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.

Tangible pentecost

The 50th day after passover, the Sunday of Pentecost, in ancient times was the Festival of Weeks. Seven weeks counted, 7x7=49 days, the time of  the first harvest, of hope, of the seeds that went into the ground and that died now blossoming into palpable, tangible, tasteable fruits. Agricultural and holy, one of the main festivals that gave anchor to the annual rhythms. So . . . A non-random choice of the time for God to pour out the Spirit, to make it clear to the fragile post-ascension community of Jesus-followers in Jerusalem that the same Spirit that they saw as a dove at Jesus' Baptism was now fractionated into a sparking shower of flames, lighting a fire of presence in their community. 

Though the words "pentecost" and "spirit" conjure more of an almost magical other-worldly force, they story is actually one of incarnation. Of the deity not leaving our reality, but entering it. The Gospels begin with God incarnating flesh, and now the post-Jesus-on-earth pre-all-things-new phase of history begins with God's spirit IN PEOPLE. They are filled with an ability to communicate, and thereby pull the diverse tribes, nations, skin tones, cultures that have gathered in the major city of Jerusalem into the story the new community. 

The Spirit, one by one, enabling the most basic need of human community, expression and understanding. 

The tangible nature of pentecost today: a half dozen baptisms, growing this community. Babies and adults, speaking Lubwisi, Lukonjo, and English, the service a rainbow of tongues, doused with water and prayed into the family. God present in our little fellowship.  A half dozen team members left earlier in the week, and another half dozen will depart Tuesday. But the Spirit is still here, Jesus is still at work through the bones and skin and bodies and vulnerabilities of the church. Pentecost is not about escape to an intangible dimension, but about the very real daily interactions and needs that form our lives.     

It's been a week of needing to see tangible pentecost, for sure. If you were going to write the story of a team pulling together and collaborating to wrap up work and say meaningful goodbyes, things that you might not include in the final days: an epidemic of eye infections, one kid with some worrisome breathing, the biggest almost-finished project to bring clean water to a hard-to-reach area held up by people who want to stir questions and promote their own political credit for development, multiple meetings and angst about that, our upcoming Area retreat hotel canceling our reservation for almost a hundred rooms, struggling to respond to the disasters on other teams, one departing family's awaiting gift of a car to use in the USA being stolen, at least two couples close to all of us having the threat of relational rift, and a few medical consults on serious conditions then two deaths of family members of final-week family's workers . .  . leading to hourly changes in priorities and plans. 

But pentecost comes into the actual mess of our actual lives. With gifts of fruit, of love. We hold on to each other and to God and by prayer we persist. 

    

Annual review perks: when you get to travel to Fort Portal, hold sweet Zemirah, and have a Uganda team day of rest.

Bonus for reading to the end . . . Almost 400 years ago, the poet George Herbert wrote about today's holiday:

The stars coming down to earth, the once flowing connection now nearly shut but joy seeping through the chink . . love this imagry. Amen.

Water is Life, and other truths at the end of a glorious season

Team Bundibugyo, braced for major changes, as we come to the end of two terms for the Dickenson family (10+ years and 4 kids . . plus they each spent some years prior on our team before they met here and got married!!), one term for the Forrest family, and one for teacher Michaela Hunter. These 15 humans have been a nexus of belonging and a force for good through the chaos of Covid, crossborder rebel scares, thousands of beautiful sunsets, sorrowful betrayals for sure but outweighed by deeply inspiring colleagues working to serve this place with us, too many sermons and Bible studies and pizzas to count. All the messiness and glory of life. Our hearts are full of gratitude for all this, and grief that we are dwindling to three for the foreseeable future.

Being the final week before departures, we hiked Kabongo Ridge to see the rapidly-nearing-completion of Josh's water project, participated in multiple closure events at CSB that honoured Mike as chaplain, cheered on the final days of Rwenzori Mission School with Michaela, Anna, and Kacie, met with each individual, and had a really solidly tearful and encouraging team wrap up meeting sharing where God has met us and reflecting back to each person the words and stories that we have lived together. Spoiler alert: this team has worked to bring water, life, health, nutrition, truth, teaching, scripture, newborn resuscitation, business projects, environmental education, literacy, and love far and wide. But as we sit and reflect, I think we are equally grateful that to hear of stronger marriages and friendships, progress in health and holiness. That is grace in our fray, made beautiful.

But back to Monday . . . Scott and I joined Josh and Anna to hike the many miles and thousands of feet up the Rwenzori ridges where the district asked our mission to invest in a gravity flow water project that serves over a thousand people. As a water engineer, Josh has the compassion to see women carrying heavy water cans long distances and suffering from the effects of unclean sources, the expertise to calculate pressures and pipes and filtration rates and volumes, and the determination to spend years getting plans approved, funds raised, materials created, and communities on board. That intersection of skill sets is rare.

Break pressure tank with a view. Along the five branches, these ten tanks keep the pressure from bursting the pipes, it's so high and steep!

Above and below, the water-is-life couple. It's a team effort to make a multi-year project like this continue to completion. It takes 3 hours to hike up and  a couple to hike down (after nearly an hour drive to the trail), so every time Josh goes to the work site, Anna is responsible dawn to dusk for four kids and any issues around home. Oh and she is also a teacher!

Thembo Justus is Josh's right hand man, the local technician who supervises every day.

Rest stop number one. More for us than for Josh, who's gotten used to the steep climbs!

Thembo showing Scott a small break-pressure-tank on the way up.

We had a strenuous but scenic day together . . . reflecting 15 years of friendship too!

Every piece of equipment, every bag of cement, every pipe and pile of sand, has to be carried up this steep ridge.

Supervision with a smile (we were aching for days though!)

The water comes from a protected spring inlet, to four slow sand filter tanks . . . 

And then to this reservoir Josh designed, make of heavy steel plates that had to be carried piece by piece and constructed at this site.

Water is life, the clean water our engineers over the years have provided this district saves more lives than our medical care I'm sure.

The first week of May also saw the end of the first term of the year for CSB, and the last term with Mike as the "pastor" who led the spiritual life team. Once we rebounded from COVID closures he poured himself into the chapel and cell group curriculum, the staff discipleship weekly meetings, and open hours to counsel and pray. This was deeply appreciated. The staff held a sweet evening to thank him and name his impact, and he made them his signature burgers for a final lunch. 

The final Sunday of the term, with Pastor Mike

End-of-term staff meeting.

Christ school impacts nearly 300 students a year . . .and Rwenzori Mission School impacts six, but is also the one key pin that holds everything else in place. Without Miss Michaela ensuring excellent, up-to-standards class for these kids, all the other work of the team would not be possible.

Miss Michaela with all her fan club. (we got all the kids Uganda wear for the last team pizza night)

The final few weeks of school I got to read my Rwendigo Tales series of four books aloud to the 2nd/3rd graders for the last half hour of school daily. One of the highlights of my year! Thankful Michaela let me do that.

Besides us, Ann is also staying in Bundi . . here she is last week with some of the girls from her Buhanguwa (Creation) camp that melds environmental education with discipling truths.

Kacie had final-week closure with the Nyahuka health center where she has taught and worked as a nurse on maternity, and earlier a sweet time with the refugee project she dreamed up and made happen on our border for those fleeing violence in Congo.

Aliza, everyone's favourite team mate

We close with the face of the future, Aliza, loving pizza and loving Bundibugyo and loving team and family. Like Aliza, we can't see very far ahead. But we trust that the seeds that have been lavishly scattered by this group will take root in ways we can't even imagine, and bear fruit to nourish a hungry world. 

Myhres and Ann will keep the NGO World Harvest Mission Uganda supporting BundiNutrition, Christ School, Bible translation and the church, Kid's library and Buhanguwa camps, many sponsorships and relationships . . . stay tuned to see the next chapter with us!