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!

The week after: scars and futility in the bigger arc

Easter + 7 days, Easter + 2000 years. Here we are, in the reality that "death swallowed up in victory" as a poetic phrase and a bedrock truth still remains a state only visible by faith.

Rainy Resurrection 

In that first week, there was no ascending the temple spire, no fireworks incinerating the occupying forces, no sudden tip of power form the self-serving Sanhedrin to the lame and the blind.  Jesus showed up in dim early morning light of garden around the tomb, on a road out of town, at a meal, behind closed doors where confused followers cowered, cooking over a beach campfire. He didn't ride into Jerusalem on a donkey to choral triumph. He focused on his core followers as witnesses of a new phase of history, a new sort of scarred life, forming the idea of waiting, of being sent into the world as he had been with the same power of the Spririt, to  . . . . 

To what? Not to enforce the law, not to quash wrongdoers, not to control destinies, not to set up a state. In Acts, his people asked, is this the time that you restore the Kingdom to Israel? No, he said. But go live and speak and teach and gather in a way that ushers in a whole new metric. Challenge the status quo of history as people who give attention and priority to the suffering, who share what they have, who do not ultimately fear the venom of snakes or of power.

For centuries, the word passed, person to person, miracle to miracle, mostly amongst the most disenfranchised. (Then there were centuries where well-meaning people thought it made more sense to get the power of the state behind the church, and that struggle and debate continues today). But lest we delude ourselves that Jesus' resurrection means that everything should now go exactly as WE think it should, that prayer guarantees the outcomes we long for . . . we had a more authentic post-Easter week here in Bundi.

The son of a local politician died of alcohol intoxication, a young man close to us was actually trying to help him and ended up blamed, arrested, in jail, and extorted for bribes. Another close young man fell asleep at the wheel and wrecked his car. Two of our "foster grandchildren" have been quite sick, one hospitalised the whole week. Another close friend of the team's nephew died after being born with congenital anomalies. An Area kid had a serious injury that will require surgery. Others plod on with  chronic mental health challenges. Unusual rain patterns and a bizarre lack of materials has held up the gravity-flow water project progress. Three of the in-country partners of three different teams have all made changes in the last week or so that call those partnerships into question. And here at CSB our school teams went to regionals and struggled, and kids sent home for school fees not yet paid trickled back so slowly that many missed days of school. And that is just the last seven days, on and on, day after day where resurrection power is far from obvious.

What grounds our hope on a week like this one, or like the first post-Easter week?

First, knowing that the scars have closed enough to allow us to walk out of the grave, but they are not gone. Everything is not OK, yet. The direction of entropy was reversed to order, but the timing, as our CSB teacher reminded us today from the story of the man lame for 38 years by the pool of Bethesda, is not immediate. We are the walking wounded, still.

Second, the day of small things is not to be despised. If Jesus cooked fish and had patient conversations, perhaps it shouldn't surprise us that the routines of living life in community and wholeness are our primary task. We spent the week counselling the anxious, answering questions, sitting at a funeral, driving people here and there, feeding people, asking, listening, praying, reading. The disciples spent a whole night in futile fishing. This is the "so send I you" trajectory. Mostly, just trying to be faithful and present, honest and hopeful.

And lastly, locating our fragments of the story into the bigger arc of redemption. Sometimes we get to see clear evidence, like the jailed young man then being thanked by those he thought were blaming him that he didn't let the errant drinker die in a ditch, his risky insistence cost him but served love. Mostly, we have to take it on faith that the hard questions asked, the small assistance given, are seeds that might not bear fruit for days or decades. But one day, they will. For the world to eat and live.

Praying Jireh is discharged tomorrow.

Some of the small things that can bring large good: cocoa harvested from our yard, allowing a young blind man and his wife to finish a house project.

More evidence of good: CSB students now in University showing up with solidarity at a funeral.

Communal grief

The psalm 1 hope that the small seeds will grow and thrive and bear fruit in Bunidubygo, East and Central Africa, the world.