Climbing Mountains

This past Saturday, my husband, girls and I had a rare summer day to ourselves. What’s more, quite out of line with our luck, the weather promised to be perfect for a day outdoors. So what does a camp family wake up and decide to do with such a day?

Let’s hike Maryland Heights!

Now, normal people might not think that tackling arguably the toughest hike up a mountain nearby with small children in tow is fun. What can I say? We were sleep-deprived and not thinking straight. Also, I was still dealing with jet lag from my return flights from my two week stint in Zimbabwe.

Except that’s not really it.

My husband interviews young adults every year to serve as camp staff for the United Methodist camp and retreat center he directs. He’s got a few wonderful folks who help year-round, but the summer camp season always brings a flurry of interviews, decisions, paperwork, etc.

When Chris and I were first married, I often helped with these interviews. One of the last interviews I did, not too long after that, though, was for Steve, now Chris’ assistant director. I hired myself out of a job.

These days I don’t help interview (unless in the rare occasion Steve can’t make an interview—he scheduled them so this rarely happens). I do, however, know things have changed some. They’ve come up with some new questions, though have kept some classics.

One of the new questions is this: Why do people climb mountains?

So I guess that’s the question for this past Saturday. Why did we climb the mountain?

With our 4½ year old trudging along and our nearly 2 year old tucked in a hiking backpack.

The first reason is simple—it was a nice day and what better way to guarantee a peaceful afternoon than to have two tired children (this calculation forgets that the parents will be tired too and the kids get a nap while the parents don’t)?

The other reason is this: there is an awesome view to be seen on a clear day from the top of Maryland Heights, and there is great value in learning that you can push through tough spots and that hard work leads to something pretty awesome.

Chris and I went into the hike preparing ourselves that Anna, our oldest, wouldn’t make it the entire way. No one wants to be the parent forcing your child on a death march up a mountain. But there’s a fine (probably not a very fine one, but a line) between pushing your child to an accomplishment you know what can safely achieve with hard work, and destroying your child pushing them to a goal you have for them which is beyond their reach.

Chris and I have also both hiked that mountain with campers. At the end of the hike, Chris cheerily remarked (cheerily came harder at that point, but still it came) that Anna didn’t complain any more than Senior High campers. So there’s that. J

As it turned out, the hike was tough. We expected it to be, and it was. It was tough for Anna, and for me. I won’t speak for Chris, but it had been a couple years since I’d done that particular hike, and there’s this one stretch—the hill up from the overlook, that is just BRUTAL and I hate it SO MUCH. But we pushed up the mountain. We took breaks when Anna needed them, we encouraged and yes even pushed her a bit. We told her not to run up the mountain (why is this kids’ first instinct when trying to do something?! We explained she’d have to pace herself to make it all the way).

Before we knew it, we were more than half the way there. When Anna asked how much farther and we told her we were more than halfway, she seemed a bit more determined to make it. We sang up the steep parts. Anna had an easier time doing so that I sometimes did. She made up a zillion new verses to “This Little Light of Mine,” and we trudged along.

At the overlook, Anna was amazed, and I loved watching her and her dad plant themselves (safely back from) beside the edge and look out. I didn’t get to watch that too much, because my squirmy toddler was over sitting still, but even so, it was cute.

On the way down, Anna asked if we could hike it again. She also complained she was tired. We were all tired. Seeing the amazing things that come after hard work don’t make you not tired from the journey.

As we got even further down, Mary, our almost two-year-old, decided she’d had enough of the backpack.  She insisted on walking. I thought it would last ten minutes, tops. Nope…she hiked the entire rest of the 2/3 of the way down.

We were all tired by the time we finished. The next day, I felt like a bus had hit me (the jetlag didn’t like the hike). Anna, however, was good. And proud.  She has enjoyed telling people what she did.

Anna will, I am sure, have many more hikes ahead. Maybe she will have more than even Chris or I can imagine. I know, though, that she will have mountains to climb in life. She’ll need to sing her way through the hard parts, and learn to cut herself slack and take breaks when she wants to. I hope we have many more times to hike together as a family.

I learn something new each time I hike.

This time, I learned that my little girls have as much if not more determination than almost anyone I know. I can’t wait to see the mountains they’ll summit and cross.

Zimbabwe: Telling the Story

This photo is my view of the Zambezi River as I write this morning.

Before I left for Zimbabwe I had these great ideas of blogging daily to keep everyone posted about how the trip was going. I was going to tell the story and try to have people walk this journey along with me.

Then the trip happened. Our two weeks--which finish tomorrow as we leave for home--have been filled with (very) long days...early mornings...packed schedules. That has left little time and energy for blogging, and unreliable wifi has also removed motivation to blog.

Now that I find myself on the back end of the trip trying to figure out how to tell the story, I have options and possibilities that didn't exist. I tried to start writing a blog for each day. But now, in hindsight, as most stories, I know that there were threads that a daily telling won't capture. But then again, writing along those threads or themes risks missing importance happenings.

And really, any attempt to tell the story leaves out parts of the experience. And no telling of it can capture the living of it.

So there we are. I am going to attempt, at my husband's encouragement, just to write. I expect to post in the coming days, perhaps in a mixture of the possible ways. Three months from now I may come back to it, reminded of some happening or having processed some learning in a new way. 

What I can tell you is this: Africa, Zimbabwe, Africa University, and the United Methodists of Zimbabwe have become a part of my heart in a way I did not anticipate. I cannot say it feels like home here, because my husband and daughters are not here with me, and it is impossible to feel any place is home without them. But considering that, it is pretty darn close.

Our trip began in South Africa, with learnings about the deep pain and continuing inequalities and brokenness wrought by racism and greed. Our time there, touring Soweto and visiting the Apartheid Museum was a reminder of the pain we are able to inflict upon each other.

Next, we arrived in Zimbabwe, the main destination for our trip. Most of my colleagues began the time in Zimbabwe with experiences at churches in and Harare which displayed to them the great differences between the US and Zimbabwe. My preaching and worship that first Sunday took me to an Harare congregation which certainly looked and indeed had many differences from US congregations, but which was most striking to me because of how familiar it felt to me. It seemed to me more similar than different. I wasn't expecting that.

After Harare we travelled to Mutare, to help with and be present for Pastors' School. Again, I expected to see many differences (beyond our general American practice of comparing everything against the "norm" of American culture, this is what others on my trip prepared us for). Again, my experience was so different. There are many stories connected to this to tell, but let me tell you how I first realized this.

On the first day, Monday, we really only had opening worship and one workshop. The "workshop" was actually a main session (throughout the entire event, everyone did all the workshops together), and it was on prophecy and faith-healing. Our group went into it very interested to see what would be discussed. The workshop itself didn't seem all that "out there" to me, and I think most of our group, but then we went into our break-out groups. These groups were to be 35-40 people and each member of our BWC group was to be part of a group.

By random assignment...or, I might suggest, the providence of God...I ended up in Group 4. My life is forever changed because of group 4.

My BWC colleagues, as it turns out, each approached the breakout groups differently. Some helped provide leadership, while others sat back. I chose the latter, and though some groups decided or conceded to speak English for the sake of the BWC clergy in their group, group 4 quickly picked up with Shona (the native language of most Zimbabweans, or at least the common language--though all at Pastors' School know English to varying degrees and all main sessions were in English). 

As the group discussed who would be secretary (in Shona), one of the clergy sitting beside me leaned over and he began interpreting for me. This led to the practice (as long as we needed it--more in a future blog about how they agreed to speak in English the majority of the time, in exchange for me being group secretary) of one of the people sitting next to me being required (by the group) to be my interpreter. Needless to say, as long as that was needed, people kind of avoided sitting next to me :-)

So settling into the group, I began to follow what was happening three ways: in English (which some of the pastors used for my sake anyway, prob. 40-50% of the time), in Shona (used the rest of the time, which I had studied a bit before coming, but only knew a small list of words) and in body language and tone--which as we all know, actually accounts for over 70% of communication.

The group quickly fell into teasing each other, criticizing the presentation (which was done by a District Superintendent from Zimbabwe), asking, "Why did they think we needed to hear this?!" and other such comments. And you know what I realized, UM clergy are the same. Everywhere. Well, at least in the US and Zimbabwe.

Sarcasm. I flew hundreds of miles and landed in a group made up of precisely the kind of people I've spent (and enjoyed) my entire ministry career. They just happened to speak Shona.

I found myself not surrounded by pastors from a new place. I found myself surrounded by my colleagues. People who (like in the US) shared many life and ministry experiences with me, had many cultural and appointment-setting differences, but who shared a similar understanding of scripture and theology as well as church governance. 

Over the days which followed, we laughed. A lot. I even got to make a few jokes that made them laugh.

They blessed me with a name. In Shona there is a totem system by which people are identified. Similar to Deaf culture in the US with name signs, you cannot ask for or create your own--you can only be given a name by natives of the culture. I didn't even know this. I didn't realize they had renamed me at first because my totem name sounded similar enough in quickly-spoken Shona that I didn't catch it.

In scripture, God gives people new names when they have had a significant experience and/or are about to embark on a new direction or be claimed by a new call on their life...or be known in a new way.

The totem name I received is Chihera. This totem seems to be connected with an eland (a type of antelope-the largest here) though over the course of a couple days as I and a couple others in our group tried to tease out what it meant, we also heard zebra and buffalo...but Google and others tell me an eland. 

More significant is the meaning. I seemed to have been given this name after I preached the Wednesday morning devotion, then served as secretary (and presenter) for Group 4. I was told the name was related to me speaking a lot and confidently. I later learned the qualities of a Chihera (this name is given to the women of the totem, the men of the totem are called by a different name). Chihera are, I am told, not pushed around, and stand their ground. They are not blown by the winds of situation or surroundings. I will write more on this later as well, but my new name began to shape my experience at Pastors' School. I quickly became to be known only by this name, and I would be greeted in the walkways and in main sessions by my new name. On the drive back to Harare on Friday, after Pastors' School concluded that morning, we stopped at a rest stop for lunch and as we waited for our food, I was greeted to "Chihera!" as a couple pastors from the school also on their way home walked past us.

I will have much more to say about Pastors' School but I say all this now to illustrate that for me the experience was one of belonging and acceptance--both based not on my ability to secure those things but only having been able to receive that which was offered. Grace.

In the days since Pastors' School, our group has headed in different directions, the largest single group being those of us who continued on together to Victoria Falls. Today we have our final full day here, and as I type this, my BWC colleagues are rousing from bed and making their way down to breakfast here by the river. Tomorrow we will begin the three-flight-trip home.

I look forward to sharing more about my trip. It will take me time...and I suspect much time...to process and mentally organize my experiences here. I am confident I will not be able to fully convey what this experience has been. But I know that God has been powerfully at work. I know there will be much fruit borne, and I look forward to seeing what that will be, by the power and grace of God.

Grace and Peace.

Chihera. Sarah.

Days 3 & 4: Travel, Harare, Sunday and Mutare

We left our hotel room Saturday morning to begin the trip to Zimbabwe. Nothing all the notable about the flight, other than it was shorter than I'd anticipated. Less than an hour and a half from Johannesburg to Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe.

Upon arriving at the Harare airport, it did take a while to get through immigration and customs (mostly immigration). So, patience was key, and I just had to (and did) trust that my colleagues leading our group know how to get us along, and they did.

We boarded a coach bus...which, with a group as large as ours (26) is our standard mode of transport. 

We arrived and settled at our hotel, which overlooks a park in downtown Harare, where, it seemed, to be some large outdoor worship service happening, judging from the sprinkling of English words we heard mixed in with the Shona. As the entire things had fairly dense trees, though, we couldn't see.

After a bit, we loaded back into the bus to go visit the nearly completed new conference office building the Zimbabwe East Annual Conference was building. We were pleased to hear (well, I was, others no doubt knew) that the BWC paid for the roof on the new structure. The building is located in an area akin to Embassy Row in DC, and has three wings and two floors. Of course I had never seen their current offices, but I am told by my BWC colleagues here that the new building is a big improvement.

Back at the hotel, we concluded our evening as we will each night this week, with devotion together (which includes time for reflection on the day) and dinner. 

I was nervous and excited about the opportunity to preach at one of the UM churches in Harare the next day, and I had quite the time trying to go to sleep. But finally a did, for a bit at least.

Sunday morning came with a bustling about to be ready in time, have bags packed (we were to leave as soon as we all got back to the hotel), get breakfast and meet our pastors or hosts who were coming to the hotel to fetch us. We had actually learned what our assignments (churches) were when we were in Johannesburg, and I was pleased to find a website and Facebook page for the church I would preach at, Cranborne UMC. I was able to learn about the pastor, the church's history, and the sort of programs they had going on, It was pretty cool.

I was told Cranborne (the church is named after its neighborhood) is like Potomac (MD). That's probably the best way to explain it, as it relates relatively to Harare. Many professionals, peoples of all ages but certainly many young families. Several of their members are active in conference leadership.

When Sunday came, I was one of the last picked up, though since I'd seen the service wasn't till 9:30 am and the church was not far from the hotel, I figured it made sense. Some of my colleagues had early services (we'd been told to be ready and in the lobby by 7:30 am) and were at a much greater distance.

One of the lay leaders from Cranborne, Janet Chisipiti, was the one to come fetch me from the hotel. She arrived in the outfit of their version of the UMW, and explained it was communion Sunday and the women dressed as such (and the men wore sashes) on those Sundays. I learned (I may have seen this online before) that their service was actually at 10:30 a.m., since they had begun Sunday School several weeks earlier (owing to the leadership of their new pastor--appointments begin in January in Zimbabwe). This certainly made the instructions the Zimbabwe conference gave the hosts as they took us difficult--that we should get back to the hotel by noon, since we needed to leave by 12:30 p.m. for Mutare (by bus).

When we arrived, we seemed to be about the first, it was maybe 8:30 a.m. Janet showed me around the church, built in the 1990s. The church, like a number of buildings we've seen in Zimbabwe, doesn't have interior hallways--a practical feature we see pretty much anywhere what often has hot temperatures. Since they had just started Sunday School, most rooms were used as classrooms, and there was a pastor's office and secretary's office. As it happened, this still left several classes having to meet in the sanctuary (they now have a total of 9 classes, I think, up from the 1 adult class they'd previously had). The sanctuary is, I think, basically a round brick structure (maybe a mix between round and a wedge) and about two third of the way up the wall, open vents allow for good air flow. It is winter here, and it was a cool morning.

 As we had rounded around the back of the church, we headed for the pastor's office, to find Rev. Dr. Gift Machinga had arrived. I had the chance to speak with him some, learn more about the church and his family. He has three daughters, young adults, and one was home of break from the University of Minnesota (I know, what are the chances?!) HIs wife is a psychologist and as he had just moved to Harare from Mutare with the new appointment, she remained in Mutare for her work, and usually came to Harare on the weekends (though not this one). Rev. Dr. Machinga had actually studied at Clairmont, so had spent time in the US. In addition to serving churches in Mutare previously, he had also been the Mutare District Superintendent. He was very kind, and it wasn't long before other church leaders began arriving, to get Sunday School started. They gathered in the pastor's office and prayed together before dispersing.

I wasn't sure whether to attend a class or not. I felt a bit self conscious since I would be preaching in English, and normally though nearly all there know English, everything is inn Shona. I didn't want them to have to change the language of their class or felt like they needed to translate for me. In retrospect, I probably should have just gone, but as it was, I looked over my sermon in the pastor's office and greeted people as they arrived. Everyone was so nice, and that also gave me an opportunity to look in on aall the Sunday School classes. 

One of the children's classes had two little boys who kept wandering out. I was glad to see at least that happens to everyone...those two kids you just can't get to sit down and pay attention :-)

Sunday school's end was announced by one of the women ringing a bell and she walked through church. I did take many photos, not wanting to seem odd or rude, but again, I wish I had. Ah well! I saw a couple people taking photos during worship so perhaps I'll come across those.

I was very nervous, wanting to do my best and trying to be very conscious of not speaking to quickly. So yeah, if you know me you know how hard that was!

As Sunday School ended, Rev. Dr. Machinga, one of his student pastors and the choir readied and gathered to process in. Which we soon did, and I took my seat up front between Rev. Dr. Machinga and his student pastor (they actually have two, but it's school break). I was fortunate to have a bulletin for my time there, and Rev. Dr. Machinga was kind enough to wait to run the bulletins until Sunday morning so it has my name and sermon title. We'd been told it was a time of a special theme, "A Harvest of Thanksgiving." I'd written and practiced the sermon. Then learned the day before that it was actually a stewardship sermon...harvest and thanksgiving are used this way but the church in Zimbabwe. Needless to say, my sermon on Thankfulness underwent some last minute edits! Which is always a bit perilous.

So aside from the service being in Shona, you would have recognized the parts...hymns, choir singing, prayers, creed, scripture reading, announcements and sharing of concerns. As I'd mentioned before, it was a communion Sunday, but I wasn't able to stay for that because of the time.

When we'd first talked, Janet had told the pastor what time I needed to be back. He was surprised, and they talked and he said she'd probably need to leave the service and take me at like 11:30 am or so.

The service was very nice, though I must admit it was more similar to an American service than I'd expected. One difference was that at any prayer time, the pastors turned and kneeled before their chairs. I'm assuming others did the same, but I was praying, not watching :-)

By the time it was time for me to preach, it was, you guessed it...11:30!

Needless to say, I was now quite nervous. I'd practiced my sermon to be 40 minutes. Now I needed to cut it significantly. So I did it in 25 minutes. It felt like the cliff notes version of it. And all while trying to not speed up (which I usually fall into when short on time).

I opened by thanking everyone, and offering a gift to Rev. Dr. Machinga, which included the apple butter I'd bought from Butlers' the day before I left (and wrapped with lots of bubble wrap, placed in a ziplock bag and packed in the middle of my bag). To be honest, I was happy to pass it along, and to no longer have to worry about it breaking :-) I also gave him a number of Manidokan items.

I'd used Jesus' healing of the ten lepers (one one came back to offer thanks) and suggested that the opposite of thanksgiving was pride (focus on what others do as opposed to what we do). Add in some 1 John 4:20 about how to say we love God whom we haven't seen, we must love our brothers and sisters we do see, and round off with sin as focus on self, but God's desire for us to focus and God and others and finish it off with an attempt to tie that to giving...yeah, a lot (probably too much) to do in 25 minutes. But all, the pastor and Janet, were very gracious. I was able to stay through one more prayer, then Janet and I had to go. Sadly, I missed both communion and greeting people at the end of the service, which I would very much have liked to have done, but time is time.

Janet drove me back to the hotel. We had more good conversation and she graciously answered my questions about Zimbabwe. 

Back at the hotel, I said goodbye to Janet, gave her a couple Manidokan items in thanks for her hospitality, and went to grab my bags. And then we waited for everyone else to arrive :-)

It was a little after 1:15 p.m. before we were able to leave for Mutare, And we drove. and drove. And drove. Much of the highway is just two lanes, so we spent a good bit of time stuck behind slow trucks.

I decided to stay awake, which became increasingly difficult. Of course I decided to try to sleep 5 minutes before our halfway stop.

All along the highway, at various places people would be selling things by the side of the road. These seemed to cluster in areas where people live or which are travel stops (or bus stops). They'd be selling packaged snacks, or fresh fruits and vegetables. The place we stopped had restrooms and snacks, as well as a gift shop and a cafe. It was aa quick stop though, then we were back on the road for two more hours. 

The best views of the entire drive came as we finally crested Christmas pass and overlooked Mutare. Africa University is on the other side of Christmas pass, so we also get to do this every day this week, but seeing for the first time is pretty awesome. I posted a pic on Facebook. 

Our hotel is on the other side of town, so we got to drive through Mutare before arriving. The hotel itself overlooks the valley some. It's quite pretty, but we have long days and rarely a chance to enjoy it :-)

As Chris teased me (he'd asked if we got free time, and I said, no not really), yeah, wouldn't it have been nice for the conference to just pay for me to go on vacation? :-) We're definitely very busy!

We settled in, did devotion, then dinner. I had not slept well the night before and so tried to go to bed early, but wasn't able to. Travel isn't for sissys!

I know this has been a terribly long post, but it still fails to capture everything. I had also hoped to write another blog about today, but I'll wait and try to do that tomorrow.

Today was awesome though. I do have to say that what I am so very very struck by so far are the similarities between here and home, not the differences. This evening I sat in and listened to a breakout group (I'll be in the same one all week) discuss the presentation on faith healing that one of the DSes gave, and I just couldn't stop smiling or laughing (I laughed too loud sometimes because some people looked at me funny). The thing was, they were saying precisely all the things I would expect to hear in such a circumstance as my US colleagues. If I got in the cool group. Yep...I came all the way to Zimbabwe to end up in the snarky group. It was awesome. My favorite line was when the spokesman for our group (we came back together and each group shared) talked, somewhat jokingly, about "a demon's right to privacy."

So this means nothing to you, but it is hilarious to me. I"ll try to explain it when I blog tomorrow :-)

Day 2: Johannesburg, Soweto and Apartheid

Today was our day to tour around Johannesburg, particularly to see Soweto and the Apartheid museum. We did so on a tour bus with a tour guide named Kenny, who seemed to me very knowledgable, and we seemed to fit a lot into one day.

I will not try to restate the entire history of Johannesburg, South Africa, Soweto or Apartheid. If nothing else, I'm sure Wikipedia has good stuff. I'm just sure I couldn't state it all well. I'll just try to briefly(-ish) and inadequately explain it this way:

South Africa was home to many great peoples before Europeans came.

Europeans came and were convinced they were the greatest gift God ever gave to South Africa (or, well, Africa...and most places they went...)

There was money to be made off of the resources in South Africa.

The Europeans wanted the money. Also some of them didn't like other people telling them what to do.

A very small minority of Europeans (some by then who had been born in South Africa and didn't consider themselves Europeans any longer, but who didn't think they were at all like the natives either) gained political, military and economic control of the native peoples. And the resources. All the resources.

The Europeans (I'll start calling them whites now, since because of the above, "Europeans" stopped being who they considered themselves to be) decided they rather liked telling other people what to do.

Irony. So much irony.

The whites in South Africa carved out their own areas, and gave choice jobs, which included jobs in the gold mines, to whites. Now, of all people, West Virginia folks probably get that mine jobs may not be the best jobs ever, but they ain't bad either, and when that's the game in town, well...

Gold prices were fixed. The only way to increase (or really, make any) profits was to cut costs. The best way to do this was hire native Africans. 

Now, the government wasn't thrilled about this. The entire approach to their country relied on separate areas for whites and blacks (we'll make that switch now). Blacks working in mines meant they'd have to be in white areas.

Money won over (racist) principles.

Blacks were brought in from outside of Johannesburg to work in the mines. Where is took 8-10 tons of rock to get 1 oz. of gold. Yeah, I know. This wasn't a gold rush.

Cue decades of trying to figure out how to do this, namely, make the blacks do the dirty work without having to see or interact with them, or you know, recognize their basic human rights.

This led to slum townships with inadequate housing, separating men from families, and requiring all blacks to carry passbooks which, due to the fact that you had to visit many government offices to get all the stamps, and no one could take that much time off from work--virtually EVERY SINGLE BLACK lived constantly in violation of.

One of the areas blacks were forced to live in was Soweto (short for South West Township). Today, it is 80 square miles and home to several million people. 

Soweto was also were much of the resistance to Apartheid was born.

After WWI, and due to many circumstances, the whites wanted people to blame. The blacks seemed as good (if not better) than any. Right wing, radical, racist whites used many means to come to complete power with the same sort of racist ideology made famous by Hitler and the Nazis against the Jews. I mean, the South Africans were anti-Semites too, but they mostly hated the blacks.

These radical, racist whites were voted into power. 

Even after the government committed atrocities, including shooting and killing over 600 youth who were marching to demand an end to racist policies in the schools (mostly involving language used in instruction--though that is way over simplifying it)--yes, even after this, the whites re-elected the same people.

As our guide, Kenny said, it's not like this was done by a military junta that took over the country. The whites voted them in. And when they had a chance to remove them, they voted them back in.

In the 1950s and 1960s some blacks tried to protest. Lots got killed and jailed. Mandela was one of them.

Blacks got scared. I mean, who wants to be jailed or killed? They mostly decided to lay low.

They had kids. Their kids were like, "What?!" Their kids weren't so scared of what the government would do to them.

In the 1980s, young people started turning the tide. This was helped by the world community. But mostly they were done with it. And many whites seemed less enthusiastic about Apartheid.

It was making lots of whites lose money. Some, including many clergy, also started (or continued) suggesting Apartheid was morally wrong. And always had been.

Many forces led to the release of Nelson Mandela, negotiations between whites and blacks, and the first democratic elections.

Okay so you should read the whole end of Apartheid stuff online. For me, this was the part of the story I knew best. 

Mandela became President. 

All was well with the world.

At least with South Africa.

Or not.

But it was better...we hope.

Keep in mind it was only in 1994 that Apartheid ended. 21 years.

Today, South Africa is trying to address many challenges, many which are shared with countries around the world.

They are trying to build a middle class, particularly a black middle class, at a time when most countries are experiencing a diminishing middle class. 

The cultural structures that got the whites and blacks through Apartheid are still fresh, and still very powerful in direct and indirect ways.

One of the things I found most interesting was that 1990-1994, the period after Mandela's release and the period of negotiations leading to new elections, was the most violent and deadly of the entire period of Apartheid. It's like a Family Systems Theory case study. (Systems like stability and if you try to change something, even something to be more healthy, the system is likely to flip out)

I took 8 pages of notes on the tour today. I promise I didn't mean to. I took out my journal to write down one thing the tour guide said. Then I just kept writing.

And so, out of context, some other noteworthy findings and happenings from today:

Kenny (our tour guide) said people often asked him what would (before it did) or did happen when Mandela died. As if Mandela was this superhero who held everything together. He pointed out that this was the community that created and raised up Mandela.

"If you speak two or more languages you're bilingual. If you speak one, you're American." Touche. By the way, our tour guide knew 7 fluently. And said he could hang pretty well with the remaining 4 official languages of South Africa (there are 11).

The housing in Soweto ranges from what we'd expect in a suburb (not much of what we saw today at least), low income neighborhoods, government housing, and shacks made out of a variety of materials. But the people you see even in the poorest areas are generally neatly dressed, and there isn't a lot of trash around. As Kenny told us, "People here believe that poverty is one thing but misery is another."

"We may pride ourselves on having the most number of rocket scientists, but we still need those who will grow food." --On pretty expansive gardens located at a school, and the importance of those to the people. This hits home with me as I reflect on the great value of the agricultural emphasis of the area in which my church, Arden, is.

On whites and blacks, Kenny said, "We are all victims of the same system, psychologically." I don't think this removes blame. Or places it all. But I thought it also speaks to those of us in the US as we reflect on the continued racism and the history of racial oppression that still shapes us.

So this still ended up being quite long, but even at that, it fails to capture a large part of what we learned and saw today. I haven't even touched on our experience at the Apartheid museum.

But I'll stop here for now.

Tomorrow morning we leave for Zimbabwe, and Sunday many of us will preach in churches and and around Harare. We learned which churches today. But since I've written so much already, I'll just leave you hanging. :-)

Giving Thanks for My Village

Today is the day. Today I will join the delegation of clergy and laity from the Baltimore-Washington Conference who are leaving for a two week trip to Zimbabwe, where we will preach, help lead Pastors School, and strengthen the connection we have with them—both by virtue of our conferences’ historic relationship, but also because we are brothers and sisters in Christ, and that’s what family does.

The trip for me involves not just a fun and powerful time but also a parenting watershed—my longest stretch away from our girls, Anna (4 ½) and Mary (1 nearly 2). The preparations for the trip have been lengthy, mostly focusing on preparing the girls, my husband, and my in laws who will be helping, for these two weeks. My house has never been clearer (since kids, at least), and I know they will have a fun couple of weeks as well. Plans for my church, Arden, have been attended too, pastoral coverage arranged (Thanks, Rev. Ken Walker!), preachers arranged, thanks to our awesome lay speakers Ed Tryon and Carol Beebe, and a host of other details…and, what isn’t done just isn’t done.

While in Zimbabwe, I will have the opportunity to preach twice, teach once at Pastors School and lead a breakout session. I’ll post more details as we get going and those days come, but I have pondered and prayed for months to consider (even before I knew exactly what our assignments would be) what I, a young white woman from the United States might have to share or say to pastors and people whose lives are in many ways different than mine. Of course, we are apt to focus more on differences, and I have also then pondered the many ways we are the same. I have given thanks that when I have in the past used phrases like, “The Early Church fathers said…” I am sharing teachings that tie all of our faith traditions together. More so, as I read scripture I am struck by how the people I will meet have also studied these texts for years. I look forward to sharing together about common understandings as well as how our life experiences shape our readings of these texts in unique ways. This will be true not only of the people we meet from Zimbabwe, but also as I get to know my travel companions better. This is why I love leading Disciple I Bible study so much—you may even know people reasonably well but find a depth of richness as you read scripture together and reflect on God.

I am also powerfully reminded today that “It takes a village…” applies to our entire lives. Our preaching theme this Sunday, as the clergy in our group each go to different local churches, is “A Harvest of Thanksgiving.” One of the points I will touch on is that just as John writes, “If anyone boasts, “I love God,” and goes right on hating his brother or sister, thinking nothing of it, he is a liar. If he won’t love the person he can see, how can he love the God he can’t see? The command we have from Christ is blunt: Loving God includes loving people. You’ve got to love both.” (1 John 4:20-21, The Message) I think the same is true of our relationship with the people we know. Being grateful is about looking beyond ourselves. Admitting that we are not, in fact, self-made people and that even in times when we think we are, there are so many people who have laid groundwork upon which we stand. If we cannot offer thanksgiving for the people who surround us, how can we truly offer thanksgiving to God? Being thankful requires an outward focus. I am convinced the opposite of thanksgiving is not ungratefulness, but pride. A focus on what one has and can and will do oneself. This is a distorted view of ourselves, others and God.

My village, as I prepare for this trip, includes many people. I cannot name them all. The village includes:

• My husband, who does actually need me to have done anything to prepare, but truly could have just picked up where I left off (I just thought it was polite and kind to help prep a bit) J I hear not all husbands are like this. I am so blessed mine is.
• My in-laws, who will be here the entire time I’m gone and will help get the girls to and from school, and get them to bed at night
• Our girls’ teachers, who are always awesome but who have also helped me get things set to be away, who I know will provide the love and consistency the girls need while I’m gone, and who today, when I started crying as I dropped off the girls, gave me hugs
• The camp staff, who even today are picking up slack so Chris can take me to the airport
• My family—particularly my mom, sister Liz and brother Jordan (and Jordan’s girlfriend Melissa), who step up wherever. I can’t even list all the ways.
• My colleagues, who fill in wherever needed.
• All my family, friends and church folk, who are lifting me and our team in prayer
• My Arden church family, who have helped me prepare in so many ways, and who are ready and able to step in for needs that may arise while I am away…and for their fervent prayers

There are really just so many. If I missed you, I apologize, please know you are held is a dear place in my heart as well, but my mind is just racing a bit too much this morning as I prepare.

I anticipate having internet during most of the trip, and I will try to post updates as I can (and when I actually have anything of interest to share). I will probably be posting to my blog, to Facebook, and Instagram. If you have questions, of course, feel free to post as comments and I’ll reply as I can.

Thank you for your prayers today and throughout our trip! May this indeed be a time of overflowing thanksgiving, and God’s use of us to God’s glory!

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By the way--in case you've seen the news and you are wondering, we are not flying United. So, knock on wood, their stoppage shouldn't affect us. By the grace of God... :-)