towards the future. Our goal was to create a space where our colleagues met with God and with each other. That happened. What was unexpectedly beautiful for me was that God created a space in my own mom/leader heart of wonder and love, just seeing this group, hearing the stories, after the past years of injury and COVID isolations and barriers . . . being together was richer than ever.

So here we are post-retreat, back in Bundibugyo, back to countless email and zooms, back to loving from afar our Area and family in the States, back to holding up the good work started over more than 3 decades with less help and more administrative requirements. Back into a fast-moving current of working for the all-things-new good of the paradoxical kingdom of Jesus, where students from a marginal district win scholarships to university (our CSB kids took 7 of the 8 for our district!!) and we rent a huge bus to take all the seniors to see beyond Bundibugyo to Ugandan wonders of hydroelectricity generation, cattle breeding, cobalt mining, and the glorious animals of a national park. Back to a place that values prayers for the sheer miracle of living through the dangers of a dark night of malevolent evil, of daily reminders of sickness and poverty, loan sharks and injustice. 

Back into the hidden currents of grace, trusting that even if we pass through class 5 rapids, the end is good.

Bob and Nancy, our Executive Director for 2 decades, at home in Africa

Alyssa, Rachel, Eric, Jess and Ansley were the Retreat committee that pulled this off. Eric also led worship (below).

My "kids" for the week, as their mom recovered .. . fun perks of being Area Directors. 

The meals added to the sense of celebratory community.

Most days we were able to run into the waves in the afternoon!

This year executive directorship passes from Bob to Matt. Matt began his Serge service right here in Africa with us post-college. Sweet full circle to have him serving communion to an Area that was less than 30 people back then and now is 180.

We are Area Directors but also Team Leaders for Uganda . . this is our crew!

These two got their Serge shirts signed by any and everyone, which for me symbolized our life together. 

If anyone has modeled hope in the midst of grief, it's the Watts, thankful they could end their Serge service at this retreat and we bless them as they return to Canada to teach at Trinity Western University in Vancouver.

And we end with why we come back: students like Judith, applying faith to the dangers and disappointments of real life, and testifying to God's power in prayer.. . . here at CSB as well as at the beautiful Kenyan coast.

Snapped this last night for potential recruits on a voice-only call, back to real life of distant connections at the desk and ever grateful for the rich week of face-to-face.

Waves pounding, boat rocking, on course?

 We all know the story where Jesus is asleep during an overpowering storm on the lake as the disciples fear for their lives. They've just heard the sermon on the mount, including how to pray, and reassurance of their worth and not to worry. They've just seen multiple people healed. And he's just told them that life with him is not cozy and safe, that they are on a purposeful journey where home is left behind. And yet, the power of the storm makes them wonder if they all took a wrong turn, if their master who was "willing" to heal leprosy has forgotten their vulnerability. 

And that's where we live most of the time, particularly this week. Fairly certain that we were getting on the boat WITH Jesus, that leaving home behind was His idea, that He will preserve our souls . . . yet grabbing onto the tossing, wet, nauseating ride with real tension. 

Our storms include Kenya, which has descended into some sorrowful chaos in the last week. Since this is the country where we have the most teams and people these days, and the location of our Area retreat for 180+ people due to start this coming Monday, with multiple traveling into and through hot spots . . . . hard timing for an implosion with massive popular marches to protest new tax structures being met by harsh repressive security (police and military) in downtown Nairobi, resulting in at least 23 young people killed. Today even the American embassy closed and sent warnings to stay out of the city. 

Which is complicated by storm number two, a team leader in DRC sick enough with pneumonia to feel unable to cough and breathe,  justifying a medical evacuation to Nairobi. As the city in our Area with the most resources, it makes sense to access the highest levels of complex care there, but again rough timing. The combination of significant illness and uncertain security tosses the proverbial boat towards crashing.

And the background of darkness and cloud and thunder too . . . both of our families in America have had a difficult Junes. We wish we were there with Scott's mom, and with my nephew (who was critically injured in a motorcycle accident and is on a long rocky path of recovery). Not to mention that this is our first month post-normal-Bundibugyo-team, with all the realities of keeping the school, the water project, nutrition, and an environmental education outreach afloat (plus the local mission staff) falling now to only Ann and us. 

All of those waves throw us into a disoriented desperation. Does Jesus see? Care? Probably more likely to doubt His intentions than His capacity. Why is He asleep?

Jesus seemed more surprised by the fear than by the storm. Perhaps he didn't expect to be immune to weather patterns any more than to tiredness or hunger, He was a fully human participant in a world where things go wrong. Or perhaps He also expected supernatural ripples of trouble anywhere He went, and knew that none of that could ultimately divert Him. In any case, he saw their fear and responded with calm. 

We can't see as He does, yet, the importance of every wave to create the better-than-ever outcome of an all-things-new world of beauty and grace. We can't parse each storm and justify it, or know when we will be suddenly out of danger and into an unexpected starlit sheen of smooth water, versus when we'll be thrown overboard to gasp for a whale's rescue. We can only know that Jesus is present, and paying attention, and able to bring good from even the fiercest storms.

Praying that this week turns into a calming of the waters, for Kenya, for our DRC team, for my nephew and mother-in-law, for our upcoming retreat, for our messy life. But even before that, join us in praying we would all sense Jesus' in the boat, awake and full of love.

    

A sunrise walk with a glimpse of that calm sun after the clouds . . . 

This is our team now: Ann. And Lindi of course!

A month ago we gathered with all the LEADERS in our Area for our global leadership conference in Spain . . now imagine 4 time this many in Kenya for our all-Area retreat. Pray that we would sense Jesus in our boat, and draw strength from our community together too.