The dramas that the children on the farm have been working on are finally ready to present. I brought three dramas so that more kids could have larger parts. So I took the longer drama on Ulysses, and two other adults directed the two other shorter skits. To help the kids focus, I told them that after the three groups presented, the other adults who attend will vote on which group acted the best, and the winning group will each receive a coke. Everyone is tense and waiting with great anticipation for the competition.
The time is drawing near my departure date: August 28th. I'll be preaching at the Cathedral in Kisumu tomorrow, spending the afternoon in the city, getting on the night train to Nairobi, checking into a hotel in Nairobi on Monday, going to airport and picking up my lost bag that Virgin Airlines said finally arrived, spending the night, and then leaving at 8am to begin the 26 hours of flying and waiting in airports it will take to get back to Philly.
As I reflect on the past two months, I am struck first at the faithfulness of God. I have been relatively very healthy through the whole trip. And other than the lost camera and lost luggage (the lost bag was reported to be found and waiting for me in Nairobi), I have not experienced any disaster. I have crossed 10 international borders, ridden 61 hours on busses, spent the night in 14 different beds, and ate at dozens of houses or restaurants. All that to say there has been many opportunities for things to go wrong. But God has been so good to me throughout it all. It has been so rich…I’ve met so many people, had so many good conversations, enjoyed so many new experiences, been challenged in so many ways, and learned so many things about life.
However, I am ready to return back to the States. It is tiring to live as a foreigner, and I look forward to return back to a routine of working with kids and tutoring. I look forward to begin studying Hebrew and theology. I look forward to be able to call friends and family on the phone and visit friends in person. I look forward to returning to work more with the Anglican Church in America, specifically the Anglican Mission in America who has given me a scholarship for this coming year (the Anglican Mission press release is here: http://64.46.109.102/newsitem/104 ), and more specifically with my church in Philadelphia, St. John the Evangelist Anglican Church.
I am so thankful for your prayers, for your emails of encouragement, and for those who financially supported me. Blessings.
MY AFRICA TRIPS These posts cover my 2005, 2007, and 2012 trips to East Africa- A travel log of my adventures in Tanzania, Rwanda, Uganda, and Kenya.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
My past week in Kisumu
I came primarily to see the kids here, and that’s primarily what I’ve been doing. They are smarter, larger, with longer legs and stronger arms. I've been working with some doing math and reading in the mornings, and then working with them with the drama in the afternoon.
It’s a wonderful moment when, as the director, you announce who gets what part each person is going to play. “You Stephen, you are the king Ulysses who comes back to avenge his family!” Their faces change from being just simple bare footed boys in dirty shirts, to being kings and warriors. “You Mustafa, you are the cow.” The giggles and laughter ripple through the room as they look at Mustafa who has his “cow face” on. Drama has always captured the imaginations of people. It’s a special kind of magic that transforms the mundane into the fantastic and extraordinary. The kids love being a part of that. Most of them have memorized all their lines already after only two days of practicing.
Being back on the farm has been good, but it feels quite different. Frankly, there’s not much for me to do here other than the dramas in the afternoons, helping a bit with the morning school, and maybe showing a movie in the evenings. The memories I had from last year of the long afternoons that never seemed to end, all the extra hours to find something to do… are replaying themselves in reality. I keep telling myself that I should think of this time as a kind of vacation to just rest…that I’ll be busy out of my mind for the whole month of September…but its hard when you are the only one on vacation in the middle of a working farm…everyone busy digging in their gardens, driving tractors around, and plowing. I sometimes try to get outside and play soccer or help with the work, but I end up busting up my toes or getting sunburned in the scorching sun. I remember last year I used to sit for hours on end reading tedious articles about Anglicanism, or researching obscure bits of church history on the internet to keep myself from going crazy…I found myself doing it again this morning!
I have been “making the dinner circuit” of all the houses on the farm. It’s a nice way to get caught up with people and see the families in their environment.
I went to my old church, St. Stephen’s Cathedral, on Sunday. It was really a wonderful experience going back. They haven’t changed at all in 14 months. They still start exactly on time, the same people work there, the choir still sings beautiful old British hymns and local choruses, they still use the same liturgy. It really did feel like my home church. The provost (the pastor who is in charge of a cathedral) is a good friend of mine and we had a great reunion. He invited me to give a short greeting to the congregation from my church back in Philadelphia, and to give an update of where I’ve been. I look forward to the opportunity to preach there next Sunday, before taking the train down to Nairobi Sunday night.
Last night I was invited over to my Indian friend’s house for dinner and a visit. Jasmit was born in Kenya into a family who were sugar cane farmers. The family, with a cut throat business philosophy, became rich off of growing and transporting sugar cane to factories. They own dozens of tractors and hundreds of acres of land. They are like a modified version of plantation owners from the Antebellum South, except they are quick to point out that they pay their employees!
We had a nice long chat about how things were going for him. I could tell that he was somewhat lonely out there on his farm. He had gone to college in California, and is very familiar with American culture and a high standard of living, yet is content with his quite and slow life in rural Africa. He is 27, married with a one year old son, and lives with his mother and aunt and uncle. He has a very sharp mind and no one to spar with, so he was eager to challenge and debate an American. We talked about Sikhism (his whole family are Sikhs), Christianity, the church, epistemology, universalism, relativism, the soul, money, morality, Indian culture, and African development. I always enjoy talking with him because of his honest and straightforward approach, and his willingness to jump into talking about difficult issues. He has very strong opinions about most things and has no one to talk to that will temper or refine them. So he will bluntly say things like, “It will take Kenya 100 years to develop to the place that India is at today”, or “No matter how much to teach Africans, all they really want is money. They have no respect, and they are all thieves. Sure the first year is fine, but then as soon as you begin to trust them they begin steeling. ALL my employees are thieves. No exceptions.”
He is a fascinating person and we began to talk about whether there was such a thing as a soul, and how to choose beliefs. He told me, “I don’t know if there are souls or reincarnation or God. But I’m sure that evolution is wrong. All this (the earth) couldn’t have just happened by accident. There has to be some sort of supernatural power behind it. But I don’t think anyone will be able to really know for sure what supernatural power is behind it all until we die.”
He’s a philosophical man who lives in a small mansion, complete with servants, where he trusts no one…not his family, not his employees, not even his Indian friends. He is sitting on close to a half a million dollars, with nothing to do with his life except make more money with the money he has. He is a fascinating person. Yet, I sense that deep down that he wants to trust. He wants to believe in something. But he doesn’t know what and he has no community to talk to about it.
As I drove away from his house at 11pm, he said through the window of my car, “Well are you free tomorrow? How about the day after? We should go down to the lake and have a beer and talk about ‘belief’. It will be another three years, until you come back, that I can talk to someone about ‘belief’.” I tell he was being genuine and that he really did want to talk more. I feel it is a fine line to be friends with the wrong people who will pull you down, and being friends for the sake of being a good influence in a person’s life. I hope, by God’s grace, that I can maintain the latter.
It’s a wonderful moment when, as the director, you announce who gets what part each person is going to play. “You Stephen, you are the king Ulysses who comes back to avenge his family!” Their faces change from being just simple bare footed boys in dirty shirts, to being kings and warriors. “You Mustafa, you are the cow.” The giggles and laughter ripple through the room as they look at Mustafa who has his “cow face” on. Drama has always captured the imaginations of people. It’s a special kind of magic that transforms the mundane into the fantastic and extraordinary. The kids love being a part of that. Most of them have memorized all their lines already after only two days of practicing.
Being back on the farm has been good, but it feels quite different. Frankly, there’s not much for me to do here other than the dramas in the afternoons, helping a bit with the morning school, and maybe showing a movie in the evenings. The memories I had from last year of the long afternoons that never seemed to end, all the extra hours to find something to do… are replaying themselves in reality. I keep telling myself that I should think of this time as a kind of vacation to just rest…that I’ll be busy out of my mind for the whole month of September…but its hard when you are the only one on vacation in the middle of a working farm…everyone busy digging in their gardens, driving tractors around, and plowing. I sometimes try to get outside and play soccer or help with the work, but I end up busting up my toes or getting sunburned in the scorching sun. I remember last year I used to sit for hours on end reading tedious articles about Anglicanism, or researching obscure bits of church history on the internet to keep myself from going crazy…I found myself doing it again this morning!
I have been “making the dinner circuit” of all the houses on the farm. It’s a nice way to get caught up with people and see the families in their environment.
I went to my old church, St. Stephen’s Cathedral, on Sunday. It was really a wonderful experience going back. They haven’t changed at all in 14 months. They still start exactly on time, the same people work there, the choir still sings beautiful old British hymns and local choruses, they still use the same liturgy. It really did feel like my home church. The provost (the pastor who is in charge of a cathedral) is a good friend of mine and we had a great reunion. He invited me to give a short greeting to the congregation from my church back in Philadelphia, and to give an update of where I’ve been. I look forward to the opportunity to preach there next Sunday, before taking the train down to Nairobi Sunday night.
Last night I was invited over to my Indian friend’s house for dinner and a visit. Jasmit was born in Kenya into a family who were sugar cane farmers. The family, with a cut throat business philosophy, became rich off of growing and transporting sugar cane to factories. They own dozens of tractors and hundreds of acres of land. They are like a modified version of plantation owners from the Antebellum South, except they are quick to point out that they pay their employees!
We had a nice long chat about how things were going for him. I could tell that he was somewhat lonely out there on his farm. He had gone to college in California, and is very familiar with American culture and a high standard of living, yet is content with his quite and slow life in rural Africa. He is 27, married with a one year old son, and lives with his mother and aunt and uncle. He has a very sharp mind and no one to spar with, so he was eager to challenge and debate an American. We talked about Sikhism (his whole family are Sikhs), Christianity, the church, epistemology, universalism, relativism, the soul, money, morality, Indian culture, and African development. I always enjoy talking with him because of his honest and straightforward approach, and his willingness to jump into talking about difficult issues. He has very strong opinions about most things and has no one to talk to that will temper or refine them. So he will bluntly say things like, “It will take Kenya 100 years to develop to the place that India is at today”, or “No matter how much to teach Africans, all they really want is money. They have no respect, and they are all thieves. Sure the first year is fine, but then as soon as you begin to trust them they begin steeling. ALL my employees are thieves. No exceptions.”
He is a fascinating person and we began to talk about whether there was such a thing as a soul, and how to choose beliefs. He told me, “I don’t know if there are souls or reincarnation or God. But I’m sure that evolution is wrong. All this (the earth) couldn’t have just happened by accident. There has to be some sort of supernatural power behind it. But I don’t think anyone will be able to really know for sure what supernatural power is behind it all until we die.”
He’s a philosophical man who lives in a small mansion, complete with servants, where he trusts no one…not his family, not his employees, not even his Indian friends. He is sitting on close to a half a million dollars, with nothing to do with his life except make more money with the money he has. He is a fascinating person. Yet, I sense that deep down that he wants to trust. He wants to believe in something. But he doesn’t know what and he has no community to talk to about it.
As I drove away from his house at 11pm, he said through the window of my car, “Well are you free tomorrow? How about the day after? We should go down to the lake and have a beer and talk about ‘belief’. It will be another three years, until you come back, that I can talk to someone about ‘belief’.” I tell he was being genuine and that he really did want to talk more. I feel it is a fine line to be friends with the wrong people who will pull you down, and being friends for the sake of being a good influence in a person’s life. I hope, by God’s grace, that I can maintain the latter.
Some reflections
I thought this afternoon I should use this time to also reflect on the many rich experiences I’ve had over the past several weeks. Here’s a few of my thoughts. Most of you, I anticipate, will probably find these thoughts irrelevant and uninteresting. But like I said, I have plenty of time on my hands these days to muse and wax, so you won’t hurt my feelings for skipping this part of my blog!
Note: When I speak of “Africa” or the “African church” I mean “East Africa”. Africa proper is a huge continent where you can find just about anything, and where generalities will have dozens of exceptions. I am only familiar with what I have seen here East Africa. I don’t want my Nigerian friends from West Africa to call me a liar.
Money…that was one thing that continued to surface, again and again, as the “main problem” in the church here. And of course because of my role as an “ambassador” I was the one they told all their problems to: “We need a new church building with a tin roof”, “We need a new pastor’s house”, “We would like to buy land for this church”, “We are building a new school and we need funds”. The diocese in Tanzania I was visiting had a man on the payroll whose title was, “Development Project Manger”. He had a huge chart hanging on the wall of about a dozen projects outlined in red. The diocese has yet to implement one of them…why? Funds. Funds. Funds. Yes, the African church is doing so much more with what they have than the American church, but in other ways it seems to me that they narrow what they think is possible to programs that can raise money. Money is such a huge issue here, that it sometimes seems like they throw up their hands and say, “Well, we can’t do anything until we have money…so we’re just going to sit here and do nothing until some Western organization donates money so we can begin.” There were a few people that did have that attitude, and that colored the way I saw others, even though I tried to recognize my bias. It was also difficult to have the role as the penniless student exposed to so much need and not feeling like there was anything I could do about it. The helplessness and powerlessness that I felt after dozens of people earnestly asking for hundreds of dollars began to wear on me. “I’ll report what you’ve told me,” I repeated over and over to the hopeful eyes of congregations. The experience makes you either break down in helpless confused compassion, or become indifferent and cold to what you see. I tried my best to keep a balance, but probably erred toward the latter.
Africa being the ‘bastion of orthodox Anglicanism”…Africa is NOT the “bastion of orthodox Anglicanism” (as some have put it), but I believe Africa is the “bastion of evangelical Anglicanism”. The discussion surrounding the difference of these terms is tedious, so I’ll be brief: Evangelical Anglicans should be differentiated from orthodox Anglicans, in that Evangelical Anglicans root their ecclesiastical identity in a broadly non-denominational background with some Anglican distinctives added on top, and orthodox Anglicans root their ecclesiastical identity in a more specifically British and intentionally Anglican heritage. I have found little in the way of orthodox Anglicanism in Africa (with a few exceptions), while I have found quite vibrant and enthusiastic evangelical Anglicanism here. There are close to 40 million Anglicans in Africa (out of 77 million Anglicans worldwide) and given Africa’s history with evangelical missionaries and missions here, African Anglicans are strongly evangelical. However, the Anglican church here is only 150 years old at most here, with a small fraction of the budget that Western church has enjoyed for centuries, a culture that is trying to come out of the ‘bush’ and enter the modern global world, and with a fraction of the education level as that of their Western counterparts. The situation and environment that East Africa finds itself has a profound influence upon the kind of Christianity that comes from here.
“What the American church can learn from the African church”… this notion has been plaguing me since I got here. Many people in the American Anglican church believe that Africa will save the American church from the Episcopal Church. This may be true ecclesiastically; however after being here for some time, I don’t believe we should look to the African church to be our “parents in the faith”. I am thankful and have tremendous respect for the Archbishops of Africa, and I believe that this small group of men will make profound decisions about the future of global Anglicanism. However the African church as a whole is still quite new to the faith. Many Christians here are first generation Christians…their grandparents still walk around the village barefoot, and practice ancestor worship. Though the African Anglican church is bold and strong in the faith, like teenager, they still have much to learn about the modern world which they are entering into. They know little about the West’s Enlightenment past and our value of propositional truth over relationships. I believe the African Anglican Church can give American Evangelical Anglicans an ecclesiastical shelter for the time being. The Archbishops of African provinces are all educated in the West and have much better grasp of the situation facing the Anglican Communion, but for most lay people they are just trying to eek out a meager living wage. I think it’s harder for each of the churches to learn from each other because of the difference in values that each church holds. You may remember the anecdote I wrote about, when I preached in Bukoba, and I felt like I was just rambling through the whole sermon…and they loved it. Drama, power, zeal, emotion…these are highly valued in the East African church. That’s a major reason of why the Pentecostal church and a host of other charismatic churches are thriving in this context. Compare this to the values of the West: thoughtfulness, clarity, acuteness, succinctness, working systematically through a myriad of abstract concepts that a congregation is familiar with. They are two different worlds. A sermon that exemplifies these values makes an African congregation fall asleep. Whereas a dramatic, powerful, emotional sermon in the States is usually considered low brow, manipulative, and fake. All this to say, it’s more complicated than just saying: “The American church has so much to learn from the African church”. During my final days in Tanzania I was shocked to learn that one parish who claimed 1000 church members, had only 25 who met for midweek fellowship, prayer, or Bible study. It was then that I sympathized with the saying, “The African church is a mile wide and an inch deep”.
African dependency…I continue to ask myself the question, “If all Western money and sponsorship were to be cut from Africa, what would happen?” I know some people who have endorsed this idea as the only way for Africa to ‘grow up’; otherwise Africa will act like an unemployed teenager always looking for handouts from mom and dad. I personally don’t think this is the solution, but I believe we need to work through these problems with our African brothers in a honest and direct way. We need to be seriously asking, “What are you doing to be sustainable in the future? Is Western money the ONLY way for the African church to develop? How can the church in Africa contribute to building a culture that is going to be financially self-sufficient? What kind of training do you need?” But the West must stop being the big sugar daddy that throws money at ever ugly situation, and thinks that problems in Africa are merely about “funds”. We need to partner and build relationships and teach about stewardship. We have to break the mold and expectation that the Western world is the solution to their problems.
Note: When I speak of “Africa” or the “African church” I mean “East Africa”. Africa proper is a huge continent where you can find just about anything, and where generalities will have dozens of exceptions. I am only familiar with what I have seen here East Africa. I don’t want my Nigerian friends from West Africa to call me a liar.
Money…that was one thing that continued to surface, again and again, as the “main problem” in the church here. And of course because of my role as an “ambassador” I was the one they told all their problems to: “We need a new church building with a tin roof”, “We need a new pastor’s house”, “We would like to buy land for this church”, “We are building a new school and we need funds”. The diocese in Tanzania I was visiting had a man on the payroll whose title was, “Development Project Manger”. He had a huge chart hanging on the wall of about a dozen projects outlined in red. The diocese has yet to implement one of them…why? Funds. Funds. Funds. Yes, the African church is doing so much more with what they have than the American church, but in other ways it seems to me that they narrow what they think is possible to programs that can raise money. Money is such a huge issue here, that it sometimes seems like they throw up their hands and say, “Well, we can’t do anything until we have money…so we’re just going to sit here and do nothing until some Western organization donates money so we can begin.” There were a few people that did have that attitude, and that colored the way I saw others, even though I tried to recognize my bias. It was also difficult to have the role as the penniless student exposed to so much need and not feeling like there was anything I could do about it. The helplessness and powerlessness that I felt after dozens of people earnestly asking for hundreds of dollars began to wear on me. “I’ll report what you’ve told me,” I repeated over and over to the hopeful eyes of congregations. The experience makes you either break down in helpless confused compassion, or become indifferent and cold to what you see. I tried my best to keep a balance, but probably erred toward the latter.
Africa being the ‘bastion of orthodox Anglicanism”…Africa is NOT the “bastion of orthodox Anglicanism” (as some have put it), but I believe Africa is the “bastion of evangelical Anglicanism”. The discussion surrounding the difference of these terms is tedious, so I’ll be brief: Evangelical Anglicans should be differentiated from orthodox Anglicans, in that Evangelical Anglicans root their ecclesiastical identity in a broadly non-denominational background with some Anglican distinctives added on top, and orthodox Anglicans root their ecclesiastical identity in a more specifically British and intentionally Anglican heritage. I have found little in the way of orthodox Anglicanism in Africa (with a few exceptions), while I have found quite vibrant and enthusiastic evangelical Anglicanism here. There are close to 40 million Anglicans in Africa (out of 77 million Anglicans worldwide) and given Africa’s history with evangelical missionaries and missions here, African Anglicans are strongly evangelical. However, the Anglican church here is only 150 years old at most here, with a small fraction of the budget that Western church has enjoyed for centuries, a culture that is trying to come out of the ‘bush’ and enter the modern global world, and with a fraction of the education level as that of their Western counterparts. The situation and environment that East Africa finds itself has a profound influence upon the kind of Christianity that comes from here.
“What the American church can learn from the African church”… this notion has been plaguing me since I got here. Many people in the American Anglican church believe that Africa will save the American church from the Episcopal Church. This may be true ecclesiastically; however after being here for some time, I don’t believe we should look to the African church to be our “parents in the faith”. I am thankful and have tremendous respect for the Archbishops of Africa, and I believe that this small group of men will make profound decisions about the future of global Anglicanism. However the African church as a whole is still quite new to the faith. Many Christians here are first generation Christians…their grandparents still walk around the village barefoot, and practice ancestor worship. Though the African Anglican church is bold and strong in the faith, like teenager, they still have much to learn about the modern world which they are entering into. They know little about the West’s Enlightenment past and our value of propositional truth over relationships. I believe the African Anglican Church can give American Evangelical Anglicans an ecclesiastical shelter for the time being. The Archbishops of African provinces are all educated in the West and have much better grasp of the situation facing the Anglican Communion, but for most lay people they are just trying to eek out a meager living wage. I think it’s harder for each of the churches to learn from each other because of the difference in values that each church holds. You may remember the anecdote I wrote about, when I preached in Bukoba, and I felt like I was just rambling through the whole sermon…and they loved it. Drama, power, zeal, emotion…these are highly valued in the East African church. That’s a major reason of why the Pentecostal church and a host of other charismatic churches are thriving in this context. Compare this to the values of the West: thoughtfulness, clarity, acuteness, succinctness, working systematically through a myriad of abstract concepts that a congregation is familiar with. They are two different worlds. A sermon that exemplifies these values makes an African congregation fall asleep. Whereas a dramatic, powerful, emotional sermon in the States is usually considered low brow, manipulative, and fake. All this to say, it’s more complicated than just saying: “The American church has so much to learn from the African church”. During my final days in Tanzania I was shocked to learn that one parish who claimed 1000 church members, had only 25 who met for midweek fellowship, prayer, or Bible study. It was then that I sympathized with the saying, “The African church is a mile wide and an inch deep”.
African dependency…I continue to ask myself the question, “If all Western money and sponsorship were to be cut from Africa, what would happen?” I know some people who have endorsed this idea as the only way for Africa to ‘grow up’; otherwise Africa will act like an unemployed teenager always looking for handouts from mom and dad. I personally don’t think this is the solution, but I believe we need to work through these problems with our African brothers in a honest and direct way. We need to be seriously asking, “What are you doing to be sustainable in the future? Is Western money the ONLY way for the African church to develop? How can the church in Africa contribute to building a culture that is going to be financially self-sufficient? What kind of training do you need?” But the West must stop being the big sugar daddy that throws money at ever ugly situation, and thinks that problems in Africa are merely about “funds”. We need to partner and build relationships and teach about stewardship. We have to break the mold and expectation that the Western world is the solution to their problems.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Back in Kisumu
Well, I have some good news and some bad news.
The good news is that I've made it to Kisumu, Kenya and I'm all in one piece and healthy as a horse.
The bad news is that my camera was left on the bus from Kampala. I was taking pictures with it of the road and scenery and I would then shove it back into my backpack that was in between my knees. The road was terribly bumpy and the camera bag must have slowly fallen out under my seat. I didn't realize it until last night when I went looking for it. The shock was quite a blow. Three things ran through my head:
First, I was angry at myself for having been so careless and not having checked under the seat before I left the bus.
Second, disappointment that I will not be able to give a slide show to my church and have pictures to show of all the places I went. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so I guess I'll just have to talk more in my presentation. But also my pride began to sneak in, and complain that it wouldn't get attention..."They won't get to see all the places and things you were doing! You won't get as much praise!" I tried to tell it to shut up.
Third, I was challenged by my sermon I gave last Sunday. It was about possessions. I preached that God gives and he takes away. Our job is to be faithful to him, no matter what we have. And I preached on stewardship...that what we have don't really belong to us, but has been given to us to use for His service. I guess it's time to practice what I preach!
There is a very small possibility that whoever finds it will be honest and have the bus company to hold the camera until I can claim it in Nairobi. (The bus I was on, continued to Nairobi). So if you think of it, pray that I get it back.
So my time in Kampala was short and tiring. After traveling 7 hours from Bukoba, TZ, Kelly and I arrived in Kampala only to shop and be in the city for another 8 hours, before going to Kelly's friend's house where I took a shower and promptly went to bed. I boarded the "luxury bus" at 7am and was served two greasy samosas and some other strange meat-fried breakfast item. Somewhat gross...but kept me from being hungry. Then I lost my camera... And arrived in Kisumu at around 1pm. I lived in Kisumu for 9 months last year, so coming back is like coming home. I know where all the speed bumps are in the city, where the people sell books on the street, where the buses leave from, when there will be delays, etc. I got some Kenyan money out of the bank and boarded a small mini-bus that took me 3/4 of the way to Nehemiah International. (NI is where I lived last year). And then Nickolas, the driver, came to pick me up at a roadside gas station.
NI is a big farm/compound/dairy/orphanage, with 60 people that live there, a fully functioning dairy that sells milk in between it and Kisumu, about a 40 minute drive away, and is supporting and sponsoring about 25 children. I lived on the farm for 9 months and did some teaching and about 100 other things while I was here. Among them, was directing 3 dramas. I was requested that when I come back, I direct another drama. So I've come prepared with a script from the Iliad...Odysseus' homecoming to kill off Penelope's suitors.
It was wonderful to see all the kids yesterday. When I arrived, they were in the church building listening to George, one of the farm "fathers" who take care of 4 of the boys, talk about Character, and I walked in the door and all the children's mouths dropped. They didn't know what to say. So I went around the group and shook all their hands and greeted them. I remembered most of their names and embarrassingly forgot a couple. I sat in on the rest of the class, but I think I was an unavoidable distraction from their lesson. They kept looking at me with shy smiles.
It is strangely surreal being back on the farm. Everything is pretty much the same. Most of the same people, the same buildings. The same pace of life. But a big difference is that the missionary family that lived here is now gone. They were a wonderful, energetic, lively family that was always a joy to be around. They are now back in Seattle, but I'm staying in their house now by myself. It's a bit strange having them gone. I have felt that there are echos through the house, but no one's there. Jeff should be in the kitchen making espresso, and Lexi should charge into the living room with some new exciting piece of news to share with me. It's like living with ghosts that only exist in my memory.
I must go now to spend time with the kids. They don't have regular school these next couple weeks, so I'll spend a lot of time with them. They have two hours of classes here on the compound, which I'll help out with, a break for lunch, and then I'll do the drama with them in the afternoon for an hour and a half. I'm looking forward to it!
The good news is that I've made it to Kisumu, Kenya and I'm all in one piece and healthy as a horse.
The bad news is that my camera was left on the bus from Kampala. I was taking pictures with it of the road and scenery and I would then shove it back into my backpack that was in between my knees. The road was terribly bumpy and the camera bag must have slowly fallen out under my seat. I didn't realize it until last night when I went looking for it. The shock was quite a blow. Three things ran through my head:
First, I was angry at myself for having been so careless and not having checked under the seat before I left the bus.
Second, disappointment that I will not be able to give a slide show to my church and have pictures to show of all the places I went. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so I guess I'll just have to talk more in my presentation. But also my pride began to sneak in, and complain that it wouldn't get attention..."They won't get to see all the places and things you were doing! You won't get as much praise!" I tried to tell it to shut up.
Third, I was challenged by my sermon I gave last Sunday. It was about possessions. I preached that God gives and he takes away. Our job is to be faithful to him, no matter what we have. And I preached on stewardship...that what we have don't really belong to us, but has been given to us to use for His service. I guess it's time to practice what I preach!
There is a very small possibility that whoever finds it will be honest and have the bus company to hold the camera until I can claim it in Nairobi. (The bus I was on, continued to Nairobi). So if you think of it, pray that I get it back.
So my time in Kampala was short and tiring. After traveling 7 hours from Bukoba, TZ, Kelly and I arrived in Kampala only to shop and be in the city for another 8 hours, before going to Kelly's friend's house where I took a shower and promptly went to bed. I boarded the "luxury bus" at 7am and was served two greasy samosas and some other strange meat-fried breakfast item. Somewhat gross...but kept me from being hungry. Then I lost my camera... And arrived in Kisumu at around 1pm. I lived in Kisumu for 9 months last year, so coming back is like coming home. I know where all the speed bumps are in the city, where the people sell books on the street, where the buses leave from, when there will be delays, etc. I got some Kenyan money out of the bank and boarded a small mini-bus that took me 3/4 of the way to Nehemiah International. (NI is where I lived last year). And then Nickolas, the driver, came to pick me up at a roadside gas station.
NI is a big farm/compound/dairy/orphanage, with 60 people that live there, a fully functioning dairy that sells milk in between it and Kisumu, about a 40 minute drive away, and is supporting and sponsoring about 25 children. I lived on the farm for 9 months and did some teaching and about 100 other things while I was here. Among them, was directing 3 dramas. I was requested that when I come back, I direct another drama. So I've come prepared with a script from the Iliad...Odysseus' homecoming to kill off Penelope's suitors.
It was wonderful to see all the kids yesterday. When I arrived, they were in the church building listening to George, one of the farm "fathers" who take care of 4 of the boys, talk about Character, and I walked in the door and all the children's mouths dropped. They didn't know what to say. So I went around the group and shook all their hands and greeted them. I remembered most of their names and embarrassingly forgot a couple. I sat in on the rest of the class, but I think I was an unavoidable distraction from their lesson. They kept looking at me with shy smiles.
It is strangely surreal being back on the farm. Everything is pretty much the same. Most of the same people, the same buildings. The same pace of life. But a big difference is that the missionary family that lived here is now gone. They were a wonderful, energetic, lively family that was always a joy to be around. They are now back in Seattle, but I'm staying in their house now by myself. It's a bit strange having them gone. I have felt that there are echos through the house, but no one's there. Jeff should be in the kitchen making espresso, and Lexi should charge into the living room with some new exciting piece of news to share with me. It's like living with ghosts that only exist in my memory.
I must go now to spend time with the kids. They don't have regular school these next couple weeks, so I'll spend a lot of time with them. They have two hours of classes here on the compound, which I'll help out with, a break for lunch, and then I'll do the drama with them in the afternoon for an hour and a half. I'm looking forward to it!
Monday, August 13, 2007
Last week in Tanzania
Sorry, about having all of this underlined...the computer here is making it impossible to fix. TIA...This Is Africa. 
Since returning from Rwanda, we've had a very busy schedule...primarily church visitations. The routine: get up at 6am, do sermon preparation, having breakfast with the bishop, jump in the Land Rover and drive out to a church, have a service, preach, sometimes there's a confirmation, have lunch prepared by women in the church, drink lots of coke, listen to the pastors and church leaders give a presentation on what the church is doing and it's needs, drive back home in the late afternoon, take a nap, go for a walk, shower, watch Al Jazera and the Catholic satellite stations, having dinner at 9pm, and go to bed shortly there after. Get up and do the same thing again the next day. It's somewhat exhausting, but very rich and very interesting to meet so many people and have so many experiences.
I was invited to teach at the Bible School at the diocese and give a two part lecture on Church history. I loved it and enjoyed the questions that came out as a result, 'Where was the Anglican church during the Roman Empire?', 'Why did the Western church, help the Eastern church in the crusades when they just divided 30 years before?'. I really enjoyed working with these very eager students. It was their very first exposure to church history and they were fascinated.
On Saturday we had a long day of visiting 4 churches. The first three churches, were alongside the main road and the bishop had be drive us. That was fun to be driving again in Africa (british style). Then the last church the bishop had never been too and didn't know quite where it was. 'It is a walk from here. Kind of over by that tree that you can barely see...' So we started hiking away.
The small dirt path led us through jungle terrain where we had to jump a stream where locals were washing clothes, then out through beautiful rolling hills with tall grass. We were high on a bluff overlooking the indigo lake. We walked and walked and finally someone said, 'down there, at that village'. Far down below us we could make out a small village nestled up against the steep hillsides in a little cove. We tromped down the steep slope and as we approached the village we began to hear singing and a small procession, that looked like ants, began to crawl up the hill toward us. The bishop was doing a confirmation there, and the whole village was in an uproar. It was the biggest thing happening that month. We entered the village like conquering heroes and proceeded into a little shack on the beach made of drift wood and tarps. The bishop changed into his vestments and we processesed into a makeshift church constructed with sheets, and sticks. It was like a fort that children would construct. The bishop conducted the confirmation, 36 children in all, and then I preached. Pretty much everyone in the village was there: the Roman Catholics, a few Muslims, the Lutherans, and a few curious onlookers.
After the long long service, we had lunch and I asked if someone would take Kelly and I out on a boat in the Lake. Someone agreed and before we knew it we were precariously pushing off in a dug out canoe with a couple of locals somewhat amused at our delight.
We arrived in Bukoba that night, and I preached at the largest church in the diocese the next day. They had the best looking church, nice colored windows, concrete floor, a very loud sound system, two energetic choirs that took turns singing and dancing in matching outfits. The pastor told me the congregation wanted me to preach for 45 minutes. I didn't know how I'd do it. So far I've been averaging about 25 minutes...with a translator. So got up and felt like I was rambling for 45 minutes...the congregation seemed to love it. The pastor and bishop were so pleased they announced in front of the church that I was invited to be ordained in their diocese when I was finished with school. This was a complement, but also disappointing...I felt they cared more about long winded stories and a dramatic presentation, then a well thought out and carefully delivered sermon. There's seems to be a bit of a disparities of values. Oh, well...that's Africa.
We're resting today and leaving for Kampala tomorrow. We're all (the bishop, his wife, his son, Kelly, and I) staying in a nice hotel with a great view of the lake...sitting high on a hill above Bukoba. It has a nice swimming pool and satellite TV, and a nice selection of Indian food on the menu. Kelly and I have been really enjoying Fadihili, the bishop's son who has been translating for me wherever we go, and we decided to sponsor him to come with us to Kampala for a night. Then I will travel on by bus to Kisumu, Kenya...Kelly returns to the States...and Fadihili will return to Bukoba.
I greatly look forward returning to Kenya for the last leg of my trip and seeing all my kids, the orphans I worked with last year, and seeing my old church where I became an Anglican. I'll write again from Kenya.
Since returning from Rwanda, we've had a very busy schedule...primarily church visitations. The routine: get up at 6am, do sermon preparation, having breakfast with the bishop, jump in the Land Rover and drive out to a church, have a service, preach, sometimes there's a confirmation, have lunch prepared by women in the church, drink lots of coke, listen to the pastors and church leaders give a presentation on what the church is doing and it's needs, drive back home in the late afternoon, take a nap, go for a walk, shower, watch Al Jazera and the Catholic satellite stations, having dinner at 9pm, and go to bed shortly there after. Get up and do the same thing again the next day. It's somewhat exhausting, but very rich and very interesting to meet so many people and have so many experiences.
I was invited to teach at the Bible School at the diocese and give a two part lecture on Church history. I loved it and enjoyed the questions that came out as a result, 'Where was the Anglican church during the Roman Empire?', 'Why did the Western church, help the Eastern church in the crusades when they just divided 30 years before?'. I really enjoyed working with these very eager students. It was their very first exposure to church history and they were fascinated.
On Saturday we had a long day of visiting 4 churches. The first three churches, were alongside the main road and the bishop had be drive us. That was fun to be driving again in Africa (british style). Then the last church the bishop had never been too and didn't know quite where it was. 'It is a walk from here. Kind of over by that tree that you can barely see...' So we started hiking away.
The small dirt path led us through jungle terrain where we had to jump a stream where locals were washing clothes, then out through beautiful rolling hills with tall grass. We were high on a bluff overlooking the indigo lake. We walked and walked and finally someone said, 'down there, at that village'. Far down below us we could make out a small village nestled up against the steep hillsides in a little cove. We tromped down the steep slope and as we approached the village we began to hear singing and a small procession, that looked like ants, began to crawl up the hill toward us. The bishop was doing a confirmation there, and the whole village was in an uproar. It was the biggest thing happening that month. We entered the village like conquering heroes and proceeded into a little shack on the beach made of drift wood and tarps. The bishop changed into his vestments and we processesed into a makeshift church constructed with sheets, and sticks. It was like a fort that children would construct. The bishop conducted the confirmation, 36 children in all, and then I preached. Pretty much everyone in the village was there: the Roman Catholics, a few Muslims, the Lutherans, and a few curious onlookers.
After the long long service, we had lunch and I asked if someone would take Kelly and I out on a boat in the Lake. Someone agreed and before we knew it we were precariously pushing off in a dug out canoe with a couple of locals somewhat amused at our delight.
We arrived in Bukoba that night, and I preached at the largest church in the diocese the next day. They had the best looking church, nice colored windows, concrete floor, a very loud sound system, two energetic choirs that took turns singing and dancing in matching outfits. The pastor told me the congregation wanted me to preach for 45 minutes. I didn't know how I'd do it. So far I've been averaging about 25 minutes...with a translator. So got up and felt like I was rambling for 45 minutes...the congregation seemed to love it. The pastor and bishop were so pleased they announced in front of the church that I was invited to be ordained in their diocese when I was finished with school. This was a complement, but also disappointing...I felt they cared more about long winded stories and a dramatic presentation, then a well thought out and carefully delivered sermon. There's seems to be a bit of a disparities of values. Oh, well...that's Africa.
We're resting today and leaving for Kampala tomorrow. We're all (the bishop, his wife, his son, Kelly, and I) staying in a nice hotel with a great view of the lake...sitting high on a hill above Bukoba. It has a nice swimming pool and satellite TV, and a nice selection of Indian food on the menu. Kelly and I have been really enjoying Fadihili, the bishop's son who has been translating for me wherever we go, and we decided to sponsor him to come with us to Kampala for a night. Then I will travel on by bus to Kisumu, Kenya...Kelly returns to the States...and Fadihili will return to Bukoba.
I greatly look forward returning to Kenya for the last leg of my trip and seeing all my kids, the orphans I worked with last year, and seeing my old church where I became an Anglican. I'll write again from Kenya.
Monday, August 6, 2007
A few pictures
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Revival Meeting: Gahini, Rwanda
We woke at 4:30am and climbed wearily into the Land Rover and jiggle down the terribly bumpy road towards Rwanda in the dark. The bishop sat like a statue the front, next to the focused driver, and Kelly slouched on her backpack next to me feeling sick as a dog. The headlights danced over the potholes and valleys in the dark red dirt, and the silhouettes of trees and bush swept by in front of the massive dark blackish blue sky.After 4 hours of driving, we arrived at the Tanzania/ Rwandan border...not more than a couple of small offices divided by a giant brown waterfall. We walked across the bridge through no man’s land and then booked ourselves onto a small bus to take us into Rwanda. We were heading to back to Gahini Diocese in Northwest Rwanda for a conference/ revival meeting for the 10th anniversary of the diocese. I was somewhat weary of the “revival meeting” due to their reputation of being unnecessarily emotional and featuring manipulative preachers, but I was curious nevertheless. The primary reason I was excited about going was to meet up with friends in a mission team from Washington DC from the Church of the Resurrection that I knew before hand. We arrived in Gahini after 10 hours of on the road. My stone washed shorts were a dirty red from all the dust, and I was quite fatigued. But after a shower and a short nap I was back to 100%.
Kelly and I were escorted to the conference’s preliminary formalities. They had built a huge covered stage since I had been there a month before, complete with a sound system and lights. Rows of white plastic chairs faced the hillside where hundreds of people sat and watched the proceedings. The introductions of all the foreign visitors took close to an hour: bishops from around Rwanda, Uganda, Tanzania (Bp. Jackton), a team from Melbourne Australia, the team from Washington DC, a couple from England, and Kelly and I representing St. John’s from Philadelphia. I gave my greetings from St. John’s to around 1000 people and we all sat down in our plastic chairs.Over the next two days, there were ongoing events taking place on the main stage, and various other events occurring at 3 other locations. Though it was an Anglican event, they had invited several non-denominational charismatic preachers to spice it up a bit and to lead the altar calls that seemed to happen every few hours. Some of the preachers seemed a bit hokey, and fake in their enthusiasm for a “revival”. But by and large most of the speakers were good.
Kelly and I were mixed into the Vacation Bible School teams from the other Western mission teams, and were sent out every morning to work with the kids in various locations. It was great singing songs, doing dramas, playing games, and telling stories. Then we would all meet back up for lunch and listen to more speakers through the afternoon and evening. Bp. Jackton did a seminar on marriage and Mark Booker (the pastor from DC) did an evangelistic message on living water. At one of the locations, there was a band that was playing and a choir from Tanzania was singing choruses. Almost like flash lightening, the whole field was spontaneously dancing...white kids and old African men with canes...choir members in flamboyant costumes dancing uninhibitedly with children...girls having dance offs...jumping up and down yelling “Hallelujah”. It was pure joy that bridged all cultural barriers, and for 20 minutes we were all united through the rhythm and the music and all dancing our hearts out like it was going out of style. It was what every dance party endeavors to be. It reminded me of the wild “Gypsy Parties” that I used to have with friends in college. It was definitely a highlight.
Then in the evenings a bus all the foreign guests pilled into two buses that drove us 20 minutes down the road to a local hotel where we all stayed the night. The DC group would have fellowship meetings, while I took a hot shower and went to bed early.
We left early Saturday morning, sad to be leaving the conference not yet finished and said goodbye to all our friends we had met. The 10 hour journey back wasn’t nearly as painful as the journey there, and we had plenty of time to reflect the wonderful few days we had in Gahini. I felt so refreshed after spending a few days with the DC group, and having many wonderful conversations with various individuals in the group (Greg, Mark, Lucy, Elyse, and John in particular). It was so encouraging to share, and I was very blessed by their joyful and uplifting group dynamic. It seems like every time I spend any amount of time with this group (in DC or in Africa) I walk away amazed at how blessed I’ve been and how easy it is to enjoy one another. They have an excitement about life, a sparkle in their eye and many easy laughs.
I preached this morning in a church that I learned was struggling with conflict and bitterness between themselves. I preached on the Prodigal Son and talked about how his journey is one that we also walk, and how the liturgy of Holy Communion is beautiful picture of homecoming to our Father and participating in a beautiful feast together celebrating the Father’s love for his children. I said some things that were somewhat challenging, but the only feedback was that the people liked what I said.
I will be continuing to visit parishes and preach at churches throughout this week. Please pray that I would have a heart to listen and to serve, and for continued strength grasp the opportunities the Lord has given me to do here.
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