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“Give thanks to the Lord for he is good; his love endures forever.” -Psalm 107.1
“Ashe,” spills out of my mouth, but I communicate the meaning of ashe, thank you in English, mostly with my body language. Although the Maasai and I could only directly, verbally communicate “ashe” with understanding, our communication could not be contained by words that July day.
As John, my fellow Young Adults in Global Mission (YAGM) program volunteer and travel companion, and I walk, accompanied by a few Maasai, into a Maasai community, the women’s spirited voices in song and their traditional hopping dance mesmerize me. Their elaborate, beaded jewelry accent their beauty. A female elder warmly welcomes us on behalf of the community and we attempt gracious thanks, kindly translated by Diana, a staff member at Maasai Women Development Organization, who facilitates our day with the Maasai community. After John and I kneel on the ground and connect with many of the children, the women lead us to stools and invite us to sit down. Guessing that we will be served something to eat or drink, John and I smile at the two dozen children standing fifteen feet away, who intently stare back at us in curiosity. An old woman squats next to me. Through body language, I offer her my chair, which she refuses.
I am a wimp for hot drinks, so when a woman hands us a hot cup of tea, I smile and wonder how I will not burn my tongue while not offending our new friends. I hold my tea and smile at the community not drinking tea, who watch to see if the people from another place will drink their tea. The old woman sitting next to me sweetly watches as I take my first sip and burn my tongue. I try to explain to her, through actions, that the tea is good, yet too hot for me to enjoy drinking. She requests another cup, gently takes my cup, and gracefully pours the steaming liquid back and forth between the two cups, allowing the heat to escape. After a short while, she hands me back my cup, and I enjoy the sweet, milky tea. After drinking half, I hand her back the cup with a smile, trying to communicate the tea is good, but I am full and ask if she would enjoy some tea. She accepts the tea after studying my face, drinks, and passes the cup to the children near her.
Thanking the hostesses for the delicious tea, we stand up and, taking cues from their encouraging gestures, follow them. The old woman next to me, my new guardian angel, securely holds my hand and a woman around my age, who initially guessed I couldn’t be more than fifteen years of age, holds my other hand. Our tour of their community includes a couple of homes, their land, and a nearby lake for drinking water. Throughout our tour, the two women walk so that I have the easiest walking route and, when we pause, they quickly bend down and pick the thistles off of my skirt as, in vain and with an-in-awe smile, I motion that they do not need to pick them off.
As I look into these women’s eyes, I sense an innate connection. We are not that different; are we? Yes, my hair may look more similar to a lion’s mane than their own short hair. Yes, as these women recommend, maybe I should cut my hair short like them. Yet, when I look in their eyes, age, race, beliefs (even though many are Lutheran), living conditions, and traditions blur as I see humans with whom I share this planet, needs, and desires. We are sisters, innately connected forever.
When people ask me what I miss most about my time across the ocean, I barely allow them to finish the question before responding, “the people.” I could never thank my countless guardian angels enough, nor God, for making connections beyond description possible. At the beginning of YAGM orientation, facilitators told us we would receive more than we were able to give. At the time, I questioned them. Today, I have no doubt.
Like the Maasai women, people have cared for and supported me with every step this past year. My family in South Africa provided not only a place to rest my head, but consistent community. I could never feel truly alone when I had sisters with whom to enjoy family dance parties, good conversations, and laughter. Baba, Ma, and Auntie provided constant security, cared for my needs, and kept an eye out for me. The neighbor kids shared their energy and joy. The Cool Air community welcomed me with open arms. The Ntombela family and Nkomo family were my extended family-providing nourishment and support. My primary school challenged me to slow down and build relationships. The teachers patiently supported me in the classroom and shared their knowledge with me. The children taught me about the meaning of love. My congregation trusted me to teach their children and taught me about perseverance. Dean Myaka enriched my experience by giving me thoughtful advice and demonstrating what it means to give of oneself. The Myaka family reminded me of my own family with their three animated boys and strong family unity. The larger church family showed me how the Holy Spirit works through people. Sister Happiness, Sister Lindeni, and Sister Stembi demonstrated the joy of servitude. The PACSA staff taught me how to work for social justice and community. Sonia and her family opened their home to me many times and shared with me their curiosity. My country coordinators, Brian and Kristen Konkol, laid the foundation for my South African placement. My fellow YAGM volunteers served as my companions to share joys and challenges as we walked different journeys across South Africa. ELCA Global Mission staff sustain the basis and logistics of the YAGM program. Heidi Torgerson-Martinez and the 48 other YAGM around the glob encouraged me as we learned how to be disciples over this past year. You, readers and supporters, gave me strength and through your curiosity and words of encouragement reminded me of my purpose this year. I thank God for you. I thank God for endlessly demonstrating the power of love, working through people in ways I do not understand, and for being with me every step of the way.
God, guide us to see your love in one another and to love as you love us. Amen.
Showing posts with label A Spiritual Word. Show all posts
Showing posts with label A Spiritual Word. Show all posts
Monday, January 24, 2011
A Spiritual Word: Ubuntu
“I therefore, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all.” –Ephesians 4:1-6
Walking into the Georgia Dome in 2003, the word ubuntu, the theme of the ELCA’s National Youth Gathering, meant very little to me. Throughout the four days of the gathering, presenters, singers and staff attempted to impress on thousands of youth the meaning of the foreign word ubuntu: I am because we are. Inspired by the idea of interconnectedness, many of us imagined being in the land of ubuntu someday. Little did I know that I would have the honor of walking with the people who grow in the land of ubuntu for one year.
The word ubuntu is from the Xhosa language; the Xhosa people live south of the Zulu people in South Africa. On many occasions this year, the Zulu people surprise me when they sing a Zulu song I already know: Siyahamba, Thuma Mina, and Akanamandla. However, the powerful nature of this music is not surprising since the ubuntu philosophy these people live daily comes from the heart.
A rough translation of ubuntu is: the essence of being human; humanity. Culturally, ubuntu means that a person is a person through other people or that people should treat others the way that they want to be treated. In the inspiring book No Future Without Forgiveness, Desmond Tutu explains: “A person with ubuntu is open and available to others, affirming of others, does not feel threatened that others are able and good, for he or she has a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that he or she belongs in a greater whole and is diminished when others are humiliated or diminished, when others are tortured or oppressed, or treated as if they were less than who they are.” Tutu’s description of ubuntu ties closely with many values in Christianity and other religions.
Yet, ubuntu living cannot stay confined in its country of origin. We all experience ubuntu spirit throughout our lives without putting a name to what we feel. We feel the ubuntu interconnectedness when we serve or are served or when we becomes more important than I. People have taught me about ubuntu throughout my life: from my neighbor tying my shoe when I was little to fellow church members serving a bowl of soup. People show me ubuntu spirit through random acts of kindness.
Yet, many American societal norms stand counter to the ubuntu philosophy. Often in my life in the US, I allowed time to dictate my life, not relationships with people or the Spirit. “I have so much to do today” seems to be a common mantra. Why do we have so much to do? Are we serving God in our busy-ness or in a “get ‘er done” attitude do we loose sight of why we are living and run out of time for God? I believe God gives us enough time to love God and one
another, yet, God may not give us enough time to achieve all that we desire. I need to question whether a desire follows God’s will before acting on it. Throughout my life, I have been a champion of overloading my plate with activities. Now, I realize that by filling my schedule with activities, I ignorantly took away the Holy Spirit’s job: to guide. I allowed the time structure of my activities to guide me. Trapped in my thoughts of what I “needed” to do next, I forgot to consistently pause long enough to connect with and love people I met while moving from one task to the next. The American society value of individual achievement often eclipses the ubuntu value of interconnect-ness.
At the Pietermaritzburg Agency for Christian Social Awareness’ (PACSA) farewell part in my honor, staff gave me verbal presents and then cheered me on as I opened my physical gift from them. Among a PACSA hat and mug lay a shirt that had two sets of animal eyes above the words “South Africa” on the front. Then they asked me to give closing words. I shared about how I believe that eyes are the windows to the soul. The shirt would always remind me of how people at PACSA paused long enough to look me in the eyes when they asked, “How are you?” and truly cared about my response. Additionally, I explained that, although a month ago I felt unready to go back to the US, I have realized that I cannot keep taking in the ubuntu spirit; I need to share it, too. I feel that American society needs a healthy dose of ubuntu spirit.
Over the last two months, a few ubuntu-related fears of returning to the US have run through my thoughts. I am afraid I will find that the ubuntu spirit is strangled by US’ society’s focus of individual before group. In turn, I worry that I would isolate myself, similar to what I did from February to July 2008 after returning from five months in the Middle East; thereby, losing all living sense of ubuntu, since I would have cut myself off from others. Then, I would loose allowing the Spirit to move me as I have trapped myself. By trying to allow the Spirit to move me, I have never felt more alive than I have over these past two months. I am concerned I will loose myself once I return to the US in the whirlwind of individualism and the primacy of time.
The purpose of sharing my fears is not to separate myself from you before I even return to the US. One, I know that the above are fears and are somewhat unrealistic. Two, I want to be open and honest with you about my experiences, what I have learned and where I perceive I am mentally, emotionally and spiritually. As I said, many of you taught me about the spirit of ubuntu. Many of your eyes and smiles come to my mind when I think about connecting with people. I know that the ubuntu spirit lives in communities in the US, in places known and unknown to me, where I, perhaps, could not identify before this year. Additionally, the ubuntu spirit did not always live in every South African. We all fall on a continuum of living by the ubuntu spirit; we are each saint and sinner. If I believe in the Holy Spirit moving people in my communities in South Africa, why would I not believe in the Holy Spirit moving people in my communities in the US? I need to remember that I do not need to do anything; that if I try to force something, I will probably make the situation worse. I need to
trust that the Holy Spirit is the power that moves God’s people. Furthermore, I am just beginning to learn how to walk in the ubuntu way – as demonstrated by my fears that the ubuntu spirit will not live in the US. I want to grow in ubuntu-ness with you. I certainly cannot grow without you. I hope that by sharing these fears with you, you will catch me if I start to fall into living by these fears. These fears are not based in the Spirit. I should fear nothing if I have faith in God.
Although the word ubuntu may be foreign, the idea of ubuntu, which may be identified with unity, should be familiar with Christians. Unity is a central theme in Ephesians. When Paul calls for unity, he does not call for humans to create their own source of unity. He states that the source of our unity already exists; we live in unity as one body through one Spirit. This unity is for all. Paul mentions characteristics that will help us to maintain unity: humility, gentleness, patience and love - characteristics to maintain even when we feel we do not have enough time to do so. Paul makes unity sound so natural, as the one God is “through all and in all”. However, in today’s world, we need to encourage and challenge one another to love towards one purpose, for our own good as individuals and as one family.
Unity is not a secret of Christians. Unity is a theme of Hinduism and Buddhism, among others. Furthermore, unity is not exclusive to religion. Ask the Ethiopian farmer who cannot provide health care and clean water for his family based on the miserable wages he receives for his coffee beans sold around the world if he is connected to
people he cannot see, as seen in the documentary “Black Gold”, and I think you would know his answer. Recently, we have learned how economic markets connect us. Climate change, food and acts of hatred know no geographical boundaries. Do you know the people who stitched your clothes, picked your bananas or assembled your electronics? We are undeniably connected with others around the globe, yet we are only unified when we understand one another as fellow human beings deserving of respect and love in the true ubuntu spirit.
So often, the media and experts tell us how we are different: race, age, sex, sexual orientation, economic wealth, education, religion, class and on and on. However, when it comes down to looking people in the eyes in greeting, none of these differences truly matter. What truly matters is that we are humans – we deserve respect; we need food, shelter and water; we want to love and be loved. The factors that keep us living and the essence of why we live are the same. Differences exist and are worth acknowledging, for we each have something unique to contribute. However, dwelling in these differences separates us from the humanity in one another and from the unity of the Spirit, our life source. Let us continually acknowledge the importance of and live by the ubuntu spirit.
Uniting Spirit, guide us to defy the ways of the world so we may truly live in unity. Amen.
Walking into the Georgia Dome in 2003, the word ubuntu, the theme of the ELCA’s National Youth Gathering, meant very little to me. Throughout the four days of the gathering, presenters, singers and staff attempted to impress on thousands of youth the meaning of the foreign word ubuntu: I am because we are. Inspired by the idea of interconnectedness, many of us imagined being in the land of ubuntu someday. Little did I know that I would have the honor of walking with the people who grow in the land of ubuntu for one year.
The word ubuntu is from the Xhosa language; the Xhosa people live south of the Zulu people in South Africa. On many occasions this year, the Zulu people surprise me when they sing a Zulu song I already know: Siyahamba, Thuma Mina, and Akanamandla. However, the powerful nature of this music is not surprising since the ubuntu philosophy these people live daily comes from the heart.
A rough translation of ubuntu is: the essence of being human; humanity. Culturally, ubuntu means that a person is a person through other people or that people should treat others the way that they want to be treated. In the inspiring book No Future Without Forgiveness, Desmond Tutu explains: “A person with ubuntu is open and available to others, affirming of others, does not feel threatened that others are able and good, for he or she has a proper self-assurance that comes from knowing that he or she belongs in a greater whole and is diminished when others are humiliated or diminished, when others are tortured or oppressed, or treated as if they were less than who they are.” Tutu’s description of ubuntu ties closely with many values in Christianity and other religions.
Yet, ubuntu living cannot stay confined in its country of origin. We all experience ubuntu spirit throughout our lives without putting a name to what we feel. We feel the ubuntu interconnectedness when we serve or are served or when we becomes more important than I. People have taught me about ubuntu throughout my life: from my neighbor tying my shoe when I was little to fellow church members serving a bowl of soup. People show me ubuntu spirit through random acts of kindness.
Yet, many American societal norms stand counter to the ubuntu philosophy. Often in my life in the US, I allowed time to dictate my life, not relationships with people or the Spirit. “I have so much to do today” seems to be a common mantra. Why do we have so much to do? Are we serving God in our busy-ness or in a “get ‘er done” attitude do we loose sight of why we are living and run out of time for God? I believe God gives us enough time to love God and one
another, yet, God may not give us enough time to achieve all that we desire. I need to question whether a desire follows God’s will before acting on it. Throughout my life, I have been a champion of overloading my plate with activities. Now, I realize that by filling my schedule with activities, I ignorantly took away the Holy Spirit’s job: to guide. I allowed the time structure of my activities to guide me. Trapped in my thoughts of what I “needed” to do next, I forgot to consistently pause long enough to connect with and love people I met while moving from one task to the next. The American society value of individual achievement often eclipses the ubuntu value of interconnect-ness.
At the Pietermaritzburg Agency for Christian Social Awareness’ (PACSA) farewell part in my honor, staff gave me verbal presents and then cheered me on as I opened my physical gift from them. Among a PACSA hat and mug lay a shirt that had two sets of animal eyes above the words “South Africa” on the front. Then they asked me to give closing words. I shared about how I believe that eyes are the windows to the soul. The shirt would always remind me of how people at PACSA paused long enough to look me in the eyes when they asked, “How are you?” and truly cared about my response. Additionally, I explained that, although a month ago I felt unready to go back to the US, I have realized that I cannot keep taking in the ubuntu spirit; I need to share it, too. I feel that American society needs a healthy dose of ubuntu spirit.
Over the last two months, a few ubuntu-related fears of returning to the US have run through my thoughts. I am afraid I will find that the ubuntu spirit is strangled by US’ society’s focus of individual before group. In turn, I worry that I would isolate myself, similar to what I did from February to July 2008 after returning from five months in the Middle East; thereby, losing all living sense of ubuntu, since I would have cut myself off from others. Then, I would loose allowing the Spirit to move me as I have trapped myself. By trying to allow the Spirit to move me, I have never felt more alive than I have over these past two months. I am concerned I will loose myself once I return to the US in the whirlwind of individualism and the primacy of time.
The purpose of sharing my fears is not to separate myself from you before I even return to the US. One, I know that the above are fears and are somewhat unrealistic. Two, I want to be open and honest with you about my experiences, what I have learned and where I perceive I am mentally, emotionally and spiritually. As I said, many of you taught me about the spirit of ubuntu. Many of your eyes and smiles come to my mind when I think about connecting with people. I know that the ubuntu spirit lives in communities in the US, in places known and unknown to me, where I, perhaps, could not identify before this year. Additionally, the ubuntu spirit did not always live in every South African. We all fall on a continuum of living by the ubuntu spirit; we are each saint and sinner. If I believe in the Holy Spirit moving people in my communities in South Africa, why would I not believe in the Holy Spirit moving people in my communities in the US? I need to remember that I do not need to do anything; that if I try to force something, I will probably make the situation worse. I need to
trust that the Holy Spirit is the power that moves God’s people. Furthermore, I am just beginning to learn how to walk in the ubuntu way – as demonstrated by my fears that the ubuntu spirit will not live in the US. I want to grow in ubuntu-ness with you. I certainly cannot grow without you. I hope that by sharing these fears with you, you will catch me if I start to fall into living by these fears. These fears are not based in the Spirit. I should fear nothing if I have faith in God.
Although the word ubuntu may be foreign, the idea of ubuntu, which may be identified with unity, should be familiar with Christians. Unity is a central theme in Ephesians. When Paul calls for unity, he does not call for humans to create their own source of unity. He states that the source of our unity already exists; we live in unity as one body through one Spirit. This unity is for all. Paul mentions characteristics that will help us to maintain unity: humility, gentleness, patience and love - characteristics to maintain even when we feel we do not have enough time to do so. Paul makes unity sound so natural, as the one God is “through all and in all”. However, in today’s world, we need to encourage and challenge one another to love towards one purpose, for our own good as individuals and as one family.
Unity is not a secret of Christians. Unity is a theme of Hinduism and Buddhism, among others. Furthermore, unity is not exclusive to religion. Ask the Ethiopian farmer who cannot provide health care and clean water for his family based on the miserable wages he receives for his coffee beans sold around the world if he is connected to
people he cannot see, as seen in the documentary “Black Gold”, and I think you would know his answer. Recently, we have learned how economic markets connect us. Climate change, food and acts of hatred know no geographical boundaries. Do you know the people who stitched your clothes, picked your bananas or assembled your electronics? We are undeniably connected with others around the globe, yet we are only unified when we understand one another as fellow human beings deserving of respect and love in the true ubuntu spirit.
So often, the media and experts tell us how we are different: race, age, sex, sexual orientation, economic wealth, education, religion, class and on and on. However, when it comes down to looking people in the eyes in greeting, none of these differences truly matter. What truly matters is that we are humans – we deserve respect; we need food, shelter and water; we want to love and be loved. The factors that keep us living and the essence of why we live are the same. Differences exist and are worth acknowledging, for we each have something unique to contribute. However, dwelling in these differences separates us from the humanity in one another and from the unity of the Spirit, our life source. Let us continually acknowledge the importance of and live by the ubuntu spirit.
Uniting Spirit, guide us to defy the ways of the world so we may truly live in unity. Amen.
A Spiritual Word: Love
“Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.” – Colossians 3:14
I am in love with the people of South Africa. Words cannot completely describe this love. If only I could send the experience of looking into the eyes of one of the children with whom I have fallen in love from the primary school where I volunteered for eight months. Then, maybe you could get a glimpse of this love, because I’ve fallen in love with their souls, and, yes, I do believe that eyes are the windows to the soul. The children at the primary school warm my heart as they glow when our eyes meet.
My eyes tear up as I anticipate leaving the school for the final time; I realize how much I love the children. The week before my last week at the primary school, I try to figure out an additional day I could go to the school. I do not feel ready to say goodbye.
Six months prior, I had been counting the days until I was done at the school. I loved the kids, mostly from a distance; yet, I rarely spent time with them, for in attempting to give the teachers the power to initiate my time in the classroom, on a good day, I was in the classroom for one or two hours. Over my first three months at the school, the educators and I slowly built a trusting and caring relationship as we explored how a young, white, American woman could interact within a rural, primary school environment with older, black, South African educators. Used to the “doing” culture of the US, I tried to keep myself busy with cleaning, organizing and reading educational material, but ran into dead ends with finances and organizing documents in another language. From those first three months, I learned important lessons in patience and how it feels to be trapped from the all-important American virtue of productivity. More importantly, I internalize that my productivity level does not define how good of a person I am. One may do more good by not doing anything physically constructive, but just being. In the relationship-focused culture at my school, I feel a revitalized awareness to the beauty of being.
Furthermore, since January, the educators and I have implemented an agreed upon schedule in which I teach grades one through six, each for one hour over the two days I am at the school every week. In grades one through three, I teach English vocabulary, such as family members or greetings. For grades four through six, we work on English reading. I feel I connect with the students and the educators through the shared process of creating a positive environment in the classrooms. I thoroughly enjoy my time at the school in 2010.
When I first arrived at the school, the children’s eyes seemed to follow me because I am white. At the school, all of the twenty staff are black and, except for five Indians, all of the 420 students are black. Now, I see many kids’ eyes light up when they see me and they greet me or whisper to their friends: “Miss Kate!” I feel that they are genuinely excited to see me because they like me for being me, not based on my skin color or country of origin. Kids giving me a random hug or leaning in the office door, whether to say hi to me or giggle, always puts a smile on my face.
During my last two weeks at the school, I teach the kids the song “Kids of the Kingdom”. On my last day, we tape the children singing the song. It is an honor to be able to give my supporters in the US the best gift of the children singing "Kids of the Kingdom". Additionally, major
supporters taught me "Kids of the Kingdom" when I was the same age as the children, so I am eager to pass the song onto the children and share how I believe they are each kids of God’s kingdom. The school community shares so much of their culture with me; I am thankful for how excited they are to learn the song, a part of my culture. The best part of teaching the song is hearing teachers and children sing “Kids of the Kingdom” as they go about the day.
During my last two days at the primary school, a lot of love is all around. Each grade welcomes me into their class one more time for a time of sharing: thoughts, sentiments and hugs. In the first grade class, I ask the children if they have any questions for me. One child asks, “When are you coming back?” Another child raises his hand and shares, “I love you.” More hands pop up and, one by one, children tell me, “I love you.” I feel humbled by the children’s love. I tell them that I love them all too. Then I offer that they may each share a hug with me. The children amaze me as many eagerly embrace me. Self-consciousness, age, race or any other thoughts of boundaries fail to hold them back. They show me pure love.
The educators and students continue to give of themselves as they perform a closing program in my honor. Amongst the beautiful songs, classes sing about love and a reprise of “Kids of the Kingdom” as well as the educators, including me, singing a hymn in Zulu. Kids in each grade share what they learned from me and one boy speaks on behalf of all the children in expressing their gratitude. The educators present me with traditional Zulu crafts, including a skirt and beaded jewelry. After receiving the material, musical and sentimental gifts, the teachers ask me to respond. In front of the community, I tell them I cannot entirely express my gratitude in words. I thank them for openly embracing me and selflessly giving of themselves; for through these attributes, we have created a strong connection. I share with the students that I believe in and hope the best for them. Finally, I tell them I love them. To close the program, a dozen female students passionately perform a Zulu dance. As the energy of the dance builds, the students gather around the ladies to form a clapping and cheering circle. The spiritual dance moves me.
Later, during the party given by the educators, adorned in my Zulu outfit, I attempt to dance in the traditional Zulu way. The educators cannot get enough of my dancing; they practically roll over one another in laughter and keep asking me to dance more. I doubt my dancing is technically superb, but to see the joy in their faces as I dance makes my effort worth it for every step. Giving the teachers personalized notes and dancing their traditional dance is the least I could do to thank them.
Do not let some of the children’s worn clothing deceive you; the children may not only be clothed in love, as recommended in Galatians, the children embody love. I feel their love demonstrates how everything is bound together by love. The children and I connect. When you genuinely give someone a hug, you cannot see the person’s skin color. When I first saw a picture of myself in front of a classroom, I was shocked by how much I stuck out- my skin looked much lighter than I remembered and I was not wearing the school uniform. Yet, my clothing choice or skin color could not stop love from bringing the children and me together. Love shatters human conceived boundaries.
God, guide us to see your love in one another and to love as you love us. Amen
I am in love with the people of South Africa. Words cannot completely describe this love. If only I could send the experience of looking into the eyes of one of the children with whom I have fallen in love from the primary school where I volunteered for eight months. Then, maybe you could get a glimpse of this love, because I’ve fallen in love with their souls, and, yes, I do believe that eyes are the windows to the soul. The children at the primary school warm my heart as they glow when our eyes meet.
My eyes tear up as I anticipate leaving the school for the final time; I realize how much I love the children. The week before my last week at the primary school, I try to figure out an additional day I could go to the school. I do not feel ready to say goodbye.
Six months prior, I had been counting the days until I was done at the school. I loved the kids, mostly from a distance; yet, I rarely spent time with them, for in attempting to give the teachers the power to initiate my time in the classroom, on a good day, I was in the classroom for one or two hours. Over my first three months at the school, the educators and I slowly built a trusting and caring relationship as we explored how a young, white, American woman could interact within a rural, primary school environment with older, black, South African educators. Used to the “doing” culture of the US, I tried to keep myself busy with cleaning, organizing and reading educational material, but ran into dead ends with finances and organizing documents in another language. From those first three months, I learned important lessons in patience and how it feels to be trapped from the all-important American virtue of productivity. More importantly, I internalize that my productivity level does not define how good of a person I am. One may do more good by not doing anything physically constructive, but just being. In the relationship-focused culture at my school, I feel a revitalized awareness to the beauty of being.
Furthermore, since January, the educators and I have implemented an agreed upon schedule in which I teach grades one through six, each for one hour over the two days I am at the school every week. In grades one through three, I teach English vocabulary, such as family members or greetings. For grades four through six, we work on English reading. I feel I connect with the students and the educators through the shared process of creating a positive environment in the classrooms. I thoroughly enjoy my time at the school in 2010.
When I first arrived at the school, the children’s eyes seemed to follow me because I am white. At the school, all of the twenty staff are black and, except for five Indians, all of the 420 students are black. Now, I see many kids’ eyes light up when they see me and they greet me or whisper to their friends: “Miss Kate!” I feel that they are genuinely excited to see me because they like me for being me, not based on my skin color or country of origin. Kids giving me a random hug or leaning in the office door, whether to say hi to me or giggle, always puts a smile on my face.
During my last two weeks at the school, I teach the kids the song “Kids of the Kingdom”. On my last day, we tape the children singing the song. It is an honor to be able to give my supporters in the US the best gift of the children singing "Kids of the Kingdom". Additionally, major
supporters taught me "Kids of the Kingdom" when I was the same age as the children, so I am eager to pass the song onto the children and share how I believe they are each kids of God’s kingdom. The school community shares so much of their culture with me; I am thankful for how excited they are to learn the song, a part of my culture. The best part of teaching the song is hearing teachers and children sing “Kids of the Kingdom” as they go about the day.
During my last two days at the primary school, a lot of love is all around. Each grade welcomes me into their class one more time for a time of sharing: thoughts, sentiments and hugs. In the first grade class, I ask the children if they have any questions for me. One child asks, “When are you coming back?” Another child raises his hand and shares, “I love you.” More hands pop up and, one by one, children tell me, “I love you.” I feel humbled by the children’s love. I tell them that I love them all too. Then I offer that they may each share a hug with me. The children amaze me as many eagerly embrace me. Self-consciousness, age, race or any other thoughts of boundaries fail to hold them back. They show me pure love.
The educators and students continue to give of themselves as they perform a closing program in my honor. Amongst the beautiful songs, classes sing about love and a reprise of “Kids of the Kingdom” as well as the educators, including me, singing a hymn in Zulu. Kids in each grade share what they learned from me and one boy speaks on behalf of all the children in expressing their gratitude. The educators present me with traditional Zulu crafts, including a skirt and beaded jewelry. After receiving the material, musical and sentimental gifts, the teachers ask me to respond. In front of the community, I tell them I cannot entirely express my gratitude in words. I thank them for openly embracing me and selflessly giving of themselves; for through these attributes, we have created a strong connection. I share with the students that I believe in and hope the best for them. Finally, I tell them I love them. To close the program, a dozen female students passionately perform a Zulu dance. As the energy of the dance builds, the students gather around the ladies to form a clapping and cheering circle. The spiritual dance moves me.
Later, during the party given by the educators, adorned in my Zulu outfit, I attempt to dance in the traditional Zulu way. The educators cannot get enough of my dancing; they practically roll over one another in laughter and keep asking me to dance more. I doubt my dancing is technically superb, but to see the joy in their faces as I dance makes my effort worth it for every step. Giving the teachers personalized notes and dancing their traditional dance is the least I could do to thank them.
Do not let some of the children’s worn clothing deceive you; the children may not only be clothed in love, as recommended in Galatians, the children embody love. I feel their love demonstrates how everything is bound together by love. The children and I connect. When you genuinely give someone a hug, you cannot see the person’s skin color. When I first saw a picture of myself in front of a classroom, I was shocked by how much I stuck out- my skin looked much lighter than I remembered and I was not wearing the school uniform. Yet, my clothing choice or skin color could not stop love from bringing the children and me together. Love shatters human conceived boundaries.
God, guide us to see your love in one another and to love as you love us. Amen
A Spiritual Word: Faith
“And this is the victory that conquers the world, our faith.” - 1st John 5:4b
This year, the people of South Africa have taught me the power of faith. Throughout my life, people have demonstrated the power of faith. Yet, this year, I have noticed how many South Africans I walk beside allow faith to be the driving force in their lives. Whether noticing faith playing such an important role in people’s lives is based on my own maturity and mindset, I am not sure. However, it does seem that faith conflicts with many ideals of American society: independence, control, and material wealth. Predominantly, I’ve questioned the American value of a sense of control. So often, I’ve place my knowledge and rationale in the navigating seat, moving faith to the backseat. If you want a job done right, you’ve got to do it yourself, right? Yet, in 1st John, John says that faith conquers the world. Faith is the true source of power. Do we truly think the good actions that come from us are our work alone? If all good comes from God, shouldn’t we want God in control? Are we putting aside our personal desires to allow the Spirit to move us? Why is faith’s power so difficult to believe?
Confusion spins my head; I paraphrase in shock what I just heard: “You’re giving a half hour message at church in an hour and a half and you don’t know what you’re going to talk about?” Londeka, my friend, replies, “How can I speak if he [God] hasn’t first spoken to me?” She makes a good point. Londeka continues to explain that she usually spends a full day with God in prayer to come up with a message, but the pastor had only asked her the night before and she had to work today. Initially, I couldn’t comprehend how Londeka had not figured out what to say- in my mind, she needed to know thoroughly what she would speak about in less than two hours. Yet, Londeka chose to have faith in God that he would guide her message. I may have chosen to push through a message, because providing a message was my responsibility. Londeka demonstrated the power of her faith as she truly trusted him to guide her.
One week at PACSA, I had no given tasks except to learn more about the organization. Although this may sound unproductive, this week was one of my most significant weeks at PACSA. God calls us in surprising ways. On each of the two days, a person shared with me scars from their past. Samantha* shared with me about how she was raped. I was only the fifth person Samantha had told about this life-changing event that happened years earlier. Michelle* told me about how her uncle, who served as her father figure, abused her into her twenties. At first glance, I do not see these women’s scars – I see their faith. These two women glow with a spiritual aura.
When I asked Michelle* where her faith comes from, she answered, “I’ve allowed God to bring his peace within me.” She humbly continued: “I guess the people that have everything going for them are less reliant on God.” I wonder if I have too much going for me. I believe being born into true wealth is primarily being born into a loving and supportive family. Material wealth is secondary. We say we want material comfort, yet, inherently having material comfort based on the family I was born into, I doubt that I truly appreciate the abundant gifts in my life. I can’t imagine growing up in an abusive environment. My stomach ties in knots just trying to imagine myself in an abusive situation. How does Michelle find the strength to be a glowing example of God’s love? This answer, perhaps, is inexplicable by reason: she has faith.
I asked Samantha why she has faith. She explained: “You first have faith,” then everything else will come by God’s power. Watching Samantha passionately describe her faith moves me. She is so down to earth that she speaks about faith in a way that I easily relate to my daily life. Sam stops me in my tracks when she states: “With faith we can say to God: we believe you even though the flesh says, ‘no, man, you’re being stupid.’” When’s the last time you did something the flesh, or the world, said was stupid because your faith moved you counter to the ways of the world?
Two weeks ago, three fellow YAGMs and I were withdrawing money in Maputo, the capital of Mozambique, for our week of vacation. That day, I wore a classic travel outfit- highlighting my long skirt covering my money/passport belt. After withdrawing money, I tried to discretely put my money and credit card in my money belt. As we started walking towards the market, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Instantly, the thought ran through my mind that the person who tapped me probably wanted to sell me something. I turned around anyway. A young man held out my credit card. My jaw dropped in shock. As I said thank you and took my card from his hand, my mind fumbled with what to do: give him money? I didn’t have anything with me of material value to give him. Yet, before I could collect myself, he swiftly turned and disappeared. Why did the man give me, a relatively wealthy, foreign, white person, back my credit card? It is experiences such as this that remind me that I am interconnected with others by something larger than myself.
My faith is affirmed every time someone squeezes my hand, lights up with a soul smile, and sings to glorify God without reservation. The people I’ve met in South Africa walk with a special light-a light that allows you to connect to the core of the person. The connection I’ve made with many people reinforces my faith in humanity, as God exists in every one of us. In a completely new community, culture, context, role, etc., I have had to trust God more this year and I feel that my trust in God has strengthened. Daily, I ask God to walk with me as I walk alongside the inspiring people of South Africa.
I have faith because I cannot believe that love is a mistake. I have faith because I cannot believe that this universe is solely a physical phenomenon. I have faith because I look into a person’s eyes and I see a soul. Life does not make sense to me in any other way but to live by faith.
God- Please help us allow you to fill us with your peace so that we may live faithful to you. Amen
*Pseudonyms are used in respect of the women
This year, the people of South Africa have taught me the power of faith. Throughout my life, people have demonstrated the power of faith. Yet, this year, I have noticed how many South Africans I walk beside allow faith to be the driving force in their lives. Whether noticing faith playing such an important role in people’s lives is based on my own maturity and mindset, I am not sure. However, it does seem that faith conflicts with many ideals of American society: independence, control, and material wealth. Predominantly, I’ve questioned the American value of a sense of control. So often, I’ve place my knowledge and rationale in the navigating seat, moving faith to the backseat. If you want a job done right, you’ve got to do it yourself, right? Yet, in 1st John, John says that faith conquers the world. Faith is the true source of power. Do we truly think the good actions that come from us are our work alone? If all good comes from God, shouldn’t we want God in control? Are we putting aside our personal desires to allow the Spirit to move us? Why is faith’s power so difficult to believe?
Confusion spins my head; I paraphrase in shock what I just heard: “You’re giving a half hour message at church in an hour and a half and you don’t know what you’re going to talk about?” Londeka, my friend, replies, “How can I speak if he [God] hasn’t first spoken to me?” She makes a good point. Londeka continues to explain that she usually spends a full day with God in prayer to come up with a message, but the pastor had only asked her the night before and she had to work today. Initially, I couldn’t comprehend how Londeka had not figured out what to say- in my mind, she needed to know thoroughly what she would speak about in less than two hours. Yet, Londeka chose to have faith in God that he would guide her message. I may have chosen to push through a message, because providing a message was my responsibility. Londeka demonstrated the power of her faith as she truly trusted him to guide her.
One week at PACSA, I had no given tasks except to learn more about the organization. Although this may sound unproductive, this week was one of my most significant weeks at PACSA. God calls us in surprising ways. On each of the two days, a person shared with me scars from their past. Samantha* shared with me about how she was raped. I was only the fifth person Samantha had told about this life-changing event that happened years earlier. Michelle* told me about how her uncle, who served as her father figure, abused her into her twenties. At first glance, I do not see these women’s scars – I see their faith. These two women glow with a spiritual aura.
When I asked Michelle* where her faith comes from, she answered, “I’ve allowed God to bring his peace within me.” She humbly continued: “I guess the people that have everything going for them are less reliant on God.” I wonder if I have too much going for me. I believe being born into true wealth is primarily being born into a loving and supportive family. Material wealth is secondary. We say we want material comfort, yet, inherently having material comfort based on the family I was born into, I doubt that I truly appreciate the abundant gifts in my life. I can’t imagine growing up in an abusive environment. My stomach ties in knots just trying to imagine myself in an abusive situation. How does Michelle find the strength to be a glowing example of God’s love? This answer, perhaps, is inexplicable by reason: she has faith.
I asked Samantha why she has faith. She explained: “You first have faith,” then everything else will come by God’s power. Watching Samantha passionately describe her faith moves me. She is so down to earth that she speaks about faith in a way that I easily relate to my daily life. Sam stops me in my tracks when she states: “With faith we can say to God: we believe you even though the flesh says, ‘no, man, you’re being stupid.’” When’s the last time you did something the flesh, or the world, said was stupid because your faith moved you counter to the ways of the world?
Two weeks ago, three fellow YAGMs and I were withdrawing money in Maputo, the capital of Mozambique, for our week of vacation. That day, I wore a classic travel outfit- highlighting my long skirt covering my money/passport belt. After withdrawing money, I tried to discretely put my money and credit card in my money belt. As we started walking towards the market, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Instantly, the thought ran through my mind that the person who tapped me probably wanted to sell me something. I turned around anyway. A young man held out my credit card. My jaw dropped in shock. As I said thank you and took my card from his hand, my mind fumbled with what to do: give him money? I didn’t have anything with me of material value to give him. Yet, before I could collect myself, he swiftly turned and disappeared. Why did the man give me, a relatively wealthy, foreign, white person, back my credit card? It is experiences such as this that remind me that I am interconnected with others by something larger than myself.
My faith is affirmed every time someone squeezes my hand, lights up with a soul smile, and sings to glorify God without reservation. The people I’ve met in South Africa walk with a special light-a light that allows you to connect to the core of the person. The connection I’ve made with many people reinforces my faith in humanity, as God exists in every one of us. In a completely new community, culture, context, role, etc., I have had to trust God more this year and I feel that my trust in God has strengthened. Daily, I ask God to walk with me as I walk alongside the inspiring people of South Africa.
I have faith because I cannot believe that love is a mistake. I have faith because I cannot believe that this universe is solely a physical phenomenon. I have faith because I look into a person’s eyes and I see a soul. Life does not make sense to me in any other way but to live by faith.
God- Please help us allow you to fill us with your peace so that we may live faithful to you. Amen
*Pseudonyms are used in respect of the women
A Spiritual Word: Grace
“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing, it is the gift of God” – Ephesians 2:8
Jesus’ words from Luke 23:34, “Father, forgive them; for they do now know what they are doing”, kept running through my head as I watched “Black Gold” with thirty, black South Africans while attending Pietermaritzburg Agency for Christian Social Awareness’ Economic Justice retreat. The Westerners seemed to have no clue as to how their extravagance impacted the lives of the people who provided, in the sense that they grew or made, their basic needs of food and clothing. Although, the Westerners’ ignorance did not surprise me, as I often ignore the source of my material goods, the contrast between Westerners and Africans stung as I watched as the lone Westerner among Africans. “Black Gold” is a documentary that uses the material good of coffee, from planter to consumer, to demonstrate how the unjust international trade system, favoring the West over less developed countries, affects people’s daily lives.
The contrast between the Ethiopian coffee farmers wanting to earn enough money to send their children to school and representatives from the US, Canada, and Western Europe participating in a coffee brewing competition is undeniable. Although sending a child to school in the US is often relatively easy, Ethiopian coffee farmers struggle to build a school, let alone pay for uniforms, transport and/or school fees. Do we understand how our buying habits can mean life or death for the people who plant and tend to the raw product? According to the directors of “Black Gold”, the coffee farmers merely want: “a price that can send children to school, have healthcare and a clean water supply.” For many Americans, including me, understanding the feeling of not being able to provide food and shelter for our loved ones is inconceivable. Yet, this feeling is a daily reality for many of the people who grow coffee for their livelihood.
The story of Africans struggling to survive is not new. Often the solution seems to be to send money. Yet, ask the Malawi Minister for Trade if he wants aid. In “Black Gold” he states: "We don't want aid, we want trade". The directors of Black Gold elaborate: “African nations want to trade their way out of the situation, but there are corporations and international institutions that are preventing it.” How could Africans not want aid? Well, would you rather receive fair pay for your labor or free handouts? Africa’s share of world trade accounts for only one percent of the total. Yet, the “Black Gold” directors share: “If Africa's share of world trade increased by one percentage point, it would generate roughly five times the amount of money that they're receiving in aid.” Ibo! (See “A Word in isiZulu: Ibo!” on page 4).
I share these facts with you, not to make you feel guilty, but rather so that we may encourage one another to intentionally seek knowledge of the implications of our actions, and then, with our eyes open, change our actions to best love and empower our neighbors. Although the Westerners depicted in the documentary were in need of nothing, they seemed disconnected and empty. In the Africans, struggling to survive, I sensed true life.
We will sin again, sins of commission and sins of omission. By grace, God will forgive us endlessly, Martin Luther tells us that we are not saved by anything we do or do not do. According to Romans, we are saved by grace. God’s gift of grace deserves life-long celebration to give God glory. However, we must also daily recognize God’s sacrifice: Jesus’ crucifixion. Christian life is not only about joy; because of God’s grace through sacrifice, we too should pick up our crosses and follow Jesus. When we function within systems that unfairly ill-treat our neighbors, known and unknown, we do not love our
neighbors. In the case of the coffee farmers, Nick and Marc Francis, the directors of “Black Gold”, state: “The solution is for coffee farmers to receive a greater share of the billions of dollars generated from coffee. This will only happen when they can capture a greater share of the ‘value-chain’ - by earning more than 3 cents for a $3 latte.” Buying fair trade products would be a good, first step towards loving our neighbors. I ask each of you to watch the life-giving movie “Black Gold,” which, along with other information, may be found on their website: http://blackgoldmovie.com/. As Tadesse, the manager of the coffee farmers’ union featured in the documentary, states: "Awareness is the first step to change". The faith-based sacrifices we make glorify God and give life.
My experiences in Cape Town connect me with a few makers of material goods. After spending most of my money I have on me, I stroll casually into colorful Greenmarket Square, enjoying the careful craftwork and intricate or funky art. Yet, what jumps out to me is an open book with the text in two columns on each page. I look up to the face of the woman who holds the book. She meets my eyes. “What are you reading?” I enquire. She is reading the book of Proverbs from the Bible because, she explains, it gives her the wisdom and strength to stay focused on God. Her name is Grace, and she quietly responds that she is from Zimbabwe. Zimbabweans are often persecuted in South Africa, similar to how some Americans treat Mexican immigrants. Grace points out to her little son playing nearby. I ask her about her wire animals on display. Her husband makes the iron frames of the animals and she beads them. Besides sharing her work, Grace shares her kindness and warmth. I thank Grace and walk away with gifts from Grace: two wire animals and inspiration.
After an energizing interaction with Grace, I leave my things with my two YAGM friends, Kristen and Elliott, as they eat lunch and dive into the market for another adventure. This time, beautiful stone carvings catch my eye and I fall into conversation with Austen, who shares the stall with his uncle and cousin. Austen and his family are also from Zimbabwe; they carve their sculptures in Zimbabwe and bring them to Cape Town. Two different elephants, one made by Austen and the other by his uncle, each remind me of people to whom I should give them. Yet, I explain to Austen that I cannot give him what he deserves- I have 70 Rand in my pocket, less than US$10. I promise to return. I ask one of my friends to lend me money for art, and he gives it to me, a pure luxury. I return to Austen with the money and Austen’s uncle picks out two tusks for one of my elephants, made from cow bone. I place them in the tusk holes but think that they are too big. Austen asks his uncle to make them smaller. Three minutes later, the uncle proudly gives me back the tusks and tells me to put them someplace where I won’t loose them. I smile and say I’ll put them in my cargo pocket. After shaking Austen’s uncle and cousin’s hands, Austen walks me to where he works full time on top of helping to run the market stall, a restaurant facing the market. Then, I introduce him to my friends. Before saying goodbye, Austen reminds me to call him via a friend’s number in a neighboring stall. I have not called Austen. I lost one of the tusks. Once again, based on my privilege, I receive in abundance. And, once again, I value what I have received less than the once who gave. By God’s grace, may I learn to appreciate all the gifts I receive.
God, please forgive us our sins, known and unknown. Open our eyes to the injustices in the world. Help us to love our neighbors, seen and unseen, in our daily actions. May we endlessly glorify you for your life providing gift of grace. Amen.
Jesus’ words from Luke 23:34, “Father, forgive them; for they do now know what they are doing”, kept running through my head as I watched “Black Gold” with thirty, black South Africans while attending Pietermaritzburg Agency for Christian Social Awareness’ Economic Justice retreat. The Westerners seemed to have no clue as to how their extravagance impacted the lives of the people who provided, in the sense that they grew or made, their basic needs of food and clothing. Although, the Westerners’ ignorance did not surprise me, as I often ignore the source of my material goods, the contrast between Westerners and Africans stung as I watched as the lone Westerner among Africans. “Black Gold” is a documentary that uses the material good of coffee, from planter to consumer, to demonstrate how the unjust international trade system, favoring the West over less developed countries, affects people’s daily lives.
The contrast between the Ethiopian coffee farmers wanting to earn enough money to send their children to school and representatives from the US, Canada, and Western Europe participating in a coffee brewing competition is undeniable. Although sending a child to school in the US is often relatively easy, Ethiopian coffee farmers struggle to build a school, let alone pay for uniforms, transport and/or school fees. Do we understand how our buying habits can mean life or death for the people who plant and tend to the raw product? According to the directors of “Black Gold”, the coffee farmers merely want: “a price that can send children to school, have healthcare and a clean water supply.” For many Americans, including me, understanding the feeling of not being able to provide food and shelter for our loved ones is inconceivable. Yet, this feeling is a daily reality for many of the people who grow coffee for their livelihood.
The story of Africans struggling to survive is not new. Often the solution seems to be to send money. Yet, ask the Malawi Minister for Trade if he wants aid. In “Black Gold” he states: "We don't want aid, we want trade". The directors of Black Gold elaborate: “African nations want to trade their way out of the situation, but there are corporations and international institutions that are preventing it.” How could Africans not want aid? Well, would you rather receive fair pay for your labor or free handouts? Africa’s share of world trade accounts for only one percent of the total. Yet, the “Black Gold” directors share: “If Africa's share of world trade increased by one percentage point, it would generate roughly five times the amount of money that they're receiving in aid.” Ibo! (See “A Word in isiZulu: Ibo!” on page 4).
I share these facts with you, not to make you feel guilty, but rather so that we may encourage one another to intentionally seek knowledge of the implications of our actions, and then, with our eyes open, change our actions to best love and empower our neighbors. Although the Westerners depicted in the documentary were in need of nothing, they seemed disconnected and empty. In the Africans, struggling to survive, I sensed true life.
We will sin again, sins of commission and sins of omission. By grace, God will forgive us endlessly, Martin Luther tells us that we are not saved by anything we do or do not do. According to Romans, we are saved by grace. God’s gift of grace deserves life-long celebration to give God glory. However, we must also daily recognize God’s sacrifice: Jesus’ crucifixion. Christian life is not only about joy; because of God’s grace through sacrifice, we too should pick up our crosses and follow Jesus. When we function within systems that unfairly ill-treat our neighbors, known and unknown, we do not love our
neighbors. In the case of the coffee farmers, Nick and Marc Francis, the directors of “Black Gold”, state: “The solution is for coffee farmers to receive a greater share of the billions of dollars generated from coffee. This will only happen when they can capture a greater share of the ‘value-chain’ - by earning more than 3 cents for a $3 latte.” Buying fair trade products would be a good, first step towards loving our neighbors. I ask each of you to watch the life-giving movie “Black Gold,” which, along with other information, may be found on their website: http://blackgoldmovie.com/. As Tadesse, the manager of the coffee farmers’ union featured in the documentary, states: "Awareness is the first step to change". The faith-based sacrifices we make glorify God and give life.
My experiences in Cape Town connect me with a few makers of material goods. After spending most of my money I have on me, I stroll casually into colorful Greenmarket Square, enjoying the careful craftwork and intricate or funky art. Yet, what jumps out to me is an open book with the text in two columns on each page. I look up to the face of the woman who holds the book. She meets my eyes. “What are you reading?” I enquire. She is reading the book of Proverbs from the Bible because, she explains, it gives her the wisdom and strength to stay focused on God. Her name is Grace, and she quietly responds that she is from Zimbabwe. Zimbabweans are often persecuted in South Africa, similar to how some Americans treat Mexican immigrants. Grace points out to her little son playing nearby. I ask her about her wire animals on display. Her husband makes the iron frames of the animals and she beads them. Besides sharing her work, Grace shares her kindness and warmth. I thank Grace and walk away with gifts from Grace: two wire animals and inspiration.
After an energizing interaction with Grace, I leave my things with my two YAGM friends, Kristen and Elliott, as they eat lunch and dive into the market for another adventure. This time, beautiful stone carvings catch my eye and I fall into conversation with Austen, who shares the stall with his uncle and cousin. Austen and his family are also from Zimbabwe; they carve their sculptures in Zimbabwe and bring them to Cape Town. Two different elephants, one made by Austen and the other by his uncle, each remind me of people to whom I should give them. Yet, I explain to Austen that I cannot give him what he deserves- I have 70 Rand in my pocket, less than US$10. I promise to return. I ask one of my friends to lend me money for art, and he gives it to me, a pure luxury. I return to Austen with the money and Austen’s uncle picks out two tusks for one of my elephants, made from cow bone. I place them in the tusk holes but think that they are too big. Austen asks his uncle to make them smaller. Three minutes later, the uncle proudly gives me back the tusks and tells me to put them someplace where I won’t loose them. I smile and say I’ll put them in my cargo pocket. After shaking Austen’s uncle and cousin’s hands, Austen walks me to where he works full time on top of helping to run the market stall, a restaurant facing the market. Then, I introduce him to my friends. Before saying goodbye, Austen reminds me to call him via a friend’s number in a neighboring stall. I have not called Austen. I lost one of the tusks. Once again, based on my privilege, I receive in abundance. And, once again, I value what I have received less than the once who gave. By God’s grace, may I learn to appreciate all the gifts I receive.
God, please forgive us our sins, known and unknown. Open our eyes to the injustices in the world. Help us to love our neighbors, seen and unseen, in our daily actions. May we endlessly glorify you for your life providing gift of grace. Amen.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
A Spiritual Word: Struggle
“For to this end we toil and struggle, because we have our hope set on the living God” – Timothy 4:10a
If we are Christians, then we should struggle. If we believe in a higher power, then we should struggle. We struggle against things of this world and for the higher good. As my measuring stick for what we should struggle for, I follow Jesus’ mandate to love our neighbors as ourselves. Jesus did not qualify neighbors. Jesus does not say love your neighbors who are white, elder, and male. As we share this earth, we should always act in the Spirit of loving our neighbor, including every living being.
In my experience in KwaZulu-Natal, I often feel that respect for a person is based on age and sometimes on gender. With the dozen people I have shared that my dad has washed countless more dishes than me during my lifetime, every person is surprised. In my host family, my host parents never wash dishes, nor my half-host-brother, who sometimes visits. Also, part of my host sisters’ role is to serve food to my host parents. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen my host parents dish up supper for themselves. Older age seems to give one veto power. I struggle with respect being based on age because I grew up in a home where every person’s opinion mattered equally, no matter the person’s age. Of course my parents still had veto power, but they rarely used it and we would almost always agree on the most reasonable and best decision. I believe we should respect all people equally as a fellow child of God.
A few Saturdays ago I attended a seven hour long ELCSA Youth League Executive meeting, almost all in IsiZulu. When a snack came for the group a couple hours into the meeting and was placed on a table in front, I whispered to the person next to me, asking if I could serve everyone. She replied with a laugh that they can serve themselves. Yet, I noticed that only the Dean and ranking male members were enjoying the snack. Finally, I walked to the table and served everyone pastries and juice. I appreciated the break from sitting and I felt helpful. During a break, the male secretary and I were discussing President Zuma’s wives. Then, he offered that I could be his second wife- I was so quick in serving everyone; some women refused to serve men and they were lazy. I replied that I believe that vice-versa is also true-if men refuse to serve women, then they are lazy. His jaw dropped. I continued that our savior got down on his knees and washed his disciples’ feet and told us to do likewise. He said nothing, but looked at me with skeptical amusement. This is the only time that I’ve verbally confronted someone about sexist remarks. I haven’t even discussed the topic with my host mom. Yet, if someone is going to offer me his hand in marriage, he better know what he’s getting himself into. Growing up with three brothers, I never felt that they could do something I couldn’t based on gender. Yet, seeing women as less than men is a problem the world over, including in the US.
Finally, my last major struggle has been about whether I am where God wants me. On a day at Dalton Primary School, when I have made a few copies but mostly sat without a given task, I felt that I was serving little purpose. When I struggled to accomplish tasks based on cultural differences, I questioned if South Africa is truly the place that I am most effective with my gifts.
Yet, the reality of struggle is that struggle will make you stronger if you continue to strive to love. When I return to the US, I will show my parents more respect; I will aim to empower more women; I will live with more patience and empower people who feel purposeless. Even though these struggles have frustrated me, I never would choose that they had not happened. Even at school, the months of frustration have given me a taste of what it feels like to be trapped and powerless within an inefficient system, a lesson I could never learn in a classroom or pay to understand. Furthermore, I know that people at the school truly appreciate my presence. My principal said yesterday that knowing that I’m leaving is like knowing when you are going to die. He wants me to stay forever. Plus, by trying to not come off as the pushy American and setting a schedule when the educators respect me, I feel fulfilled at Dalton Primary School the two days per week I am at the school since January. I visit each class once per week and I am in a classroom three of the five hours per day.
Furthermore, living in South Africa has taught me to keep my perception of my struggles in check. Last week, I was making my mom a birthday card, writing down for each year she has lived an important person, event, accomplishment, destination, characteristic, or hobby in her life. As I was brainstorming a list, a man named John, from the Democratic Republic of Congo, started sharing about how, since he fled the DRC over a year ago, he has no idea where are his nine siblings. He shared, “It’s like I’m coming from nowhere.” I looked down at the paper stating blessings in my mom’s life and felt humbled. He shared many more eye opening information (which you can find on the third page of this newsletter). Keeping perceptions in check of our own struggles is a huge challenge for many Americans. Are we striving to show love in our struggle? Are we in tune with others’ struggles? May we continue to struggle for the glory of God as we grow in loving service.
God, please grant us the courage and compassion to seek to understand the struggles of our neighbors. May our struggles glorify you as we seek to be your hands and feet in this world. Amen.
If we are Christians, then we should struggle. If we believe in a higher power, then we should struggle. We struggle against things of this world and for the higher good. As my measuring stick for what we should struggle for, I follow Jesus’ mandate to love our neighbors as ourselves. Jesus did not qualify neighbors. Jesus does not say love your neighbors who are white, elder, and male. As we share this earth, we should always act in the Spirit of loving our neighbor, including every living being.
In my experience in KwaZulu-Natal, I often feel that respect for a person is based on age and sometimes on gender. With the dozen people I have shared that my dad has washed countless more dishes than me during my lifetime, every person is surprised. In my host family, my host parents never wash dishes, nor my half-host-brother, who sometimes visits. Also, part of my host sisters’ role is to serve food to my host parents. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen my host parents dish up supper for themselves. Older age seems to give one veto power. I struggle with respect being based on age because I grew up in a home where every person’s opinion mattered equally, no matter the person’s age. Of course my parents still had veto power, but they rarely used it and we would almost always agree on the most reasonable and best decision. I believe we should respect all people equally as a fellow child of God.
A few Saturdays ago I attended a seven hour long ELCSA Youth League Executive meeting, almost all in IsiZulu. When a snack came for the group a couple hours into the meeting and was placed on a table in front, I whispered to the person next to me, asking if I could serve everyone. She replied with a laugh that they can serve themselves. Yet, I noticed that only the Dean and ranking male members were enjoying the snack. Finally, I walked to the table and served everyone pastries and juice. I appreciated the break from sitting and I felt helpful. During a break, the male secretary and I were discussing President Zuma’s wives. Then, he offered that I could be his second wife- I was so quick in serving everyone; some women refused to serve men and they were lazy. I replied that I believe that vice-versa is also true-if men refuse to serve women, then they are lazy. His jaw dropped. I continued that our savior got down on his knees and washed his disciples’ feet and told us to do likewise. He said nothing, but looked at me with skeptical amusement. This is the only time that I’ve verbally confronted someone about sexist remarks. I haven’t even discussed the topic with my host mom. Yet, if someone is going to offer me his hand in marriage, he better know what he’s getting himself into. Growing up with three brothers, I never felt that they could do something I couldn’t based on gender. Yet, seeing women as less than men is a problem the world over, including in the US.
Finally, my last major struggle has been about whether I am where God wants me. On a day at Dalton Primary School, when I have made a few copies but mostly sat without a given task, I felt that I was serving little purpose. When I struggled to accomplish tasks based on cultural differences, I questioned if South Africa is truly the place that I am most effective with my gifts.
Yet, the reality of struggle is that struggle will make you stronger if you continue to strive to love. When I return to the US, I will show my parents more respect; I will aim to empower more women; I will live with more patience and empower people who feel purposeless. Even though these struggles have frustrated me, I never would choose that they had not happened. Even at school, the months of frustration have given me a taste of what it feels like to be trapped and powerless within an inefficient system, a lesson I could never learn in a classroom or pay to understand. Furthermore, I know that people at the school truly appreciate my presence. My principal said yesterday that knowing that I’m leaving is like knowing when you are going to die. He wants me to stay forever. Plus, by trying to not come off as the pushy American and setting a schedule when the educators respect me, I feel fulfilled at Dalton Primary School the two days per week I am at the school since January. I visit each class once per week and I am in a classroom three of the five hours per day.
Furthermore, living in South Africa has taught me to keep my perception of my struggles in check. Last week, I was making my mom a birthday card, writing down for each year she has lived an important person, event, accomplishment, destination, characteristic, or hobby in her life. As I was brainstorming a list, a man named John, from the Democratic Republic of Congo, started sharing about how, since he fled the DRC over a year ago, he has no idea where are his nine siblings. He shared, “It’s like I’m coming from nowhere.” I looked down at the paper stating blessings in my mom’s life and felt humbled. He shared many more eye opening information (which you can find on the third page of this newsletter). Keeping perceptions in check of our own struggles is a huge challenge for many Americans. Are we striving to show love in our struggle? Are we in tune with others’ struggles? May we continue to struggle for the glory of God as we grow in loving service.
God, please grant us the courage and compassion to seek to understand the struggles of our neighbors. May our struggles glorify you as we seek to be your hands and feet in this world. Amen.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
A Spiritual Word: Hope
“We also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.” Romans 5:3b-5
A new year screams hope-especially the year 2010 in South Africa when Africa will host the FIFA World Cup for the first time. Furthermore, my two youngest sisters and my young neighbor/cousin/almost brother wanted to do something and intensely focused on the task of contributing to this newsletter as my “South African Friends” (see page 2), reinforcing the theme of hope, as they are the future. When I read the first few verses of Romans 5, this Biblical passage about hope seemed to be speaking about black South Africans.
Imagine that you are persecuted your whole life because of a trait you did not choose and cannot change. You stand in a different line at the post office based on this trait. People that have a society-deemed-better uncontrollable trait ask you to fetch them things because you have a different, uncontrollable trait. You cannot leave your home after certain hours or go in specific areas of town. Black South Africans, the vast majority of South African’s population, lived this reality for decades under apartheid.
As I mentally prepared for living in South Africa, I prepared myself to receive bitterness based on my skin color. In some ways, I thought the bitterness justified shown towards the oppressors by the unjustly oppressed. Yet, since I’ve arrived in South Africa, no one has shown me bitterness. In my small community, people initially stare at me as a celebrity, humbly divert their eyes to the ground or measure me with their eyes, but I never feel demonized. In drastic contrast, people have surprised me over and over with their kind eyes and genuine smiles when I greet them. When I asked Dean Myaka why I received no bitterness or anger, he calmly responded, “It’s not in our nature; you can’t just ill-treat people out of the blue.” His intuitively clear and simple answer left me speechless. If anything is left from the apartheid that I sense in interactions I share with others, it is a sense of doubt about whether we may greet one another as fellow humans, as if others are unworthy of my acknowledgment. How do people come to a point when they question their self-worth? I am in awe of and humbled by my South African brothers and sisters.
Martin Luther King Jr. articulates a rationale for treating oppressing people with love in his collection of sermons called, Strength to Love. In the 1960s, Martin Luther King Jr. spoke of the power of love to overcome racial injustice: “There will be no permanent solution to the race problem until oppressed men develop the capacity to love their enemies. The darkness of racial injustice will be dispelled only by the light of forgiving love” (55). Hope cannot be found in continuing the cycle of injustice, but breaking the cycle with love. Furthermore, he shares that, although centuries of unjust oppression could lead people to feel bitter and act correspondingly with hate, hate is never the answer. Dr. King states that if people act hatefully in retaliation: “…the new order we seek will be little more than a duplicate of the old order. We must in strength and humility meet hate with love” (55). Even after years of suffering, Dr. Kind declares that love is the only solution to hateful actions.
In Romans, Paul writes from a prison cell of how suffering leads to hope. Although people do not often look to add suffering in their lives, I feel the strength of the people all around me in South Africa. Yesterday, I greeted an older woman as I passed her on my way home. She was carrying a very heavy parcel on her head (talk about neck strength), and I asked if she was okay. Instead of giving me some of her burden, she started asking about me: my name, my last name, where I am from, what I am doing in South Africa, etc. In return, I asked where she was going and asked her name: Ivy. I turned to go, and she called after me, “You didn’t ask my last name!” Taken slightly aback-family affiliations are much more important in my community in South Africa than my community in the US- I smiled and asked her last name. After responding with a smile, she called after me something along the lines of: “I wish I could spend lots of time with you so I could learn English.” I called back: “And I could learn isiZulu!” As I walked away, I felt humbled by this woman; Ivy had been oppressed by a system run by white people for the majority of her life. Yet, in our conversation, mostly in English, she told me that she wishes she could learn from me. Talk about character! She demonstrated Paul’s abstract argument. Her skin spoke to her suffering, her heavy parcel and even steps demonstrated her endurance, her conversation proved her character, and her eyes and spirit shone with hope. The people of South Africa ceaselessly teach me about deep, spiritual hope.
At times this year, I have felt a loss of hope. Yet, these are the times when I am depending on my own understanding. Of course I should loose hope in my understanding, for my understanding is limited. Hoping solely based on my own understanding is not a deep, spiritual hope worthy of my efforts. Deep, spiritual hope is based on something larger than myself: God’s power and grace are unlimited. God gave us the ultimate reason to hope when he died on the cross to give us new life. As our creator, God lives in each of us. You will find God, and therefore a reason to hope, in every person’s face. Perhaps people’s faces do not always read love; maybe the faces seem overtaken by hate. Yet, God has still created each of us. Furthermore, when God gave us freewill, he gave us the capacity to choose love over hate. We may choose to show love, thereby sharing God, leading to hope. In love, God reveals hope.
God, Guide us to see blessings of hope every day. Amen.
A new year screams hope-especially the year 2010 in South Africa when Africa will host the FIFA World Cup for the first time. Furthermore, my two youngest sisters and my young neighbor/cousin/almost brother wanted to do something and intensely focused on the task of contributing to this newsletter as my “South African Friends” (see page 2), reinforcing the theme of hope, as they are the future. When I read the first few verses of Romans 5, this Biblical passage about hope seemed to be speaking about black South Africans.
Imagine that you are persecuted your whole life because of a trait you did not choose and cannot change. You stand in a different line at the post office based on this trait. People that have a society-deemed-better uncontrollable trait ask you to fetch them things because you have a different, uncontrollable trait. You cannot leave your home after certain hours or go in specific areas of town. Black South Africans, the vast majority of South African’s population, lived this reality for decades under apartheid.
As I mentally prepared for living in South Africa, I prepared myself to receive bitterness based on my skin color. In some ways, I thought the bitterness justified shown towards the oppressors by the unjustly oppressed. Yet, since I’ve arrived in South Africa, no one has shown me bitterness. In my small community, people initially stare at me as a celebrity, humbly divert their eyes to the ground or measure me with their eyes, but I never feel demonized. In drastic contrast, people have surprised me over and over with their kind eyes and genuine smiles when I greet them. When I asked Dean Myaka why I received no bitterness or anger, he calmly responded, “It’s not in our nature; you can’t just ill-treat people out of the blue.” His intuitively clear and simple answer left me speechless. If anything is left from the apartheid that I sense in interactions I share with others, it is a sense of doubt about whether we may greet one another as fellow humans, as if others are unworthy of my acknowledgment. How do people come to a point when they question their self-worth? I am in awe of and humbled by my South African brothers and sisters.
Martin Luther King Jr. articulates a rationale for treating oppressing people with love in his collection of sermons called, Strength to Love. In the 1960s, Martin Luther King Jr. spoke of the power of love to overcome racial injustice: “There will be no permanent solution to the race problem until oppressed men develop the capacity to love their enemies. The darkness of racial injustice will be dispelled only by the light of forgiving love” (55). Hope cannot be found in continuing the cycle of injustice, but breaking the cycle with love. Furthermore, he shares that, although centuries of unjust oppression could lead people to feel bitter and act correspondingly with hate, hate is never the answer. Dr. King states that if people act hatefully in retaliation: “…the new order we seek will be little more than a duplicate of the old order. We must in strength and humility meet hate with love” (55). Even after years of suffering, Dr. Kind declares that love is the only solution to hateful actions.
In Romans, Paul writes from a prison cell of how suffering leads to hope. Although people do not often look to add suffering in their lives, I feel the strength of the people all around me in South Africa. Yesterday, I greeted an older woman as I passed her on my way home. She was carrying a very heavy parcel on her head (talk about neck strength), and I asked if she was okay. Instead of giving me some of her burden, she started asking about me: my name, my last name, where I am from, what I am doing in South Africa, etc. In return, I asked where she was going and asked her name: Ivy. I turned to go, and she called after me, “You didn’t ask my last name!” Taken slightly aback-family affiliations are much more important in my community in South Africa than my community in the US- I smiled and asked her last name. After responding with a smile, she called after me something along the lines of: “I wish I could spend lots of time with you so I could learn English.” I called back: “And I could learn isiZulu!” As I walked away, I felt humbled by this woman; Ivy had been oppressed by a system run by white people for the majority of her life. Yet, in our conversation, mostly in English, she told me that she wishes she could learn from me. Talk about character! She demonstrated Paul’s abstract argument. Her skin spoke to her suffering, her heavy parcel and even steps demonstrated her endurance, her conversation proved her character, and her eyes and spirit shone with hope. The people of South Africa ceaselessly teach me about deep, spiritual hope.
At times this year, I have felt a loss of hope. Yet, these are the times when I am depending on my own understanding. Of course I should loose hope in my understanding, for my understanding is limited. Hoping solely based on my own understanding is not a deep, spiritual hope worthy of my efforts. Deep, spiritual hope is based on something larger than myself: God’s power and grace are unlimited. God gave us the ultimate reason to hope when he died on the cross to give us new life. As our creator, God lives in each of us. You will find God, and therefore a reason to hope, in every person’s face. Perhaps people’s faces do not always read love; maybe the faces seem overtaken by hate. Yet, God has still created each of us. Furthermore, when God gave us freewill, he gave us the capacity to choose love over hate. We may choose to show love, thereby sharing God, leading to hope. In love, God reveals hope.
God, Guide us to see blessings of hope every day. Amen.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Justice
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.” Matthew 5:6-8
From my room, I can see the tops of sugarcane blowing in the wind on the other side of the family’s wall. The sugarcane that surrounds Cool Air, my community, is bittersweet- not literally, but figuratively. The sugarcane is a symbol of injustice.
A few weeks after moving into the Zondi home, I saw my first other white person in the community. The older man drove his truck by our home at 5:30 in the morning. That evening I shared my surprise sighting with my host sister, who explained that the man was probably the farmer checking his sugarcane fields. Although white settlers originally brought the field workers from India, I often see the current field workers, who are all black. The difference between the farm owner and farm workers cannot only be seen based on skin color, but also in their homes. The farm owner’s home may easily be picked out by the palm trees standing above his nice, isolated home. According to my host mom, the farm workers live in compounds built by the farm owner or shacks because they do not make enough, less than R1,000 or US$140 a month, to buy their own nice homes. Is this the post-apartheid promise of justice?
Justice is a complex concept. Defined, justice means being just. According to Webster, “just” means: right or fair; righteousness; well-founded.* In No Future Without Forgiveness, Archbishop Desmond Tutu clarifies between two different types of justice: retributive justice and restorative justice. He encourages South Africa to pursue restorative justice where, “In the spirit of ubuntu, the central concern is the healing of breaches, the redressing of imbalances, the restoration of broken relationships, a seeking to rehabilitate both the victim and the perpetrator…” (54). Tutu’s idea of the goal of restorative justice, to create balance between humans, falls in line with Jesus’ call in the Beatitudes for us to pursue righteousness and be merciful. As Christians, we should pursue restorative justice. We are actively pursuing restorative justice, according to Tutu, when “…efforts are being made to work for healing, for forgiving, and for reconciliation” (55). We should seek justice today to help heal the pain caused by the injustice of yesterday and stifle the injustice of tomorrow.
Although, in South Africa, injustice began well before the Apartheid government, the Apartheid government seized the occurring racism and maximized the injustice against non-white, particularly black, for the white people’s benefit. In Bring Me My Machine Gun, Alan Russell explains the unfair redistribution of land, stating: “In the stroke of the pen, about 75 percent of South Africa’s population was relegated to about 13 percent of its territory” (182). When the Apartheid government started writing laws separating people based on skin color in the late 1940s and early 1950s, the government included a law that redistributed the land so that white people owned the majority of land and forced blacks to live on small pieces of land. Russell asserts that, “Under white rule three-quarters of the land was in the hands of the white minority” (189). Even though 25 percent of the land changed hands to the black government when apartheid ended in 1994, the majority of land continues to be owned by the white minority. Although the government continues to buy back land from willing white farmers, the process is moving slowly. Symbolically, the minority of whites still owning the majority of land argues against the end of opportunity based on race. However, the shadow of the chaos in Zimbabwe reminds South Africans to be patient. Yet, the end of the Apartheid’s injustice continues to affect South Africans without an end in sight.
My host mom states that they still need justice in South Africa. My host sister says that their will never be justice in South Africa. My host mom holds that justice will only occur when all South Africans are colored, for then they will have the same colored skin. I pray that skin color will not stop us for seeing all people as our neighbors to love and to strive for justice for all.
I am a white American from a privileged background. Who am I to speak about justice? Yet, through living in post-apartheid South Africa, I more clearly see the injustice in my own country, the US. Will anyone read this essay who is not white? Why can I only name a handful of friends in the US who are not white? How can I denounce the oppression in South Africa while I reap the benefits of my country killing the native people or moving them onto small reservations? Can I argue that our society is not racially segregated? How do I perpetrate, or at least ignorantly allow, injustice?
In the Sermon on the Mount in the gospel of Matthew, Jesus encourages his followers to care for everyone, particularly the marginalized in society. The Beatitudes stress that in the end, the world’s standards stand as contrary to God’s guidance. Jesus tells us, His followers, to pursue justice. Although life on earth may seem a lot easier if we just keep to our own business, Jesus actively cares for the marginalized in society, and, as his hands and feet in the world, so should we. In the inspiring and fantastic book, God Has a Dream, Desmond Tutu poignantly points out: “Can you imagine what would happen in this world if we accepted that fact about ourselves-that whether we like it or not we are members of one family?” (22). May we walk side by side with all of our brothers and sisters in Christ.
Heavenly Father, so often we loose ourselves in the rhythm of life and forget to live compassionately. Help us to see and act against the injustice in our society hand in hand with our brothers and sisters in Christ. Amen
From my room, I can see the tops of sugarcane blowing in the wind on the other side of the family’s wall. The sugarcane that surrounds Cool Air, my community, is bittersweet- not literally, but figuratively. The sugarcane is a symbol of injustice.
A few weeks after moving into the Zondi home, I saw my first other white person in the community. The older man drove his truck by our home at 5:30 in the morning. That evening I shared my surprise sighting with my host sister, who explained that the man was probably the farmer checking his sugarcane fields. Although white settlers originally brought the field workers from India, I often see the current field workers, who are all black. The difference between the farm owner and farm workers cannot only be seen based on skin color, but also in their homes. The farm owner’s home may easily be picked out by the palm trees standing above his nice, isolated home. According to my host mom, the farm workers live in compounds built by the farm owner or shacks because they do not make enough, less than R1,000 or US$140 a month, to buy their own nice homes. Is this the post-apartheid promise of justice?
Justice is a complex concept. Defined, justice means being just. According to Webster, “just” means: right or fair; righteousness; well-founded.* In No Future Without Forgiveness, Archbishop Desmond Tutu clarifies between two different types of justice: retributive justice and restorative justice. He encourages South Africa to pursue restorative justice where, “In the spirit of ubuntu, the central concern is the healing of breaches, the redressing of imbalances, the restoration of broken relationships, a seeking to rehabilitate both the victim and the perpetrator…” (54). Tutu’s idea of the goal of restorative justice, to create balance between humans, falls in line with Jesus’ call in the Beatitudes for us to pursue righteousness and be merciful. As Christians, we should pursue restorative justice. We are actively pursuing restorative justice, according to Tutu, when “…efforts are being made to work for healing, for forgiving, and for reconciliation” (55). We should seek justice today to help heal the pain caused by the injustice of yesterday and stifle the injustice of tomorrow.
Although, in South Africa, injustice began well before the Apartheid government, the Apartheid government seized the occurring racism and maximized the injustice against non-white, particularly black, for the white people’s benefit. In Bring Me My Machine Gun, Alan Russell explains the unfair redistribution of land, stating: “In the stroke of the pen, about 75 percent of South Africa’s population was relegated to about 13 percent of its territory” (182). When the Apartheid government started writing laws separating people based on skin color in the late 1940s and early 1950s, the government included a law that redistributed the land so that white people owned the majority of land and forced blacks to live on small pieces of land. Russell asserts that, “Under white rule three-quarters of the land was in the hands of the white minority” (189). Even though 25 percent of the land changed hands to the black government when apartheid ended in 1994, the majority of land continues to be owned by the white minority. Although the government continues to buy back land from willing white farmers, the process is moving slowly. Symbolically, the minority of whites still owning the majority of land argues against the end of opportunity based on race. However, the shadow of the chaos in Zimbabwe reminds South Africans to be patient. Yet, the end of the Apartheid’s injustice continues to affect South Africans without an end in sight.
My host mom states that they still need justice in South Africa. My host sister says that their will never be justice in South Africa. My host mom holds that justice will only occur when all South Africans are colored, for then they will have the same colored skin. I pray that skin color will not stop us for seeing all people as our neighbors to love and to strive for justice for all.
I am a white American from a privileged background. Who am I to speak about justice? Yet, through living in post-apartheid South Africa, I more clearly see the injustice in my own country, the US. Will anyone read this essay who is not white? Why can I only name a handful of friends in the US who are not white? How can I denounce the oppression in South Africa while I reap the benefits of my country killing the native people or moving them onto small reservations? Can I argue that our society is not racially segregated? How do I perpetrate, or at least ignorantly allow, injustice?
In the Sermon on the Mount in the gospel of Matthew, Jesus encourages his followers to care for everyone, particularly the marginalized in society. The Beatitudes stress that in the end, the world’s standards stand as contrary to God’s guidance. Jesus tells us, His followers, to pursue justice. Although life on earth may seem a lot easier if we just keep to our own business, Jesus actively cares for the marginalized in society, and, as his hands and feet in the world, so should we. In the inspiring and fantastic book, God Has a Dream, Desmond Tutu poignantly points out: “Can you imagine what would happen in this world if we accepted that fact about ourselves-that whether we like it or not we are members of one family?” (22). May we walk side by side with all of our brothers and sisters in Christ.
Heavenly Father, so often we loose ourselves in the rhythm of life and forget to live compassionately. Help us to see and act against the injustice in our society hand in hand with our brothers and sisters in Christ. Amen
Monday, November 30, 2009
A Spiritual Word: Service
“So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example; that you also should do as I have done to you.” John 13:14-15
Jesus serves his disciples by washing their feet in John 13. This is my favorite chapter in the Bible because Jesus demonstrates the boundless nature of God’s love and asks us to do the same. We should serve one another. At Zuziwe’s celebration, the female relatives astound me with the extent of their service.
I roll over in my sleeping bag; I open my eyes enough to see a woman taking a bath in a basin. A while later, I rustle in my sleep again while another woman bathes in my room. I am a very heavy sleeper, barely conscious when I first wake up, and my eyesight is poor without glasses or contacts, so I am in no way negatively impacted by these experiences. Finally, after seeing so many people moving, I decide I should get ready for the day. After cleaning myself up, I glance at my cell phone clock; the time is barely after 6. How and why is everyone already up?
I look out the door of my host family’s home on Gogo’s (grandma on my host dad’s side) property to see everyone hard at work on the day of Zuziwe’s ceremony. By everyone, I mean my host family, Gogo, Gogo’s children and grandchildren (most of who live on the same property as Gogo), other distant relatives, and close family friends. In the kitchen, which is its own building, women prepare bath water on the stove, wash dishes, and prepare tea. Outside, young men and a woman, under the direction of male relatives, set up the second tent. Women also prepare food in the kitchen of my host family’s house. Countless tasks keep devoted servants busy all morning, from cooking and cleaning to decorating the tents.
Slie is the personification of a servant. Slie is Zuziwe’s (Zu’s) older cousin. The week before Zu’s celebration, Slie stayed at our home, preparing for Zu’s celebration. She sewed 200 seat covers, sewed beads on shoes and skirts, helped around the house, and braided extensions into family members’ hair. She baked the delectable muffins and scones for the celebration day. On celebration day, Slie kept everything together. When I did not
know what to do, or what was going on, I asked Slie. Slie was in charge of decorating the tent and all the behind the scenes work. She, literally, is the keeper of the keys. The cost of Slie’s service: priceless. Literally, the cost of Slie’s service: nothing. She serves because she is family. Slie is my hero.
Family members work from sunrise to the beginning of the celebration at noon. Yet, they do not stop working then. When I return from the celebration ceremony, the women are hard at work in the kitchen. The women seem not to stop.
My celebration point of reference for the day is a typical American wedding: over 100 guests (about 400 in this case), a ceremony, a meal reception, and dancing. Okay, so maybe the amount of animal hides and outfits differ a bit. Yet, I had anticipated that the front tables in each tent would be occupied by the ceremony party and close family members, not random guests, as it turns out. Rather, family members ensure the meal runs smoothly by running food and washing dishes. At first the role of their family members confuses me. At American weddings that I’ve attended, extended family members participate in all facets of the celebration and people are hired to prepare the celebratory spaces, provide music, and cater the food and drink. Once the ceremony starts, it seems that the family members are mostly hands off as far as running the event. Yet, at this Zulu ceremony, the family members provide the hands. This is not to say that one way of carrying out ceremonies is correct. Personally, if a ceremony is ever held in my honor, I would want my family to participate in the event. Yet, the female relatives at this ceremony work with such diligence and care that I am in awe. They give of themselves for a successful celebration in honor of Zuziwe.
In John 13, Jesus washes the disciples’ feet and tells his disciples to do likewise. At Zuziwe’s celebration, the women symbolically wash the feet of Zuziwe and all who enjoy the festivities. These women demonstrate the selfless nature of service.
Lord, May we serve as you serve us. Help us to remember how you selflessly gave your life for each of our lives. May we give of our selves as you teach us in order to give glory to you. Amen
Jesus serves his disciples by washing their feet in John 13. This is my favorite chapter in the Bible because Jesus demonstrates the boundless nature of God’s love and asks us to do the same. We should serve one another. At Zuziwe’s celebration, the female relatives astound me with the extent of their service.
I roll over in my sleeping bag; I open my eyes enough to see a woman taking a bath in a basin. A while later, I rustle in my sleep again while another woman bathes in my room. I am a very heavy sleeper, barely conscious when I first wake up, and my eyesight is poor without glasses or contacts, so I am in no way negatively impacted by these experiences. Finally, after seeing so many people moving, I decide I should get ready for the day. After cleaning myself up, I glance at my cell phone clock; the time is barely after 6. How and why is everyone already up?
I look out the door of my host family’s home on Gogo’s (grandma on my host dad’s side) property to see everyone hard at work on the day of Zuziwe’s ceremony. By everyone, I mean my host family, Gogo, Gogo’s children and grandchildren (most of who live on the same property as Gogo), other distant relatives, and close family friends. In the kitchen, which is its own building, women prepare bath water on the stove, wash dishes, and prepare tea. Outside, young men and a woman, under the direction of male relatives, set up the second tent. Women also prepare food in the kitchen of my host family’s house. Countless tasks keep devoted servants busy all morning, from cooking and cleaning to decorating the tents.
Slie is the personification of a servant. Slie is Zuziwe’s (Zu’s) older cousin. The week before Zu’s celebration, Slie stayed at our home, preparing for Zu’s celebration. She sewed 200 seat covers, sewed beads on shoes and skirts, helped around the house, and braided extensions into family members’ hair. She baked the delectable muffins and scones for the celebration day. On celebration day, Slie kept everything together. When I did not
know what to do, or what was going on, I asked Slie. Slie was in charge of decorating the tent and all the behind the scenes work. She, literally, is the keeper of the keys. The cost of Slie’s service: priceless. Literally, the cost of Slie’s service: nothing. She serves because she is family. Slie is my hero.
Family members work from sunrise to the beginning of the celebration at noon. Yet, they do not stop working then. When I return from the celebration ceremony, the women are hard at work in the kitchen. The women seem not to stop.
My celebration point of reference for the day is a typical American wedding: over 100 guests (about 400 in this case), a ceremony, a meal reception, and dancing. Okay, so maybe the amount of animal hides and outfits differ a bit. Yet, I had anticipated that the front tables in each tent would be occupied by the ceremony party and close family members, not random guests, as it turns out. Rather, family members ensure the meal runs smoothly by running food and washing dishes. At first the role of their family members confuses me. At American weddings that I’ve attended, extended family members participate in all facets of the celebration and people are hired to prepare the celebratory spaces, provide music, and cater the food and drink. Once the ceremony starts, it seems that the family members are mostly hands off as far as running the event. Yet, at this Zulu ceremony, the family members provide the hands. This is not to say that one way of carrying out ceremonies is correct. Personally, if a ceremony is ever held in my honor, I would want my family to participate in the event. Yet, the female relatives at this ceremony work with such diligence and care that I am in awe. They give of themselves for a successful celebration in honor of Zuziwe.
In John 13, Jesus washes the disciples’ feet and tells his disciples to do likewise. At Zuziwe’s celebration, the women symbolically wash the feet of Zuziwe and all who enjoy the festivities. These women demonstrate the selfless nature of service.
Lord, May we serve as you serve us. Help us to remember how you selflessly gave your life for each of our lives. May we give of our selves as you teach us in order to give glory to you. Amen
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Joy
“And Mary said, ‘My soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.”’ Luke 1:46-48a
The most memorable part of my first church service in South Africa is the time of offering. Twelve, white Americans file into a black, Lutheran congregation in Alexandra. Alexandra is a crowded, northern suburb of Johannesburg, or, during apartheid, the area was called a township, an area designated for blacks, who were often oppressed and financially poor. 1.6 million people live per square mile in Alexandra. The day before, friendly and energetic women welcomed us to Alexandra. They taught us some of our first Zulu words and offered that we should visit their shacks someday during a return visit to their area. During our joyful interaction, we were also invited to their Lutheran Church in Alexandra. Needless to say, the next day, as we take our seats in the church, I feel that our Young Adults in Global Mission group sticks out a bit.
Yet, as soon as the service begins, the focus shifts from personal differences to glorifying God. The church sings in beautiful harmony with different people initiating hymns. After a while, when we see women opening their purses, we know offering has begun. We watch as other congregants smoothly dance their offering up the center aisle to the offering plate. Somewhat awkwardly, we attempt to follow suit. As I return to my seat, I whisper to my friend next to me, “What an awesome way to give offering!” The sight of people joyfully celebrating offering struck me, as they seem to joyfully give not only their money, but also of themselves. This is not to say that means with which to provide resources for congregational life are not important; they are. However, I more often feel guilt at offering than joy. The first offering at the Lutheran Church in Alexandra reminds me that I should celebrate the opportunity and the ability I have to give.
The joy at offering is reinforced throughout the multiple hour service. During the sharing of the peace, an older woman rocks me back and forth as she hugs me with delight. Although our ethnicity, age, background or socioeconomic status may separate us, our love as sisters in Christ brings us into one another’s arms. Joy in God’s gift of life bridges all chasms.
The structure of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Southern Africa (ELCSA) includes different leagues: the Youth League, the Young Adults League, the Men’s League, and the Women’s League. One by one, each league, yes, even the Men’s League, energetically sings and dances a choreographed number up the aisles, which ends with giving an offering for their league. These times of offering reinforce in me that we offer up more than a percentage of our possessions, but also our time and ourselves in a glorious thank you for a grace-filled gift beyond our understanding and our deserving.
In the “Magnificat”, Mary gives thanks to God for bestowing her with the gift of His Son. In our church service, we too share our thanks that God gives us His Son and also encourage others and ourselves how we will continue to live out our thanks to God. Certainly, God’s gift of grace is a reason to daily live joyfully.
Giver of Life,
Thank you for your gift of grace. Help us to remember to give glory to you in all our thoughts and deeds. May our souls sing joyously with our brothers and sisters in Christ of all generations and cultures. Amen.
The most memorable part of my first church service in South Africa is the time of offering. Twelve, white Americans file into a black, Lutheran congregation in Alexandra. Alexandra is a crowded, northern suburb of Johannesburg, or, during apartheid, the area was called a township, an area designated for blacks, who were often oppressed and financially poor. 1.6 million people live per square mile in Alexandra. The day before, friendly and energetic women welcomed us to Alexandra. They taught us some of our first Zulu words and offered that we should visit their shacks someday during a return visit to their area. During our joyful interaction, we were also invited to their Lutheran Church in Alexandra. Needless to say, the next day, as we take our seats in the church, I feel that our Young Adults in Global Mission group sticks out a bit.
Yet, as soon as the service begins, the focus shifts from personal differences to glorifying God. The church sings in beautiful harmony with different people initiating hymns. After a while, when we see women opening their purses, we know offering has begun. We watch as other congregants smoothly dance their offering up the center aisle to the offering plate. Somewhat awkwardly, we attempt to follow suit. As I return to my seat, I whisper to my friend next to me, “What an awesome way to give offering!” The sight of people joyfully celebrating offering struck me, as they seem to joyfully give not only their money, but also of themselves. This is not to say that means with which to provide resources for congregational life are not important; they are. However, I more often feel guilt at offering than joy. The first offering at the Lutheran Church in Alexandra reminds me that I should celebrate the opportunity and the ability I have to give.
The joy at offering is reinforced throughout the multiple hour service. During the sharing of the peace, an older woman rocks me back and forth as she hugs me with delight. Although our ethnicity, age, background or socioeconomic status may separate us, our love as sisters in Christ brings us into one another’s arms. Joy in God’s gift of life bridges all chasms.
The structure of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Southern Africa (ELCSA) includes different leagues: the Youth League, the Young Adults League, the Men’s League, and the Women’s League. One by one, each league, yes, even the Men’s League, energetically sings and dances a choreographed number up the aisles, which ends with giving an offering for their league. These times of offering reinforce in me that we offer up more than a percentage of our possessions, but also our time and ourselves in a glorious thank you for a grace-filled gift beyond our understanding and our deserving.
In the “Magnificat”, Mary gives thanks to God for bestowing her with the gift of His Son. In our church service, we too share our thanks that God gives us His Son and also encourage others and ourselves how we will continue to live out our thanks to God. Certainly, God’s gift of grace is a reason to daily live joyfully.
Giver of Life,
Thank you for your gift of grace. Help us to remember to give glory to you in all our thoughts and deeds. May our souls sing joyously with our brothers and sisters in Christ of all generations and cultures. Amen.
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