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