Strength in What Remains Behind

Looking for a good read over the holidays? If you haven’t picked it up already, I would highly recommend Tracy Kidder’s new book, “Strength in What Remains”. The title, which I love, is taken from a poem of William Wordsworth. The book describes the dramatic survival of Deogratias (which is Latin for  ‘thanks be to God’ ) from the genocide in Burundi in 1994. It’s a story linked to the mass murders that took place in Rwanda, the country that borders Burundi to the north, but is far lesser known.

Much of it is a gripping read.  The parts about Deo’s experiences in Harlem and NYC in the mid 1990’s were eye opening. Wow, what a gruesome picture is painted of the city then and what it’s like to try to navigate your way around when you don’t speak English and have no money.   It also  may make you think twice about having groceries delivered from  a supermarket, especially one which has the name of Gristedes. What they paid Dec could hardly be called a living wage…

Ultimately though it is a story of redemption , re-birth and return and you can definitely see God’s hand of protection and providence woven throughout Deo’s remarkable life.   Sadly though, he is yet to reconcile himself to a loving God, given the cruelty and evil he was both witness to and escaped from.

It’s a story of hope in the midst of  a terrible tragedy, not unlike the birth and hurried escape of the baby Jesus in the midst of the slaughter of all the 2 year olds in Bethlehem, some 2000 years ago… 

 

“Skin”: a must see

I don’t go to movies very much anymore but I recently went down to the Landmark Theatre on E Houston Street to see the British-made film called ‘Skin’. Bizarre title, I know, but based on a true story.  It’s about a mixed race girl born to a (white) Afrikaner couple in 1950’s apartheid South Africa. Her parents apparently had some black ancestry in their blood but had no idea about this until Sandra was born. (A brother who followed her was similarly mixed race in appearance.)    Her parents accepted her as their’s (which she was) and raised her in a loving home, but when she went to join her older brother at a ‘whites only’ boarding school, she was eventually kicked out because she wasn’t white.  Remember this was in the days when under apartheid it was against the law for whites and non-whites to live together under the same roof!  Her parents fought this which meant appearing before a court to determine Sandra’s race. 

I don’t want to give too much of the story away since I would highly recommend it.  It’s not yet available here on DVD but is available through www.amazon.co.uk .  It raises huge questions about race and identity, shows how ridiculous it is to try to legalize racial differences and at the same times gives incredible insights into the human heart.  Particularly tragic is the broken relationship Sandra and her father experience, and how his inability to forgive her for the choices she makes ultimately destroys him.  It’s a window into the destruction that unforgiveness breeds, and a sobering reminder for our own situations.

During the film credits at the end, we learn that the real Sandra Laing is still alive and living in a now “free” South Africa. Despite a life that was clearly very painful with more than it’s share of tragedies, she managed to survive the turbulence and  has not just children but grandchildren!  A beautiful reminder of God’s grace and redemption.

 

A Long Way Gone

I recently went to an alumni event for my undergraduate college to hear Ishmael Beah ( a fellow alum) and NY Times best-selling author of his memoir as a child soldier in Sierra Leona, talk about his process of writing.  Interestingly right around the same time, a friend picked up his book, ‘A Long Way Gone’, on an out of town trip to Washington, in a serious attempt to learn more about the complexities of life in Africa. 

As we talked about Beah’s book, she reminded me that in the opening pages he tells us of high school kids in New York City who went to school with him thinking it was “cool” that he had seen people running around with guns and killing each other. If they had only known. In the book we learn that his involvement in the war went far beyond watching others kill. In time, he became one of those who killed too.  I really wonder if his high school classmates would have found that cool too.

This morning there was a memorial service for those killed at Ft. Hood in Texas last week, and their families. And at midnight tonight the man known as the Washington sniper is scheduled to die by lethal injection for the random murders he persuaded a 17-year-old kid  to commit  in the fall of 2002.  (The kid was given life without parole).   The death of the Washington sniper can be stayed if the Governor of Virginia grants clemency but that seems unlikely.

I can’t help but think that when people are being shot and killed so close to home, killing no longer looks as “cool”.  (Is it ever “cool”?)

And I remain convinced that whenever we take a human life – when we play the role of Judge, when we take justice into our own hands – then even God weeps.

 

Like Little Children

This summer a colleague invited me to join  him and his family and some other Redeemer friends on Fire Island. I’ve never been and so I took him up on it. It’s a really unusual and beautiful place, but the highlight for me was watching a delightful 4 year old kid called Noah – who has no sense (yet) of his limits.

He and his family joined us after lunch for an afternoon on the beach, and as soon as they got there, he went racing into the sea after his father and older brother.   They were already quite far out and had no idea he was chasing them. Meanwhile his mother looked on panic-stricken, but she couldn’t go after him herself because she had to attend to her infant daughter.  She tried calling after Noah, but he was gone.

As he waded in deeper and the waves reached his waist, he began to stumble.   Fortunately one of the guys with us had seen Noah, followed in after him and caught up to him, so just when he started to lose his footing, Tony was right there to grab him by the hand.  Noah, having no idea that Tony was there, looked around bewildered but recognizing him, gladly took his hand, and sheepishly came back to join us on solid ground.  Poor thing.  Noah spent the next few minutes shivering under a towel – having to spend a time out for acting unwisely.

I fell in love with this kid.  I was so touched by his exuberance for life.   It was a beautiful reminder of what God wants of us:  to be child-like, open, eager for new adventures, and ready to embrace that which he brings us.  But he knows that, like Peter, once we realize we are walking on water, and our faith  starts to waver, we’ll start to sink.   

Even then, we needn’t worry.  Like Tony’s timely rescue of  Noah, God is right there ready to give us his hand, even before we even know we need him.

 

God’s View versus The World’s View

After a recent inspiring sermon where I learned about the convicting story of William Borden, I picked up ‘Borden of Yale’, the biography of his short life. (He died at the age of 25.)

He was raised by a mother, who clearly had a vital relationship with Christ and  this profoundly influenced him.  There is evidence that Christ was real for him too at a young age. In his teens at the Hill School in Pennsylvania, he heard a sermon about Jesus, contrasting two very different views of him.

In Mark 6:3, as Jesus began his preaching ministry, those who knew of him before this time wondered aloud, “Isn’t this the carpenter’s son? What’s this wisdom that he even does miracles.” People were amazed and yet confused.  Ultimately many viewed him as an ordinary man who worked with his hands for a living.

Earlier in Mark 1:11, we are given a beautiful insight into God’s view of Jesus: “You are my son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.” What an incredible  declaration made at the start of Jesus’ years of public ministry.

This reminded me that when I question the significance of what I’m currently doing – working full-time for a church supporting and encouraging group leaders -  I’m clinging to the world’s view of my work, and losing sight of God’s eternal, kingdom-centered perspective.

Oh, that I would have eyes of faith to see more and more as God sees…

 

Learning from Prayer

Last spring I offered a 3 session class on a Thursday night at the office called ‘Intimacy with God’. The idea was to create an environment where a small group could come together to be encouraged to consider what our role is in nurturing what should be the most important relationship of all. I capped the class at 20 – wanting to foster an intimate, close and safe space.

When the Thursday evenings came around, I found myself a little drained by the prospect of teaching at the end of a work day, and no doubt at least some of those who came probably felt the same way.  The first evening was hot and we were packed into a room that was really too small.  And though we were looking at Jesus’ relationship with his Father, based on Luke’s gospel, much of what happened that night was far too didactic – admittedly my fault.

Not surprisingly, a good handful of folks never returned for the second week. I persevered on, being honest with the class about my own reticence at teaching, and inviting them to participate actively in their own learning. We re-examined what it meant to talk with God. Week 3 then looked at what it meant for us to (re)learn how to listen to God’s voice, and walked folks through a Lectio Divina exercise. Even fewer came back for that final session, though the few who had stuck with it all the way through gave encouraging feedback about how meaningful the class had been for them.

The back bone behind this class was prayer. The head of our prayer team at Redeemer (LC) had asked a small group to bathe this class in prayer. And – God bless them – they did.

I felt disappointed by the low turnout and discouraged by the dwindling numbers each week. I was also a little confused as to why the prayer invested in this class seemed to have made no discernible difference.

But God was at work.

This fall, I was asked to teach the class again, and agreed. It’s happening on a Sunday after the East side morning service and the turnout has been a delightful and encouraging surprise!  I’m  less controlling in my teaching and more trusting that the Holy Spirit is there.  I’m learing to allow him to guide it more.   And folks in the class are sharing honestly and openly about their struggles and fears that interfere with them spending time alone with God, our beloved.   Others are sharing stories of ways in which they are learning to triumph in this area.  Praise God for this!

I am convinced that the prayers prayed many months ago for this class by a few committed people behind the scenes are now beginning to bear fruit.

It’s a wonderful reminder that God does answer our prayers.  But so often it’s not in the ways we expect him to, and it’s certainly rarely according to our timetable!

 

Just a Hint of God’s Perspective

This summer, one of the fun “first time ever” things I did – long overdue – was walk from New York across to New Jersey on the George Washington Bridge. It was a bit like an obstacle course on the foot path, dodging countless lycra- clad speedy bike riders going in both directions. Not to mention breathing in exhaust and fumes from the endless onslaught of Saturday afternoon traffic coming back into the city with just a 2 1/2 foot cement barrier separating us from them.  But once in the center of the bridge, you could even feel it vibrating from the weight of all those vehicles (although I’m sure that’s also by design). 

 And the view from up therewas quite spectacular – though I don’t have a great head for heights – and so I couldn’t go too close to the edge to fully appreciate it.

But what this expedition did do was remind me of how small and puny my perspective is when I’m on the ground  and “living “in it”  and just how incredibly expansive and glorious it must be for God to see all things at every moment.

Yes, there is definitely something to be said for getting up into the ramparts to appreciate the view (Hab 2:1) and gaining the much-needed perspective that comes from taking the risks to get up there.

 

Are you ready to die for Jesus?

Since I just returned from visiting Uganda, I finally felt motivated enough to pick up a book I’ve been wanting to read for the past year. It’s called ‘A Distant Grief’ and is an account by Kefa Sempangi about how Christians were killed and martyred during the reign of terror by Idi Amin in the 1970’s.

I have to admit I’d never read about the terror of Amin and the gruesome killings carried out on his behalf, though I’d been exposed to them Hollywood-style while watching ‘The Last King of Scotland’.  This book made me shudder.  And I came to agree with Sempangi that Amin’s vicious and brutal killings took on a demonic quality (Eph 6: 12) .

The trauma inflicted on Ugandan Christians was almost indescribable. Often Amin and his henchmen brutally tortured their victims, cutting off limbs or genitals, and then gloating over them as they bled to death in agony.  (And  it was sobering  for me to realize that many were killed in what was Makindye Prison, a collection of buildings located just several blocks away from the American club in Kampala where I have stayed on a few occasions.)  Amin’s brutality was frighteningly systematic and in 3 months, 90,000 Ugandans disappeared. Truly horrific stuff.

In the face of all of this, what was so convicting was that as Sempangi’s Redeemed Church of God, which he founded along with several friends, swelled to 14,000 strong, they no longer began to ask new converts “Do you believe in Jesus?”. Instead it became, “Are you ready to die for Jesus?”.  And this didn’t mean die euphemistically speaking. This meant : Are you ready to give up your life on this earth for Jesus, the way he gave up his earthly life for you?  Amazingly, over and over again, the answer was a resounding ‘yes’.  And yet this was not theoretical.  Some of those who declared this in the affirmative were subsequently and brutally killed for their faith.

Reading this made me think about my life here  in New York City.  Am I ready to die for Jesus?   Am I really ready to die for Jesus?  I hope I am, though I can’t say I have yet been fully tested.  And while it may not mean becoming a martyr literally for the sake of the gospel – though of course at some point it could - surely dying for Jesus at least means being roused from my safe,  comfortable , and relatively risk-free life  here.  And being ready to move out of that which is predictable and known to live instead with a quiet but ever trusting heart and open hands, while heeding God’s call.

 

Travel Treasures

Please forgive the long hiatus from updating this blog, but I’ve been away from my laptop and largely unplugged.   In all honesty, the break has been quite blissful. 

For the last month, I’ve had the privilege of returning to Africa, the continent of my birth, where I re-connected with extended family members whom I’d not seen for 4 years and caught up with dear friends in East Africa (Uganda and S Sudan) whom I lived and worked with in 2006 & 2007.  It was truly a  sweet, sweet time and a taste of the joy that awaits us in heaven.

As I reflect back on my time away and think about what I learned about God during this trip, several key things jump to mind.  The first is God’s plans are not our plans, and because of this, he desires us to hold our plans loosely.  Weeks before I was to leave, some of my travel plans which had been set for 4 months were unexpectedly altered. I got stressed out, I panicked, and I began kicking and screaming (not literally but in my mind as I questioned how God  could dare do this to me ).  Finally with the counsel of kind, wise friends, I gained some perspective, and decided to move forward with my trip, even if parts of it weren’t going to happen as planned.  However, once it began, and I was now really trusting Him with all the  plans regardless of how things would work out, the rest of the trip fell into place. And it turned out that His altered plans weren’t so awful after all.  I ended up having a truly fantastic time.

A second thing God taught me on this trip was that He remains in control, He continues to move his kingdom forward and that He is able and actively doing that, whether I’m involved or not. (How easy it is for me to feel self important…)   Returning to rural Uganda, where I lived and worked for 2 years on an HIV prevention project with pregnant mothers, it was with a sense of completion and closure that I learned that this program has now been fully handed over to the Ministry of Health, 5 years after it’s inception.  As of the end of this month, there will be no mission involvement in it at all, financially, administratively, or otherwise.  The transition may not be seamless and there are bound to be some bumps in the road ahead, but a district-wide program testing pregnant mothers for HIV infection and providing meds to positive moms to reduce the risk of their babies being born infected now exists where it didn’t before and it’s being sustained. Praise God for his righteous right hand, in whom all things are held together!

The third key thing I learned about God during my trip was that God really does give us more than we can ask or imagine.  I went on this trip with few expectations but wanting a heart that was open to what God was doing and what he would show me – about Himself and about my own heart and life – and he more than met me in this.  I came away awed by his love, grateful for his generosity, basking in the richness of friendships and experiences he’s blessed me with, and with a renewed sense of his grace.

What a pity that He had to take me halfway around the world for my heart to get jazzed up by Him in these ways.  Oh that my everyday life in New York City would also be filled with such deep affection and appreciation for Him.

 

As We Forgive

‘As We Forgive’ is a gripping account, based on a movie of the same name, of some incredible stories of reconciliation in Rwanda.

Why Rwanda? From April to June of 1994, almost a million (!) Tutsis were murdered by the other major ethnic group in the country, the Hutus – while the UN and the rest of world remained silent and essentially let it happen.   Many of those killed were slaughtered by their neighbors and friends with the machetes (long sharp axe-like tools) they usually used in their gardens and fields to clear brush and shrubs.

The impact of such mass killing on both the survivors and the perpetrators is hard to fathom. And yet in this tenderly and skillfully written account, the gruesomeness of the genocide comes to life. Certainly very hard to read at times, this book is essentially about hope and the freedom that comes when forgiveness is both granted by those have been wronged and received by those who have wronged.

You’ll need a thick skin to read about the horrible ways family members were brutally killed or traumatically injured, and you may even be moved to tears in parts, but don’t let this discourage you from a book that will radicalize your perspective on the transforming power of forgiveness.