VACCINES!!!!

Five days before the one-year anniversary of Uganda declaring the COVID shut-down, the first vaccines have been given in Bundibugyo. Dr. Amon Bwambale, our medical superintendent, was #1. Scott was #2. I was #3.  

Dr. Amon looking appropriately celebratory with dose #1

This story starts with people like GAVI, the Gates Foundation, the World Health Organisation, COVAX, the researchers at Oxford, the plant workers in India, the Ministry of Health in Uganda, pilots and technicians and nurses.  It is a global story of people who took the pandemic seriously, who leveraged emerging technology, who ran clinical trials, who published, who readjusted, who advocated for justice.  The mantra of COVAX has been that no one wins until everyone wins. If COVID-19 has brought home truth, one of the main ones must be that we are a global community. We would hope that the world would want the billion-plus people in Africa to be saved, but even for purely self-interested reasons it is clear that we are in a race between variant mutation and the dampening down brought by vaccines and public health practices. 

We are thankful that our moms in their 80's, our medically vulnerable nephew, our first-responder kids, have been vaccinated in the USA with the higher-tech RNA vaccines. The USA has a much, much worse pandemic than we do in Uganda. But, we also have very little to fall back on if we get a severe case. So this first dose of the Oxford AstraZeneca vaccine is a glimmer of hope. This is the vaccine the majority-world will get, because it relies on a more robust delivery vehicle, a modified chimpanzee virus, rather than pure RNA. This vaccine can be kept at fridge rather than intense deep freeze temperatures. It can use existing cold chains and health organisations. It is thought to be 65-85% effective compared to the 95% numbers for others, but we'll take it. The first doses in sub-Saharan Africa (besides South Africa which is a different story) landed within the last two weeks, and Uganda got theirs less than a week ago. Friday a truck with an armed guard pulled into the hospital, and the RDC (top central government appointee in the district) and DHO (District Health Officer) officially received the 3720 doses in 372 chilled vials, escorting them to the hospital's fridge.

Less than 24 hours later, injections began, with health workers. We had been registered, the vaccine teams had been trained, and by 8:30 this morning there were coolers moving to five sites to administer doses. Health workers get three days to get in line, then the elderly, then teachers. 

The arrival of the vaccine truck yesterday felt like Christmas, but in a typical wrinkle of the universe it was offset by a crazy series of events including bad news about our court case (extortionist amounts of money being demanded, see our mailchimp prayer letter just sent) and our car breaking down. Not to be deterred, we rode a boda to the hospital (which puts vaccine risks in perspective!). The atmosphere was festive, and Dr. Amon led the way even as others were posting on our what's app groups crazy disinformation that runs around the web. We felt that Dr. Amon, Dr. Scott, and Dr. Jennifer sending photos of receiving vaccines would help public uptake! So far so good.

The world is not yet put to rights. BUT . . . this is one big hooray from Bundi. Now back to life. Back to fixing broken things, praying for mercy, fighting corruption, listening and empathising, hoping for change. Back to a lenten push of prayer for our second son, the one who goes into his final month-long field-exercise exam tomorrow hoping to emerge as an SF officer. Join us in vaccines, in work, in prayer.

The vulnerable CEO: getting method and message to match

 We are deep into the season of Lent, the reflective space that precedes the agony of Good Friday and the blinking incredulousness of Easter Sunday. On our team we are working our way through "Surprised by Hope", because, well in this global season we all need a bit of hope and surprise. NT Wright explains the victory of Jesus over evil as a CEO who has taken charge of a global enterprise, still working out the new way of running things as his messengers disperse to all the various branches. But the message, he says, must be matched by the method. 

"The kingdom will come as the church, energised by the Spirit, goes out into the world vulnerable, suffering, praising, praying, misunderstood, misjudged, vindicated, celebrating: always--as Paul puts it in one of his letters--bearing in the body the dying of Jesus so that the life of Jesus may also be displayed."

"we are in the struggle"- on a masked student in chapel at CSB. Message and material matching.

Not a forceful triumphant dictator unilaterally changing the culture and operation of the company by fiat from the top down, though I for one feel that method is quite tempting. Of course the fantasy is an illusion, that if only the church (or more accurately my brand of it, right) were in charge of finances and information and medical procurement and the prison system and taxes and infrastructure and education, well we could sort this out more beneficially.  Christendom through the centuries has brought a mixed record of blessing and oppression. No, the method must match Jesus' life. Which means, the cross before the glory. The night before the dawn. Which means suffering is not excluded, the cup does not always pass. Which means even the moments of power, of dazzling angels or thousands fed, happen with enough obscurity and alternate explanation that faith is never forced. Our CEO Jesus knows how to live in a body authentically in feasting and friendship, how to speak justice and truth, how to handle wounded sinners with mercy. But He does it gradually through time and through people who are salt sprinkled over the globe, who preserve and flavour, whose power is perfected in vulnerability and sacrifice and not primarily in money and weapons. 

Biola Lent devotion image,  Peter Koenig, Jesus CEO

Biola Lent devotion image, J Kirk Richards, Jesus vulnerable

Being a team leader, or a parent, an Area Director or a doctor, are hardly CEO roles, but we all have some leadership. Like Jesus, we have a sphere to influence, to till, to order, to care for. And in that process we constantly face the dilemma of how much to direct, and how much to empower. Jesus cast out demons and gave some blistering speeches. There is a time to run a code and tell people what to do. Yes. But. The vulnerability piece has to also be there. First, because we are NOT Jesus and we are prone to bossiness and drifting into arranging our world to suit ourselves. But also because Jesus took the path of "not my will, but thine, be done." The method of Jesus came down to a night of betrayal, of nakedness and scourging, of abandonment and weakness. The method of Jesus required complete humility, complete surrender to the worst evil could do with the secure assurance that none of that love would prove stronger than death.

A week ago we drove back into Bundibugyo, hurrying to change clothes and join the pre-exam celebration dinner (our equivalent of a graduation party) for the seniors at CSB, and then directly from there to the house of mourning where one of our longest-term faithful partner midwives had lost her adult son. The week was back to normal life revved on the steroids of a preceding absence. Mentoring meetings with team, delving into issues. Greetings and welcomes. Teaching our staff Bible study and our team study and our weekly CME. Leading our Area prayer zoom. Calls, security check ins. A day-long Board meeting for Christ School. Supervising construction, repairing damage to our pizza oven, ploughing through laundry. Hundreds of emails and texts and communications. Nutrition supplies from UNICEF still delayed, plugging gaps. And of course the patients, the wards, the ongoing dilemmas. 

We felt loved and missed!

McClures at the party for CSB grads!

Scott giving a speech about value-add to draw the parallel between them and the Bundibugyo cocoa bean to bar chocolate--we brought them each a real deal chocolate bar produced by Latitude trading company from Bundi cocoa.

Back to the stories of struggles and joys

Covid-era board meeting under the trees, masked and spaced. Though we did remove masks a few seconds for the snap below!

Scott's day yesterday: patient #1 was a lady who needed a C-section for a nearly-dead baby . . .

Who was remarkably revived by quick care. This is the perfect juncture of CEO insistence and vulnerable service. We push back against evil with all our might, but we are only able to do so much, and completely dependent upon God's mercy.

In all that, I wonder, what does it look like to be a vulnerable CEO? I think it is this: to hold ourselves accountable to pour into this place the best we have to offer, the best explanations, investments, decisions, guidance, service. To gather data, to follow best practices, to be responsible. Yes. But at the same time, to do all of that with our scars visible. To ask questions, take feedback, adjust. To be willingly inconvenienced and uncomfortable. To keep breathing the humid fog of cough through the suffocating N-95 mask, to keep crouching to the floor, to keep filling out lab forms or struggling to draw blood when surely those tasks could be done by someone else. To strain to listen for the heart behind the complaints, to understand, to love. And to know that our best might not be enough, and that's OK, because God has resurrection up His sleeve.

Love has the last word: a glimpse of glory in central Africa

"Heaven and earth, it seems, are different, radically different, but they are made for each other ... and when they finally come together that will be cause for rejoicing in the same way that a wedding is: a creational sign that God's project is going forward, that love and not hate have the last word in the universe; that fruitfulness and not sterility is God's will for creation." (NT Wright, Surprised by Hope)

There is a little kingdom on earth, in central Africa, bordering a fathomless lake and wrinkled with uncountable hills and shrouded in misty clouds, where heaven has at times felt impossibly distant. This country has known colonisation, injustice, slave raids, and genocide; has buried too many children and mothers giving birth, has raised too many men who felt powerless to protect their families. And yet, when many ran for their lives over the last waves of violence in the 70's, 80's, 90's . . they did not lose site of what could be.  Men who had watched their fathers murdered, or walked for days, or struggled to find their mothers and sisters; women who had carried mattresses and cooking pans and babies, regrouped in safer places. Some found themselves in Kenya in the year 2000 and audaciously founded their own Hope Africa University, which they transplanted a few years later back home to Bujumbura. They added a medical school and built a campus and found partners, including us. 

the team that could break away to say bye as we took our final journey to the airport

*NOTE* you will see masks with patients but not with team because they bubble in a low-prevalence country and we had 7 days of isolation and three negative tests to get to this point!

In 2010 a group of young doctors working in Kenya with Samaritan's Purse met visionary Burundians from the Free Methodist Church, and in 2011 we traveled there with three of them to lay the foundations for a partnership. Bishop Eli had prayed for God to send a team of 20 doctors (to a country with one of the lowest doctor-to-population ratios on earth) to train up a new generation. That reminds us that the whole presence of Serge in Burundi began with the prayers of a Burundian, and not with our programs and plans. The team joined Serge, went to French language school, and landed in Burundi in 2013. Now 7 1/2 years later, what was a tiny provincial hospital in a rural village has 13 specialists, and 20 other doctors, 350 beds including two massive new multi-story wards, a solar powered electricity plant, oxygen generation, a feeding program that serves about 400 kids weekly, plus a 50% increase in patient visits, hospitalisations, surgeries. They have trained 255 new doctors who have spread out into every part of Burundi, started a rotating 12 month internship, sponsored numerous graduates in residencies (masters), and laid the preparations for a new surgery and family medicine residency programs. I don't even know how many blind have received sight, or how many lame now walk, but the visible evidence that Jesus pointed to of God's Kingdom can be seen. The stories sound glorious, because many of them are, and seeing this over less than a decade has been miraculous.

view of the hospital from a climb up the hill, the medical director says the buildings in Kibuye sprout like mushrooms

But just ask Jesus, miracles of resurrection often pass through crucifying loss. All that is described above sounds like a shining glory in the clouds. But most of the clouds in Burundi are damp and obscure. 

We went to Burundi for the last two weeks to bear witness to their progress but also their pain, to listen, pray, ask questions, repent, acknowledge shortcomings, point to truth. This is the part of our job, the Area Director piece, that has suffered the most in COVID. Our partners planned a two-day summit to review and discuss our partnership. It's not like we thought to ourselves, mid-February just after re-closure of land borders and re-institution of a strict mandatory seven day quarantine (in a pleasant guest house but under armed guard keeping us in our room) would be a great time to travel. But 3 COVID tests later (pre-departure, arrival, and end-quarantine) we were released to begin the second week of visits and meetings.

The most important event was the partner summit. Six Burundian leaders and six of us from Serge. Though multi-language cross-cultural communication is ALWAYS exhausting, we emerged from those meetings with a greater empathy for the many ways this country has suffered and a rare opportunity to humbly repent for our part in the global injustice. We affirmed our common vision for medical training, patient care for the poor in Burundi, DRC, and Tanzania, all in the name of Jesus. We rejoiced in the projects completed and stated again the priorities still to be realised. We tried to clarify our own Serge structures and funding for transparency, and to remind all that we are guests serving a local group and vision. We were very blessed to have the meetings close with the chair of the Hope Africa University board stating his approval and commitment in clear terms.

Maybe the most important event . . . but maybe not. Also crucial was just the opportunity to pray and talk with many of our team. We know that 2020 was rough. A year ago, as we were live-streaming Dr. Travis's funeral, thieves violently attacked the Watts family in Kibuye. Though all of the victims survived, the physical and emotional scars remain, and it was also a privilege to take part in a prayer memorial service and just spend time with this family. And for others, the loss of needed arriving help due to COVID, loss of travel for conferences and vacations, loss of hoped for progress, have taken a heavy toll. We feel it too. The leaders are amazingly resilient, hard-working, insightful people whom we love, so getting to be face to face as we supervise instead of calls and zoom was also a treat. So we are glad we could visit and try to encourage.

perks of exit COVID test, see Bujumbura in background, evening with Watts

Our Team Leaders the McLaughlins, good friends and inspiring colleagues. 

Highlight: reading books to the Harling kids

The Jack Shack. He built the pizza oven and recreation space when he was an intern.

Kibuye Hope Academy classroom

Strategizing on presentations with Eric and Alyssa

Yes, the Kingdom comes. There is a feast where we will dance with the survivors of genocide, and those who didn't survive, in a New Heavens and New Earth. Most days that promise feels quite dim. The glimpses are blurry and fleeting. And yet, two weeks in Burundi gives us hope that the final fulfilment of all the resurrection set in motion will indeed be glorious.

This malnourished girl with Down Syndrome is seeing into the cloud more clearly than we are.

A few more bonus shots . . . . 

We quarantined in a suite/efficiency with a patio, and this was our favourite view: the Crested Crane pair that came to visit daily.

empty airport at departure, only four people flew into Uganda (us +2)

COVID test 3 out of 4. Maybe this is why the flights are sparse.

Looking as spiffy as possible for our meeting

Thankful the billboard behind us was true: Safe Travel. Back in Uganda yesterday.

Resurrection, witness, democracy, and hope

No doubt you have wondered, why didn't Jesus appear post-resurrection in more indisputable flash-bang forms that would have left less room for doubt? Our team is reading Surprised by Hope, and in discussing the historicity of the resurrection testimonies, the author points out that the disciples did NOT expect to see Jesus' bodily resurrection from the dead, it was not even in their universe of imagination. The accounts are so similar, with such odd details (like the women as witnesses, or the combination of both eating fish and appearing through locked doors) that they carry a ring of truth. He also, however, mentions the human capacity to ignore evidence counter to what we want to believe, becoming ever more strident in our claims. This week we can surely see that even if all the first century Palestine events had been recorded on video and  presented in the highest court of the land, even if more than half the people agreed that what they saw and experienced was real, a vocal minority would still refuse to engage with the evidence if it threatened their core world view. 

Because knowing is a very complex process. 

If the secret ballot (AGAINST censuring Rep. Cheney by a massive margin) and the public ballot (only a small handful going against the party line) differ this much, then there is more than rational weighing of evidence on the line. There is fear, there is calculation, there is anticipation of consequences and self-preservation or promotion. 

In 1947, Winston Churchill pithily said: ‘Many forms of Government have been tried, and will be tried in this world of sin and woe. No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all-wise. Indeed it has been said that democracy is the worst form of Government except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.…’

And there we have it. 

Democracy is only as great as the integrity of the people exercising it. What is happening now in America is the very reason that Africa has been skeptical of democracy. As long as tribalism seethes below our surfaces, fear of others, a scarcity mentality, the suspicion that we are under threat from those who are different and there isn't enough for all, these fears work against the basic function of democracy which assumes that the best options will eventual win the most votes.  We watched the election, we read the news, we paid attention to the results, the speakers, the newspapers, the court cases, the attorney generals, the challenges. Whomever you wanted to win or lose, the system worked and there was a winner by both electoral college and popular majority. We were watching CNN on Jan 6 in real time as the riot spectacle unfolded, listening to the real time "a woman has been shot" distress. When a mob gathers to impose their will, democracy is threatened. And when our senators try to play both sides, pandering to the mob and yet trying to appear sensible, hoping to keep their voters even at the cost of their consciences, it is depressing to watch.

Democracy requires changing hearts and minds of individuals in order to bring about a more just society, a more enabling and hopeful atmosphere. Trying to short-cut that with violence will never bring a lasting good result. 

Which brings us back to belief in the resurrection. A hammer of force is not God's style. Jesus appeared to handfuls, dozens, hundreds, who were scattered like salt and light into the world. Very grass-roots. For the Kingdom to come on earth as it is in Heaven, we pray, we work. We argue in court or work night shifts in the hospital or till the earth; we write books and preach sermons. It is slow work, but lasting work. 

If your January 6th sorrow has not been improved by the February 13 vote, here is a quote to end with:

And this is the point where believing in the resurrection of Jesus suddenly ceases to be a matter of inquiring about an odd event in the first century and becomes a matter of rediscovering hope in the twenty-first century. Hope is what you get when you suddenly realise that a different worldview is possible, a worldview in which the rich, the powerful, and the unscrupulous do not after all have the last word. The same worldview shift that is demanded by the resurrection of Jesus is the shift that will enable us to transform the world.  (Surprised by Hope, NT Wright)

In which we find ourselves only meters from Lake Tanganyika, in the capital of Burundi, in strict quarantine

 The Christmas letter sent Dec 1 by a mailing service in the USA seems to be arriving this week, as we have heard from a few readers. Hooray. Meanwhile for the first time in over a year we entered an AIRPORT and FLEW to another country. Which was surreal. 

But in this case, about as safe as it gets, given the fact that we are in the vaccine-less continent.

departing Bundi, looking north at the corners towards Lake Albert

To rewind a bit, we have had no intention of pushing the COVID safety boundaries (MOSSY is our favourite accronym, as it sounds like a very much not-rolling stone, we quietly stay where we fell and gather moss. Masked, Outdoors, Sanitised, Socially Spaced, and You-centered.  . . . we go about our days wearing our facial coverings, staying at two-arms length in sunshine and breeze, thinking about protecting others from our exposures in the hospital, slathering on the hand sanitiser.) Unlike most years, we pretty much stayed in Bundibugyo, with a couple of long-weekends after the strictest lock-down lifted, to camp or get groceries. I think we were present for every Thursday team meeting all year, but may have forgotten a miss. But over the past few weeks it became apparent that our partners in Burundi were not going to cancel a summit they were planning with us, and our team there actually wanted us to come, and we pondered the risks and believed it was the right thing to do.

looking perky at 2 am . . . welcome to Uganda!

Ann with Grayson and Laura, as we join for orientation meetings

So last Saturday, we drove to Kampala in time to meet our two new colleagues arriving in Entebbe. Laura is a teacher headed to Litein, Kenya for two years, but spending her first 5 months in Bundibugyo to fill a gap we will have and to gain some variety of experience while her eventual team leaders wrap up a home assignment. Grayson wanted to come for an 18 month apprenticeship but  . . COVID . . and we are happy to welcome him for three months instead. Ann is the Apprentice and Internship leader, so we joined her orientation for the first couple of days as they began a 7-day period of caution in Entebbe and Kampala before traveling to Bundibugyo tomorrow (they both tested negative again, so good to go!). As we enjoyed MOSSY meetings and meals talking about culture and team life . . . we also popped up to Kampala to sort out our own travel.

Long story short, the Burundian embassy staff were amazing in processing all our visa work virtually the week prior, but never mentioned the little detail that they had moved their physical embassy in Kampala recently. So that final day of getting actual approval stamped in our passports turned out to be a treasure-hunt of a challenge. In spite of wrong advice, Google-map fail, wrong addresses on the web, no one answering phones . . .  good old footwork and asking enough gate guards and boda drivers finally led us to the new site.  Then we chalked up another life lesson: the good deal they offered on visa costs was indeed too good to be true, somehow they seemed to have categorised us as Ugandan not American, so another trip to the bank to pay the balance and at last we were legal. Then it was just a matter of getting negative COVID tests processed by the Uganda Viral Research Institute, which came back at 10 pm Monday, allowing us to head to the airport by 6 am Tuesday.

the treasure hunt hiking the hills of Kampala

perks of Uganda: mobile testing

The airport was a ghost town. We were two of the four total passengers on our flight. Good service and quite safe, we landed in Bujumbura. We could really use a few months in France at some point to booster-dose my now 40-year-expired French class, but we made it through a 10-step immigration and COVID-testing process once again in the airport, and were bused with our two Burundian co-fliers to a quarantine hotel we had booked ahead of time. New rules as of a few weeks ago due to the spread of mutant viral variants: Burundi closed land and water borders and requires all arriving air passengers to sit 7 days in a hotel room and be re-tested negative before release. 

exit loung, Entebbe Airport

final step: arrival COVID tests in tents outside the airport in Bujumbura

As jails go, this one is very pleasant. We are not supposed to step outside, but we do have a little patio area with a yard of palm trees in front, a glimpse of the lake across a highway, and two very acclimated spectacularly beautiful Crested Cranes that preen and peck and are fond of toast fragments. Our room is simple but spacious, more of a suite, with a couch area, hot pot, dorm fridge, electricity and a solidly functional bathroom, and small AIR CONDITIONED bedroom. Three days have gone by quickly, and here we are smack at the midpoint in day 4. 

current view from my computer

when the mosquitoes get too intense, moving inside to work

And as it turns out, subtracting hospital work and leading our team-on-the-ground does open up some space, but it does NOT leave us bored or restless. In fact we've had non-stop work the last couple days with meetings, phone calls, email, discussion, planning. I guess we let some work accumulate knowing we'd have this stretch of Area Director office time. Frankly I'm glad for the space of this week. So far have read two novels and inching my way through Four Hundred Souls. We do jumping jacks and pushups on the patio, and order delicious grilled fish and crispy Belgian fries for dinner. Sleeping probably 1-2 hours longer than normal every night. No complaints. 

If all goes well, we will get a third negative COVID test on Sunday (day 6) and be released Monday (day 7) . . . but of course that could all get pushed back a day, or more, or our test could be positive (hard to see how unless Crested Cranes are transmitters). That gives us a few days with our Kibuye team, then two days of meetings about our partnership here with the leaders of Hope Africa University.

Prayers we would be filled with the Spirit as we get this opportunity to see a team face-to-face, and build relationship with our partners. After a lock-down year of COVID, we know this is a huge privilege. 

Consolation arriving in small packages

 Today is 40 days from Christmas Eve, so some historical Church traditions celebrate this as the day the infant Jesus entered the Temple. So many layers to that, as the Temple was the absolute centre of God's presence on earth, the geography of what was lost in the Garden, the glory and pride of the nation. Entering the Temple compound may have appeared to be a duty to sacrifice pigeons, poor people hedging their bets in a cruel world (that was about to turn genocidal). Or like pious pilgrims grateful for the not-to-be-taken-for-granted healthy delivery, like here in Uganda where new mothers are greeted with webale kwejuna, thanks for surviving, for helping yourself through that danger. Or maybe Mary was glad to finally get out of isolation (can we all hear the amens to that), having served the post-delivery 40 day purification time, ready to get back into the crowd and see friends. As always, the story can have multiple strata of colour and texture. But . . . 

Father Georges Saget

Only two elderly people recognised the full picture in all its irony: God's presence in the baby outshone God's presence in the Temple. Simeon lifted that small swaddled body, fragile, earthy, maybe damp with his mother's sweat from the climb up to the plaza, or damp with dribbled milk. As the multitudes gaped at the gold fixtures, the high walls, the ornate altars .. . . he recognised in the very ordinary body of this baby that a light had come that would explode out to the world. Perhaps the only other person who noticed was a woman my mom's age, Anna, who saw the baby, the parents, Simeon, and redemption. An old man, an old woman, a baby, and a couple displaced from the countryside trying to do the right thing. All around them the swirling crowd, unaware.

google image, from El Salvador, no artist credited

A far cry from Malachi 3: who can endure the day of His coming? Who can stand when he appears? A refiner's fire and a launderer's soap, a force, a terror, holiness and change and judgment melting away evil.  The prophecies prepared them for war. For a conquering hero to clash to the Temple with fury and determination. The reality arrived with a whimper, carried, wordless, powerless for now.

The NKJV bible uses the world "consolation" for what Simeon waited for. The actual word is paraklesis, a close companion comforting and encouraging alongside, an exhortation, urging, based on legal evidence that all shall be well. It sounds like the word for the Holy Spirit in John 14, an advocate, a lawyer, a helper. They were looking for a King who ruled by force; God sent a human who quietly appeared alongside us, taking our perspective, our case. For us. This is not without cost, for sure. Even then Simeon mentions the soul piercing grief Mary will experience, the no-neutral-ground tumult that will ensue. 

Thinking a lot about the kind of salvation we all wish for. So much of our politics has been about power. Who can stand when he appears . . . sounds good if we think we'll be the ones standing, and we assume those who disagree will be the ones scrubbed to righteousness. February is not just the Temple story, it is the beginning of Black History Month.  Jesus came back to that Temple as an adult and threw some tables. We need justice, and there are occasions when those enslaved need an army to bring it. Justice brings the space for real change to occur, and that is where we realise that the quiet along-side comfort of a friend who sees truth and goodness in us, who encourages the right choices, who persuades the better angels of our nature to rise, brings actual change. As satisfying as that other Temple-thrashing was, it did not conquer evil and death. Only the cross, the baby lifted in an old man's arms becoming the naked beaten body lifted on the cross, did that. The soul pierced, the body pierced, did that. 

Our world needs deep consolation in 2021, and we are certainly looking for it. Let us be like Simeon and Anna, let us recognise the power of powerlessness, the presence of the Spirit in hidden breaths.