jim & karri's BURUNDI adventures

7pm Fort Wayne Time... 1am Buja Time

2009-04-30T16:23:00.000-07:00

Home.

The low-flying plane gave us panoramic view of the city we grew up in. Downtown, our high school, our old neighborhood. Something about being in cities like Nairobi, Brussels, Chicago, that makes the announcement, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome of Fort Wayne,” a bit underwhelming. But we sigh the sigh of total familiarity and gratitude, because it’s always there for you, your hometown.

Off the plane and through the terminal, and there they are. The ones who spent Christmas without us. And wrapped up in the reunion, the exhaustion of travel evaporates into clouds of celebration. The potential for time together sates our souls, and we know we have no goodbyes to say for a while. I’d love to go into deeper descriptions of the airport, my pleasant drive through the city in my car, and the rest of the afternoon, but those clouds are beginning to condensate again. It’s been a long trip, it’s been an emotional decathlon, and I’m toast.
But even as I’m trying to secure a bootleg signal in my mom’s living room to post these last two stories, I’m thinking about the Buj. It’s still there. It’s still going to wake up in a few hours even though we’re across the ocean. And our friends are going to keep spending themselves on behalf of it. It seems wrong to hope that you’re missed. But I do. Maybe because I just hope my own lament is reciprocated. Maybe it’s pure narcissism. But it’s sad to imagine Buja without me in it.

But that will have to be the dull ache in my spirit for the next few days. Because the hours of goodbye are over for a while. I’ve got a big week of hellos ahead. Off to bed. Goodnight.

1:45 Chicago Time, 2:45 Fort Wayne Time

2009-04-30T16:22:00.000-07:00

“Welcome back, guys.”

Trina and Karri and I talked about this moment in the car on the way to the airport in Buj. Trina said that, no matter what her current opinions about our country, there was always this surge of gratitude and joy when the customs agent says those words. I didn’t know until today. But it feels pretty good.

Eight and a half hours on the plane from Brussels with my own private screen. For a movie junkie such as myself, no better way to pass the flight. I put some time in on other efforts, but come on. It’s a little screen built into the back of the seat in front of you! You could play Tetris with the remote built into the arm of your chair! Ridiculous. I’m flying over ice floes in Northeastern Canada and trying to squeeze the T piece into the space created by the oddly placed Z piece. What kind of bizarre world do we live in?

For my friends still in the Buj, you’ll appreciate this one. We land in Chicago and the fasten seat belt sign turns off. Everyone stands and collects their belongings, but there is no pushing. There is no climbing over seats. There is no unnecessary contact. We’re in the back of the plane and everyone is well aware that they are going to get their turn. Then we notice the gentleman behind us.

This gentleman in his sixties, maybe seventies, is dressed in a bright blue patterned dashiki and (how can I say this tactfully?) smells African. Like the cabs I would take every morning or the hugs from my dear Burundian friends that only lasted as long as they did because my love elongated my sensory endurance. He is clearly unenthused at the prospect of waiting for the plane to disembark. He has already posted up behind Karri, arm outstretched and boxing me out from entering the aisle in front of him, and is shifting from side to side, seeing if there’s an alternate route. Then the opposite aisle begins to clear out. This is more than he can bear. He wedges himself between Karri and the aisle adjacent to her, then excuses himself (AFTER this maneuver, mind you) and wriggles the rest of the way so that he can join the free flowing traffic. Karri and I looked at each other. It’s refreshing to know that here we are, on American soil once more, but some things just don’t change. Sorry if that anecdote goes over some heads, but that one goes out to my fellow fighters in the battle of the visa lines. Cheers, guys, and know that we’re still fighting the good fight here in the West.

One last jump to the homeland, and then we’re done. The chapter of our travels to Buja and back will end where it started. Our parents will be right where we left them, like they never left. I’ll have gained a drum, a goatee, and a slimmer waist. And then we’ll go… home? I guess so. But we left a little bit of home back there when Selius shut the gate the last time, a little bit when we left the arms of our friends in the airport, a little bit when our feet hit that staircase and left the ground. And there’s a little bit of home in that Philly apartment, a little bit traipsing around the globe with our Eastern friends. Maybe that means home just gets a little bigger, but the emptiness I feel by being separated from those people, those places makes me think that they are pieces of home, broken off the whole. And while I’ll never be depleted of home, I’ll always feel the phantom limbs that can never be replaced.

6:30am Brussels time, 11:30pm Fort Wayne time

2009-04-29T23:45:00.001-07:00

Awake.

I don’t sleep well on planes. I think everyone who designs transport is shorter than 6 feet tall. But Brussels air tries hard to make you comfortable. Good food, nice blankets. I look longingly at the curtain to first class and the extra-reclining chairs with ample leg room and rub my knees.

I’m greeted by what appears to be the African version of Total Request Live on the screens at the front of the cabin. Women from Ivory Coast, Guinea, Senegal sway silently back and forth to the drone of the engines and the stirring of the cabin crew. If you’ve never been to Africa, then African music videos are probably just a glimpse into the past of video editing, with producers who don’t know better than to use whatever stock transition effects are available on the software they’re using. The four-corner split and spin. The page-turn from the left. The page-turn from the right. The spinning block. But when you’ve been to Africa, you see something a bit more. You see this familiar desire to be Western while slightly resenting it at the same time. The ladies amble out of a sports car, but the man is wearing a dashiki. The dancing still holds quite a bit of booty shaking, while retaining the swaying arm movements of their days in the choirs of their youth.

It’s familiar because you see this tension on the streets every day. Love 50 Cent, resent the West’s money. Love Obama, resent the US foreign policy. Love Dolly Parton (don’t ask me, but everyone does), resent the imposition of Western cultures and values. I can’t blame them. I live in that tension every day. I’m simultaneously someone abundantly comfortable in the West and annoyed and critical of it. It’s the real tension I’m wrestling with this morning. We’re about to land in Brussels. Who am I now? On the other side of these eight months, will that tension be tilted to one side or another? I have three entries to post. Will I be upset if I can’t connect to the internet? Do I deserve it? Is all that stuff in my suitcase just relics of an extended vacation into development-land? I’m about to set foot into the land of automatic soap dispensers. Who am I?

9:45pm Nairobi Time, 2:45pm Fort Wayne Time

2009-04-29T23:44:00.000-07:00

We’re landed in Nairobi and waiting for the new crew to board our (let me check the pocket card) Airbus A 330. Then on to Brussels. My wife has been in that state of flux between trying not to cry and trying to stop crying since we last caught our friends in our arms and tried to renegotiate the goodbyes we knew we had to say. Now she’s wrapped in her cardigan, protected from the strangely novel air conditioning, and resting beside me.

I’m not sure why I don’t cry much. People say that you’re not in touch with yourself; your heart is hard if you can’t cry. I don’t think I’m out of touch or steely, but it’s just not something I do a lot of. Admittedly, I probably said less to our friends in the airport than I wanted to because of the softball sized lump in my throat, and rather than pushing through it to the inevitable choke and sniff, I cut myself off and gave a knowing nod. Does that make me a coward for not wanting to cry? I don’t know. But I got that same lump in my throat when we made that short walk across the tarmac and boarded the plane. It felt like saying goodbye to one more friend.

7:30pm Buja Time, 1:30pm Fort Wayne Time

2009-04-29T23:43:00.000-07:00

I’m in the terminal of Bujumbura airport, reflecting on the massive emotional hairball that was the last 2 hours.

Our friend Paulin arrived first, bringing greetings from his family. He is an amazing, promising, enterprising, faithful young man with whom Karri and I have had the great pleasure of spending time. We sat with him, reflecting on the end of term and his hopes for the next year. Next came Samuel and David, the twins from our youth group and worship team, and two of the most affectionate, dear young men I’ve had the pleasure of working with here. I tried to draw a map of the States and explain where Fort Wayne was. It’s always amusing to watch Burundians who have never considered the size of the US realize how large our country actually is. Plenty of tongue clucking and whistling ensues. I’ll demonstrate for you upon request.

Then came Brandon, my fellow spiritual traveler and one of my closest friends here. He corrected my poor Canadian geography, and we discussed the books we’re reading. Finally, Trina came with the truck. The guys sprang into action, ferrying our luggage from the living room to the vehicles. A light rain marked our departure, and it felt slightly fitting. En route, we discussed with Trina the emotional sand trap of making friends in a context like this. Everyone’s leaving. It becomes easy to guard your heart and stay closed off. If you’re reading this, Trina, I’m abundantly thankful that your heart opened for us.

We arrived at the airport simultaneously with Isaac, Michelle, and Meg. These three, who along with Tyler made our community complete, have become fast friends to Karri and I. Michelle, while only here a few short months with many more to come, has proven to be inspirational and steadfast, and a gift to us. Meg came a few weeks after us, and as I said to her in a tearful embrace, brought us more joy than anyone we met here in Burundi. Isaac, however, was with us on the plane from Brussels. He’s been there from the beginning. And if I didn’t say it there, I’ll say it now. You’re an unbelievable person, Isaac, and we love you immensely.

All those emotions, all those remembrances, all those embraces, then through the looking glass and into the world of international travel. Checked baggage – no problem. But we’ve got a guitar and a drum to carry on. We thought we could get away with it. But first the drum got vetoed. $150. Then the guitar got vetoed. We fought, we persuaded. Our friend Noe from Turame came to see us off and advocated on our behalf. A woman who came to my music classes and works at the airport, Mirelle, won top marks in my book for her efforts. To no avail. $150. … On the upside, we don’t have to carry the instruments around the airport. A few people who have just said emotional goodbyes aren’t in the best psychological state to handle arguing over international baggage restrictions in French. C’est la vie.

Boarding. Goodbye, Burundi. I think we’ll see each other again.

3pm Buja Time, 9am Fort Wayne Time

2009-04-29T06:29:00.000-07:00

We just said goodbye to Japan. He’s been this face we’ve seen nearly every morning, and there’s an appropriate finality to the moment. When we say goodbye to him, we say goodbye to the fascinating tension that is house workers. Don’t get me wrong, Japan is a great worker, but every expat is going to have opinions and stories regarding the people who work in their houses, and rarely are they 100% glistening endorsements. People struggle with everything from how much to pay to whether to give loans to whether to fire them for stealing or not. We had our frustrations with our staff, but still, when it comes time to give a hug and say goodbye, I can see in him a gratitude and friendship, and I hope he sees the same in me.

It’s been a slow, lazy afternoon, and we’re only two hours away from departing for the airport. It’s difficult to describe the physical sensations I’m feeling. The closest thing I can associate is the feeling of nervousness before a performance. I guess nostalgia feels like butterflies. Or maybe I just know this is the long stretch of anticipation before having to say goodbye to the friends we’ve been closest to here. They’re all coming to the airport with us, and there’s going to be a moment in front of the terminal. There’s going to be a moment when we have to look one another in the eyes. It’s that moment that is causing my stomach to flutter, I think.

I’ve been pacing a lot this afternoon. Mainly because the power has been off all day, and once my computer battery died, I couldn’t write my thoughts. I pace when I’m bored, and it drives Karri crazy sometimes. I think I just like feeling like I’m going somewhere. I’m not very good at sitting still, or focusing wholly on one thing, and pacing gives me the sensation of motion without the nasty auxiliary of purpose. But today, I’ve got plenty to think about: what we’ve been through, where we’re going, how we’re going to get there. Where is Japan going to go now? How will the new tenant treat Selius? Will we really keep in touch with our friends, or will they become the people who you run into by chance years later and have to decide if you’re going to ignore or not because you used to be extremely close and aren’t anymore, which makes it more awkward than normal. And where do those little ants end up after they’re done scavenging the bit of pizza crust and traversing the impromptu highway their relatives have created?

So I pace.

9am Buja Time, 3am Fort Wayne Time

2009-04-29T01:05:00.000-07:00

Just finished packing. No matter how many times I do it, it’s always odd to see my stuff in suitcases. Feels like you’ve wrapped your life up in boxes and bags. I know your stuff isn’t your life, but it exists as a kind of symbol. There’s no denying what it means when you pack the shirt you’ve never worn, or find the most effective way to roll your ties. Those are not normal things to do.

Our kitchen table is cluttered with things we’re giving away. Some things, like spare shaving cream, we just don’t care to pack. Some things we’re giving to people. The bed sheets go to Jean Baptiste’s orphanage in Bubanza. The external modem goes to Michelle. The phone goes to Selius, our guard, whose pregnant wife lives in Kayanza a few hours away while he works with us in the city. He doesn’t know that he’s getting a phone yet. I wonder what he’ll think. I can only assume, because he speaks no English or French, and is a bit of a soft-spoken man anyways. But he’s a great worker, smiles a lot, and is staying on with the house for the next tenant. So his job situation is ok. We worked hard to make sure of that.

The voices of the kids in the schools next door are drifting over the walls of the compound. Shouts, repeated lessons, laughs, taunts, all in this language I’ve heard every day but understand nearly nothing of. Sometimes, while standing outside of the gate, the kids would play this game of inter-language peek-a-boo. A group of ten of so would notice us standing in the street. The boldest would try his or her hand at their most recent French lesson. “Bonjour!” If we didn’t respond, she’d simply try again. “Bonjour!” When we’d finally turn and respond in kind, the group would squeal and pivot and jump and run in the unison of a school of fish, until someone else in the group decided to try it himself. “Bonjour!” Response, squeal, next contestant.

Karri’s organizing the money we’re leaving behind, bonuses for Japan and Selius, tuition for a friend of ours who is going to a tech school next year, and extra Burundian francs to sell off to our friends. We’re bringing home a few of the bills just to show people and have as souveniers. Of course, we’re bringing back nice, clean bills, but they will hardly be a clear indication of the norm. Most bills, especially in the middle to lower denominations, are soiled and blackened beyond recognition by being rolled, palmed, passed, and crammed into dirty pockets. It’s a strange practice, keeping money. I feel like there would be few things that could feel more familiar, more indicative of our months here than those pieces of paper. I handled it every day. I worried about it getting stolen. I bargained with cab drivers to save it. People I didn’t know asked me for it. People I did know asked me for it. Those won’t be the memories that last, the momentous things that will be repeated ad nauseum for the next few weeks. But if I want to think about the steady stream of days that run into each other that tend to formulate the bulk of your time and the minority of your description, I’ll find it in the smell of those bills.

6:00am Buja Time, 12:00am Fort Wayne Time

2009-04-28T21:53:00.000-07:00

Awake.

I rumble out of bed for the last time, untucking the mosquito net and trying to slide off the corner of the bed without waking my wife. I’ve been waking up earlier these days. Can’t seem to sleep past six. I head over to the coffee pot to get the daily brew started. No power. Figures. It’ll kick on in an hour or two. It’ll be strange to live in a place where the use of candles isn’t ubiquitous and you don’t have to try to finish your movie before 10pm because the electricity “leaves” (as you would say in Kirundi) every night at that time lately. I stroll over to the couch. Our neighbor has a rooster that has been crowing mercilessly every morning at just that hour when you have the delicious option of rolling over and getting that extra ten minutes. We’ve fantasized about exercising our inner Colonel Sanders. This morning he’s quiet. Maybe someone told him we were leaving.

There’s a rap on the gate. Selius, our guard, walks past the window to let our cook, Emmanuel (who asks that we call him Japan for reasons that are less PC than I’d prefer), into the compound. I live on a compound. This is my last day of life behind a gate. People who live behind gates in the West usually have Beamers or gardeners. I doubt I’ll ever be one of those people. But here, you accept life behind a gate. You accept a lot of things. You accept mosquito nets. You accept power outages. You accept roosters. How long will it take before I feel entitled again? Before I decide that the world owes me air conditioning and fast service at a restaurant?

Japan comes into the living room and says, “Good morning.” His English is good, not as good as his brother’s, but we understand each other well. I hear a little more in his greeting this morning. The tone of his voice says, “Yeah. This is it, isn’t it?” For me, I’m off to the States, a car, a bank account, a garage full of stuff. For him, this is the last day of his job. Best I can tell, he doesn’t have another one yet. Karri wrote him a letter of recommendation yesterday, and we’re going to give him a little extra money to help him out, but it’s tough to find a job like this. Working for a muzungu is a bit of a coup, and there’s always the fear that your next job (if you find one) won’t be nearly as good. Japan wants to get married. Japan wants to build a house. Japan wants to start his own business. I hope he finds another job.

Karri’s up. I know it’s going to be an emotional day, and so does she. I can hear it in her voice. Maybe the power will kick on soon, and I can make her some coffee.

The Fund-Raiser – Part IV: The Western Pastor

2009-04-20T03:30:00.000-07:00

Introductions were out of the way, and it came time for the message. I stood to begin, Jean Baptiste at my side, ready to translate. One learns quickly in a context where one doesn’t speak the language that there are good translators and bad translators. Good translators try not only to capture the language, but the inflections and ideas expressed. Jean Baptiste is the best translator I’ve worked with here in Burundi. He has translated for me as I’ve preached several times, and he goes above and beyond to try and communicate my ideas through the cultural divide, while maintaining accuracy, inflection, pause, and body language. Bad translators don’t do any of those things. They may not even translate all of the words. This is aggravating. But translators are necessary to preserve the atmosphere of hospitality. There are times where you might be the only non-Kirundi speaker in the room, as Karri and I were that day. The customs of Karibu would dictate that a translator still translate everything that is said for you. We sometimes find this awkward, and would rather let the gathering flow naturally in Kirundi than double the time and potentially limit the effectiveness of the communication by pausing constantly to interpret into another language. But a Burundian would be more uncomfortable than you, knowing you were their guest and were not fully “welcomed.”

Now, my family and friends know that I struggle with many things, but speaking loudly is not one of them. I trained my lungs to sustain prolonged volumes while I was still in the nursery of my church. I was delicately nicknamed “Screamin’ Jim.” It’s difficult to think about my mother in my formative years without the words, “Inside voices, honey,” being far from her lips. My beautiful wife still turns to me at times and says, “You do realize I’m standing right next to you, right?” So when it comes time to sing, speak, or do anything involving the vocal mechanism, I am rarely difficult to hear. But I’m comfortable when I’m loud, and sometimes it’s a gift. So I when I stood to begin the teaching, I felt no reservations about my voice being adequate to fill the room. That’s when a microphone was pressed into my hand.

This brings me to one of my biggest frustrations with your normal, run-of-the-mill Burundian church. These are beautiful communities of believers, and I can only hope you will experience the sound of fifty naked Burundian voices and a paint can drum giving praise in your lifetime. Yet every single community I've encountered believes that what it is really missing, what, when lacking, is limiting the movement of the Spirit more than anything else in their worship, is a sound system. That’s right. A church of ten people that meets in a living room would still look at each other and say, “Wow. If only we had microphones, we could really see the Lord move.” I’ve been in church services where the worship was just stunning, only to realize that, the whole time, two guys had been trying to get the generator to work, and once they had, the snap-crackle-pop of the speakers came alive and all that raw sound was drowned out by a plugged-in, out of tune bass guitar and a synthesizer, using the most obnoxious horn sound it could muster and propelled by the internal drum machine. Never mind the REAL drum they already had, nothing beats the tinny, genre-specific groove that only Yamaha can produce. It just kills me, but I suppose I come from a place where those things are common, and the denial of them is postmodern-trendy. But still… come on.

But the Lord smiled upon me, and but three minutes into my talk, the generator died, and the squawky speakers that made everything sound like it was coming out of an outdated transistor radio fell silent once more. I quietly fist-pumped the air and cranked the old internal volume knob up to eleven. Now, I am loud, but I am nowhere near as loud as my fellow Burundian pastors. Apparently, spiritual things cannot be spoken of in anything less than what could be called a bellow. But I couldn’t very well accommodate this, especially that day. I had made a bit of an underestimation.

You see, the last time Jean Baptiste invited me to speak to his community, I over-prepared. I brought a teaching full of history and analysis, and found myself speaking to a living room of ten to twelve uneducated men and women who just wanted to know that God loved them. So when my friend invited me to speak again, I was ready. I prepped a talk about the Spirit of God being like the breath we breathe, and that “the Spirit calls to our Spirit that we are God’s children.” (Romans 8:16) It was a quiet talk meant for the dear people I had met once before. But here I was, in the middle of one of the loudest, most crowded rooms I had seen, and everything spoken to that point was easily on the “bellow” setting. What can you do? So I gave my talk. God loves you. Right where you are, exactly the person you are right now, God loves you. I didn’t bellow. I probably didn’t even hit eleven, if I was honest. But I tried to catch every eye in that room.

There are a lot of things you can say as a pastor, and hopefully most of them are true, kingdom-filled things that are necessary to the disciple-making ministry you are called to. But I have found no higher calling than catching someone’s eyes when they are really looking, their ears when they are tuned in just right, and saying, “God loves you.” Here I was, in a room full of people who would never see my country, maybe never leave their own. They probably didn’t even own their own Bible, much less spend much time pondering the cultural context of the Pauline epistles. Lots of pastors (and I, very often) use their pulpit to self-aggrandize, to flex their exegetical muscles, and reassert their place at the top of the spiritual food chain. I think sometimes we forget that the simplest truths are the most life-changing. Grace is still amazing. Joy is still contagious. Faith can still move mountains. Hope still springs eternal. Peace still flows like a river. And love? Love can still change the world.

Karri and I left soon after I said “Amen.” The celebration kept going, though. And the fund-raiser for Jean Baptiste’s church started that beautiful community on its way to a permanent place to stay. I wish they embraced a bit more the truth that God is much more comfortable in tents and wildernesses than temples (and that sometimes sound systems kill the mood), but I know it’s important to have a place to call sanctuary. And the things I saw there in that classroom, the potpourri of sights and sounds, of customs and theologies, of light and dark, of hope and joy, are what make the story real to me. It’s not a perfect church, but no church is. Surely, though, the Lord was in that place. And surely the Lord is always at work. May we have eyes to see and ears to hear. May we remember that generosity is the heart of God, that joy sounds like thump-CLANK-CLANK, that love wears a towel and washes unshod feet, and that sometimes, the truest thing we can know is that God loves us.

Celebrating Palm Sunday in Bubanza

2009-04-10T04:56:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday (Palm Sunday) Jim and I were invited to two churches - in Kanyosha and Bubanza - by our friend Jean Baptist, so that we could share in worship with them and Jim could teach. The following are photos from our time in the afternoon with the Bubanza congregation.

Bubanza Landscape: The flat landscape is lush with vegetation and fertile for rice fields and other crops.

Driving into the dense vegetation far off of any 'main road' the taxi pulled up and parked in front of a small church and mud brick buildings. We were immediately greeted by the glowing faces of children anticipating our arrival.

This is a photo of the church congregation. However, before we were more than one song into worship, an incredible rainstorm came crashing down, suddenly ripping off the plastic tarp over the roof, washing down rivers of mud onto the congregation, covering Jim and Jean Baptist’s white shirted backs. Consequently, we were herded into a tiny room inside the mud brick building.

However, mud didn’t stop the worship. It continued outside in the rain by a few committed members and then was transported into the small room. At one point I stood in the doorway of the room, peering outside, until I realized the water dripping down on me at the entrance was actually mud. The small building was melting onto my skin and clothes because it was made from unfired mud bricks. I began to wonder how often they had to repair this home.

Once the rain stopped we returned outside. Everyone filed into the tightly cramped benches and listened as Jim began to teach, with our friend Jean Baptist translating at his side.

After the teaching they led Jim and I and Jean Baptist back into the small room, where they generously fed us the best of their veggies, potatoes and chicken.

The province of Bubanza was the hot bed of rebel fighting during the war. The evidence of this can be seen here, where the church has taken in over seventy orphans and has a congregation filled with widows struggling to care for their families. Following our food, they escorted in a large group of orphans and some widows. Suddenly we were standing face to face with a line of timid eyes looking back at us, none of us speaking. However, the tension was soon broken as we called them closer to us and they finally broke out in a call and response worship song, clapping and stomping their feet. Smiles were infectious.

Jim was asked to share a few words with them, which is again, a difficult request. We were slightly uncomfortable with the blatant characterization of these individuals as simply "orphans" and "widows" - seeming to reduce them to two dimensions. However, the compassion and commitment to the 'least of these' as demonstrated by this church and our friend Jean Baptist assuage any concern that they are treated less than creations of the Divine. Jim offered the best words he had - reminding them of how much they are each loved by God. After taking numerous photographs, I told them I would take their faces home with me to share with my mom, family and friends, praying for and remembering them.

Jim and I were both overwhelmed. We were overwhelmed with their joy, their worship, their compassionate and generous hearts, the struggles they face. I also found myself overwhelmed with the spirit of God - feeling in a very tangible way that these children were deeply loved and cherished by a God I understand more after having looked into their faces. You find that when you encounter the Divine you are often at a loss for words.

As we finally stood to leave, a young brave boy asked something of me in Kirundi. My poor Kirundi skills being what they are, I had no idea what he said. Finally JB said he was asking for a pen. I pulled one out of my purse and handed it over - to the slight panic of JB, who quickly led me out of the room before I was mobbed with pen requests. Ah, he only wanted a pen...

As we climbed back into the taxi, the smiles and waves swarmed us again, more brazen this time, full of energy and mischief and life.

The Fund-Raiser – Part III: The Shod and the Shoeless

2009-04-01T02:00:00.000-07:00

Once the last choir had resettled into the sea of multicolored material, the pastor returned to the pulpit to welcome the visitors, pastors and dignitaries seated with me across the front of the classroom. Jean Baptiste stood beside him and translated, first for his colleague, and then for the well-dressed gentlemen that rose from their chairs. Each pastor stood and greeted the community, sometimes with a simple word of introduction, sometimes with a mini-devotional idea to accompany their greeting, almost always with a healthy dose of “Hallelujah!” “AMEN!” I was the last to be introduced, mainly because I was the featured speaker for the afternoon, but also because a Western guest is a great honor to a community.

This deserves a bit of exposition, because there is a good deal of misunderstanding between cultures in this situation. Let me share another story as an example. Karri and I went to see a Burundian friend graduate from his Bible school a few weeks ago. We weren’t speaking or doing anything other than attending as friends of the graduate. As we arrived, the head of the program greeted us and ushered us to the front of the room. We explained, as politely as we could, that we wanted to sit with the rest of the friends and family. The gentleman looked slightly confused and urged us again to take one of the seats of honor. We then explained that we wished to take photos and sitting in the front would prevent us from doing so. He gave an understanding and relieved nod, and let us seat ourselves.

From the Westerner’s perspective, there is an awkward tension in constantly being seated in places of honor. Most of the expats I know in Burundi are here to serve the Burundian people, to stand beside them and give them dignity and value. When we are paraded to the front of a gathering, we feel separated, scrutinized. We feel that we are being singled out for our status, our wealth, our education, at times even our skin color, and these distinctions carry negative connotations in our cultural framework. We don’t agree with elevating the rich above the poor, the educated over the non-educated, and the white over the non-white. So we fight against these distinctions on the battleground of the seating order. We cluck our tongues when asked to sit in the front, and refuse to participate in this discriminatory cultural practice.

But as we have processed this with our Burundian friends, they find our refusal to sit in front just as offensive. As I’ve said before, their customs of “Karibu,” of welcome, mandate that a guest receive the best the host can offer. This includes food, drink, seating, and anything else the host can provide. Receiving a guest is a tremendous honor for a community, and a guest who has traveled far to be with them especially so. When we refuse to accept this hospitality, we are ignoring their cultural practices and robbing them of the opportunity to honor their guests. So when Karri and I reframed our refusal to sit in the front of the graduation by indicating that we would be more comfortable and more accommodated by sitting where we could take pictures, the host immediately understood and accommodated our request.

It’s also quite common to be asked to stand and introduce yourself in a Burundian church, so if you have the chance to visit, be prepared to say a few words of greeting, no matter where you’re seated. There’s a standard portion of a Burundian church gathering where all guests are invited to stand and introduce themselves. Some churches do this for all guests, some only for more “important” guests. This brings me to the caveat in my explanation. I wanted to make clear that there is some legitimate cultural value in the practice of seating dignitaries and important people before I talked about the dark side of that practice.

Burundians deeply value authority and title. While this is appropriate in the sense of respect, it becomes a source of conflict and exploitation at times. Many will fight (sometimes dirty) to obtain and to keep authority, and once they get it, they wield it with vigor. And the community has a need for these roles to be defined, who is higher, and who is lower, so they encourage these distinctions to be drawn. Some westerners are seated in places of honor because they are seen as above everyone else. (That or the community wants them to be seen, that it might bring honor to their church or their pastor in the eyes of others.) This perpetuates a thinking that has been in place since colonialism, that come people are higher than others, that might makes right, that money means power, and power should be elevated. It perpetuates a thinking that the normal Burundian is low, unimportant, like sheep without a shepherd. And many Burundians see this classification of lowliness as a security blanket. They don’t have to think for themselves or stand up for themselves. They’re slow and unimportant, so they leave those things to the people in the seats of honor.

Now, the one place where this should be turned on its head is the church of Jesus Christ. We follow a Rabbi who reached out to the lowest, most marginalized people around him. He touched lepers, spoke kind words to prostitutes, redeemed tax collectors, and exalted little children. He talked about foxes having holes and birds having nests, but not having anywhere himself to lay his head. He took off his robe, wrapped a towel around his waist, and washed the feet of the people he was leading. This servant king then spoke these words,

“Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. Very truly I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them.” (John 13:14-17)

The servants of this Jesus should be the ones who wash the feet of their neighbor. They are ones who know that the great must be like the servants of all, willing to shed their garments and dirty their hands for the people they lead. Jesus’ way is the path of descent, the upside-down Kingdom, where the one in the seat of honor is the least among you.

As I stood to introduce myself, I looked out at the people squeezed into the school desks. Shirts with holes, hand-me-downs from the affluent West, covered undernourished and thinning torsos. And I’m sure if I could see and count their feet, I would not count the same number of shoes, maybe not even half as many. Then I turned to look at the well-dressed gentlemen who had already stood. Over the top of their copious bellies, they wore suits with the sheen of a televangelist, tags bearing Western name-brands still sewn into the sleeves of the jackets like badges of merit. And one each foot was a well-polished, patent leather dress shoe.

I don’t know these pastors personally, so I’m not sure how they lead their communities. I do know many pastors here who simply joined the ministry so they could wear suits like that while they told the shoeless people in front of them how to live their lives. As I sat back down again, I wondered to myself, would they take off those shiny, tagged jackets, scuff their European shoes, and wash one of those unshod feet in front of them? Would I?

The Fund-Raiser – Part II: The Show Choirs

2009-03-16T03:36:00.001-07:00

Jean Baptiste ushered us into the schoolroom with a wave of his hand. “Karibu,” he said, which is the Swahili word of welcome used here. Welcoming is a very important custom here. If you visit a Burundian friend’s house, you might hear “Karibu” once when you enter the gate, once when you enter the door, and once when you sit down. There were several chairs lining the front of the room, facing the benches. These seats are for the speakers and guests of honor. I’ll explore that custom a bit later. I was preaching that day, so I was given one of these seats. Karri was seated in a bench toward the front and center, and was quickly sandwiched between four or five Burundians all trying to fit onto a piece of wood that would only sit three in the States.

Americans have ideas of privacy and personal space that are quite different than here. In the States, if we want to be alone, we go to our room, or find a quiet place. But in a community where your entire extended family and probably several friends are all living in your house, that kind of privacy is rarely possible, or even desired. This is why you will see buses full of Burundians perfectly content to be practically sitting on top of each other. Where they find their privacy is in their thoughts. Asking a Burundian’s opinion or feelings about something is invading their privacy to a degree, and they may feel rather violated. So we’ve learned to be slow to ask opinions and quick to give grace when someone pushes up against us on the bus.

The gathering commenced soon after we were seated. Jean Baptise’s partner and fellow pastor at their church (the name escapes me) stood to greet the congregation with Jean Baptiste translating. “Hallelujah,” he said. “Amen,” the body answered. “HALLELUJAH!” the pastor shouted. “AMEN!” the body replied. Knowing when to say “Amen” becomes second nature in Burundian gatherings, as the pastor will prompt one almost constantly, and without context. “It’s good to be with you all today. Iman’ashimwe! (Praise God)” “AMEN!” “IMAN’ASHIMWE CANE! (Praise God a lot!)” “AMEN!!!” “Please move forward to make room for others. Yes’ashimwe! (Praise Jesus!)” “AMEN!” Getting people to say “Amen” is basically pastoral filler. If you aren’t sure you’re making sense, if you want to make sure people are still engaged, or if you just don’t have anything better to say, just drop a “Hallelujah” and you’ll be greeted by an enthusiastic response.

Once the pastor had greeted the congregation, the visiting churches and the pastors seated at the front beside me, the singing began. Now, there are two different types of singing at Burundian churches: congregational singing and choirs. We began with a congregational song. This normally involves someone starting a chorus, and then everyone joining in. The sacred musical catalogue of Burundi is fairly wide, but doesn’t change that often. So everyone will know every song, because it is probably the same song you’ve been singing since you were a child.

There is only one volume setting in a Burundian church: deafening. Everyone sings at the top of their lungs, in full harmony, and sustains that volume for the entirety of the gathering, which may last for hours. The volume is supplemented by drummers. In our gathering we had three drummers, because several churches had gathered. Burundi is known for their drummers, and this tradition is nourished in the churches. In the churches I’ve attended, the drummers are generally women, and use foot-long sticks on metal canisters covered by skins to create a “Thump-CLANK-CLANK” underneath the roaring ensemble. The drummers also change frequently; everyone has a different take on what rhythm best suits a particular song. As each drummer plays, their faces screw with exertion as they combine with the congregation to give new meaning to the musical idea forte.

Once we had shouted and clapped and Thump-CLANK-CLANKED through two choruses, the pastor invited the first choir to come and share. A single voice rang out from the crowd with a melodic invocation. It was answered by a drummer and ten voices in unison, repeating the same melody, as the choir rose from their seats and began to process to the front of the room. Now, Burundian choirs are a distinctly different tradition than congregational singing. They have a sort of liturgy all to themselves. They begin with this processional, a call-and-response song to facilitate the choir wading through the mass of humanity to the open floor. They have a simple, choreographed step to do as they walk, a combination of steps forward and backward with basic arm motions, that is unique to each choir. They align themselves into a rehearsed formation at the front of the room and finish their processional song with a THUMP from the drummer.

Next, the choir begins their main piece. The drummer sets the rhythm, at a more moderate volume usually, and after a measure or two, the choir begins to do their dance. This dance exists somewhere between a gospel choir’s sway, sign language, and a hand-jive. It sometimes mirrors the words they sing, sometimes simply exists as a unified motion, but whatever its purpose, all choirs will dance. After a few moments of establishing the choreography, they begin to sing.

Burundi is an oral culture. In schools, lessons are taught by speaking the information over and over. Theology, however, is taught mainly through song. Burundian choir songs are expositions, concepts set to music to be repeated and remembered. Sometimes they are Bible stories, sometimes they are cautionary tales against drunkenness or debauchery, sometimes they are simply accumulations of spiritual ideas, but they become creedal statements in the Burundian church. Unfortunately, not all of these songs are based on sound theology, and since learning through rote produces memorization, but not comprehension or critical thought, a bad theology can be perpetuated simply because a song is written about it. This is a pervasive problem in the church of Burundi, where faulty understandings of the Kingdom of God are pounded into the basic understandings of the faith, like bottle caps that are simply stepped on until they become part of the Bujumbura sidewalk. Pastors wield enormous formative power over the theology of their people, and many misuse that power. But again, I’ll say more on that later.

The choir swayed, signed, and sang through their story-song, their drummer underneath them all the way. Once finished, they did a recessional song just like the processional, a call-and-response number where the choir shuffles and sways their way back to their seats. Once their recessional ended and they had retaken their seats, a new voice soared out over the room, and the sequence began all over with choir number two. Choirs compete with each other in a way, trying to please the crowd and earn the approval of the pastors. Sometimes, a pastor might invite a choir to sing again, which is the closest thing to victory in this musical competition. And choirs can take it quite personally if they “lose.”

It reminds me of my days at show choir competitions in high school, the singing, the dancing, the muted animosity against the other musicians. I’m not sure I love the idea of that level of competition mixed into worship in the body of Christ, but it’s a part of Burundi’s ecclesial heritage. Every rural church will have a choir, sometimes several. They can be all older ladies, or all children, as I once saw, or a mixed bag of men and women of different generations. And there is one more thing that is common across the rural choirs and churches I’ve seen. They are passionate in their worship. They give all they have to singing and dancing for God. They might not comprehend complex theological ideas or have the opportunity to sample from the rich global banquet of faith traditions like I do, but they understand joy. There’s something beautiful and right about the ear-splitting praise we heard in that room. Widows and orphans, poor and hungry, when that drummer starts to Thump-CLANK-CLANK, they throw back their heads and sing like the hope-filled believers they are.

Next: Part III: The Shod and the Shoeless

The Fund-Raiser - Part 1: The Rent Party

2009-03-10T07:06:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago, Karri and I drove out with our friend, Jean Baptiste, to the neighborhood in Bujumbura where he was born, called Cibitoke (pronounced CheebeeTOHkay). We were on our way to a gathering/fund raiser for his small community. You may remember this community from an earlier post, one that talked about Sandrene, the widow and mother of five who is HIV positive. This community of less than twenty people met in living rooms for many months. A few months ago, they found a school willing to rent them a classroom for their gatherings. This was an answer to their prayers. But recently, a community ordinance has been passed where churches can no longer meet in schools. No one has been able to explain to us the reason for this ordinance, but this puts many, many churches out of their worship space. There are three other churches who meet in that school alone. Yet, this kind of hardship is simply a fact of life in neighborhoods like Cibitoke. And there are traditions in place to deal with these kinds of problems. And Karri and I were on our way to this classroom, to witness and participate in one of those traditions, the African fund-raiser.

Now, to understand this gathering, a little cultural exposition has to take place. In the US, we have expressions like, “He’s a self-made man,” and “She pulled herself up by her bootstraps,” and “I never asked nothing from no one.” This demonstrates a cultural value we Americans hold, that asking for help means admitting weakness. The main reason this value evolved in the West is the ample opportunity for self-improvement without much fear of discouragement. An immigrant off the boat could be a tycoon in five years if she simply had the gumption to see it through. In the same vein, asking for help from a friend made you not just weak, but a needy friend. We have ideas like “Never lend money to friends and family,” because, at the root, we don’t like the feeling of being asked for money. And we are extremely cautious and systematic when we do give money, because we expect debts to be reimbursed. If they are not, the result is a broken relationship.

In much of Africa, the idea of a “self-made” person is totally foreign. Individualism is viewed as the plague of the West. There’s a high dependency on one’s community, friends and family. This evolved from a history where poverty, hunger, and destitution were always just around the corner. You may have enough for today, but tomorrow might be a completely different story. I could spend pages detailing the ways this perspective fleshes out in everyday life, but one main outcome is the pervasive norm of asking for money. As an African, you expect to be asked for money, and if you have it, you are socially required to give it. This expectation exists because you expect to be the one in need tomorrow, and the community must support you in your need in the same way you supported someone else in theirs. Refusal to participate in this give and take results in expulsion from the community, and expulsion from the community could mean starvation. Another facet of this idea is the nature of friendship. You are not a friend with someone if you are not financially indebted to them, and vice versa. Indebtedness shows solidarity, and to a certain degree, paying off all of your debts to someone is a way of communicating the end of your relationship. So family members and friends are the first people you would ask for money, and you would never be expected to repay that debt, except in the form of supporting that lender when they were, in turn, in need. And aggressive extension of your network of friends isn’t just due to amiability; it’s creating lifelines for survival.

Now, we in the West might look at this and say, “But it’s so exploitative. That’s not a real friendship if there’s an expectation of money.” But Africans see their communities as beautiful webs of support, and see Western friendships as purely self-serving and isolated. This is also why it’s incredibly difficult for Westerners and Africans to have meaningful relationships. Most Westerners become quickly aggravated by constant requests for money by their African friends. And even if they weren’t and were happy to give to anyone who asked, the African would know there will be no circumstance where the Westerner will need to ask them for money, so there’s no reciprocation, no solidarity. It’s a deep cultural rift and my expat friends and I frequently discuss if there is a way to bridge it.

So the gathering Karri and I were about to attend is something done by many churches. As Jean Baptiste put it, “We invite all of our friends to come and pray for us.” What this means is, an invitation is extended to all of the contacts Jean Baptiste has made over the years. These pastors and leaders then bring their church communities with them to a huge blowout, an African rent party. And, as I’ve learned, in the Burundian church, “prayer” is often code for “donation,” as in “Please pray that we might find be able to buy a sound system,” which I heard even this week. So this church is in need, in this case, of a building to meet in. (The actual reality of that need is something I struggle with, but more on that later.) So these “friends” (who westerners might simply call acquaintances) gather to “pray” (what westerners might call donate) for the needs of Jean Baptiste’s church.

Again, a westerner might say, “Ugh! How deceptive and exploitative!” But the churches understood this for exactly what it was, and they came anyway. They came in the tens and twenties. So when Karri and I arrived for what I thought was another quiet afternoon with Jean Baptiste’s church, with Sandrene and the other seven or eight people gathered in that living room, what we found instead was a buzzing schoolroom, packed to overflowing with nearly a hundred Burundians and even a church from neighboring Congo. They squeezed into school benches, stood in corners, peered through windows. They talked, laughed, sang, and clapped, and they all came prepared, hands clutching their wadded bills, ready to drop them in the basket when the time came. I suppose they knew that next week, when it came time for their rent party, Jean Baptiste, Sandrene, and friends would all be there for them as well.

Next: Part 2: The Show Choirs

'Round The Table at Jim's Birthday!

2009-02-20T02:32:00.000-08:00

Demonstrating the "No-Smile Smile"

"Glad you were born. Keep it up." - Actual SMS sent from Meg Lavery

Christy : Miriam - Happy : Chillaxed

Wendy as a pirhanna

Isaac and Wicke were asked to look happy.
Isaac went for "Soutern Belle Receives Unexpected Gift From Suitor"
Wicke chose "Oops, I swallowed some of my tobacco juice."

Allison and Meg made me promise not to use their attempt at the "No-Smile Smile."

It's my birthday.

Brad and Jo win for "Handsomest Couple,"
since the contenders were Picture 1 and the following entry.

Trina, Seth, Brandon's tongue, and Brandon

Lizzie and Amy were abandoned by their husbands.
Of course, Simon was watching the kids and James was in the States.
But it's my birthday.

Tyler. Pumped.

February So Far – Part III: The Birthday

2009-02-20T02:14:00.000-08:00

The final installment of my recap of February involves my birthday, which fell on the tenth of this month. Those who knew the actual date of my birthday have been asking how I celebrated. Those who didn’t (or at least didn’t until they saw it on Facebook. Come on. Admit it.) probably had no idea and are now thinking, “Shoot! Can I still say happy birthday without being exposed as one of the second category?” Nope. But I won’t hold it against you… this year.

My day started off with breakfast from my lovely wife. The standard regarding birthdays in our marriage has always been less focused on gifts and more on events, with the caveat of being able to have any request granted (within reason.) I was pretty simple this year, simply wanting a good dinner with friends. Karri, as is her overachieving nature, organized a terrific dinner and a few extras through the day.

Since it was Tuesday, I spent my morning preparing for youth group. We’re working through the book of Mark, and talking about the Kingdom of God that Jesus preached. When I got to youth group, I got some shy “Happy Birthdays” and a lively debate about how old I was. The low vote was 22 and the high vote was 40. I find that Burundians tend to look much younger than they are. I thought our guard, Selius, was 19 or so, until I discovered he was married and in his mid-twenties. So being thought to be 40… questionable.

As the group assembled, more and more kids disappeared into the kitchen. They, of course, were all crowding around the birthday cake that one of the students made for me. As Karri brought it out, the overeager kids started singing “Happy Birthday” in the kitchen. Alas, as the candles were flickering rapidly, the pace of the walking didn’t quite match the pace of the singing. So after an awkward silence between the end of the song and the arrival of the cake, I extinguished the candles and surrendered my prize to the salivating horde seated around the porch.

I also received an oversized birthday card, bearing the message, “Happy Birthday, Jimmy Boy.” Inside were notes of encouragement, such as, “You’re a good teacher. Don’t get bad. Happy Birthday.” Clearly, I’m held in high esteem by these young people.

After a message on the miracles of Jesus, (You’re curious, I know.) we headed off to dinner. Ok, let’s be frank. I didn’t know the name of the restaurant, and I still don’t. When I requested it to Karri, I said, “The one with the really good enchilada that smells like cats.” That’s right. Here in Bujumbura, you take the good and the bad together. This place has some of the best food in the city. It also smells like feline urine. Such is life.

We sat at a table with twenty dear friends and shared a meal full of great stories and laughter. The couples present each told their marriage proposal tales, and two people nearly died from discreetly placed peppers in their dishes. I’ve started a tradition of writing birthday limericks for my friends here; I’m composing one right now for my friend Brandon’s birthday today, in fact. (Many happy returns, Brando.) Karri led a toast with a three-stanza birthday limerick she composed for the occasion, and naturally, rose to the challenge, simultaneously declaring her love for me and teasing me for liking comic books and having a fear of plants. (A quote taken totally out of context and mercilessly repeated by those dearest to me, by the by) Then we were off to home and bed.

Twenty-seven in Burundi. Thanks to everyone who made it memorable, even the thronging Facebook well-wishers. I wish I could have shared that table with more of you. Have a beverage appropriate to a meal we might share and lift it high, I’ll lift one here on this side of the world. Cheers.

February So Far - Part II: The Retreat

2009-02-18T23:52:00.000-08:00

I’m in the process of fleshing out some narratives that have been mentioned in the past few posts here on the blog. Today’s installment regards the January 30th blog about my teaching/preaching schedule. I made a passing allusion to being invited to speak at the World Relief Retreat. Well, that retreat was from Tuesday, February 3rd to Friday, February 6th, and indeed, I was the main speaker for the week.

The retreat was up-country, in the considerably cooler climates of Gitega, attended by the full World Relief staff in Bujumbura, Nyanza Lac, and Gitega. All in all, around eighty people gathered at a well-hidden Catholic retreat center with a view stretching over the hills and valleys of Burundi to meet with God and talk about the Kingdom of Heaven. Our country director, Ngaira, and I got things rolling on Tuesday evening.

We focused mainly on the idea of Shalom, the Hebrew concept of peace, and its threefold meaning to the Rabbis and Jews of Jesus’ day. The Kingdom of Heaven is the reality where that Shalom is in complete unity. We spent a day on each part. On Wednesday, we looked at our Shalom with God, whether we are in right relationship with our Creator. On Thursday, we looked at our Shalom with each other, and how Scripture insists that if we say we love God and are at odds with each other, we’re liars. On Friday, we looked at Shalom with the world, and how the work we do here at World Relief is part of putting God’s good creation back together again.

It was fascinating to watch people struggle with these ideas, because, to be frank, many people here have not made the connection between their job and their calling in the Kingdom. Many people on staff here at World Relief Burundi come to work every day for a paycheck, not a vision. They work because they have to feed their families, because they need to survive, because they are always one step away from being without. But when that is their primary motivation, the bar is only as high as is required to stay employed.

So, for example, the staff is asked to perform self-evaluations occasionally, to assess strengths and areas of improvement. Most of the time, the staff members will give themselves perfect scores, with no areas of improvement. This isn’t because they’re arrogant; it’s because they are afraid that if they admit deficiency, they’ll lose their jobs. They often refuse to admit mistakes or ask for clarity on assignments that they don’t understand, because they believe it will cost them their job. Their concern isn’t primarily executing their job well for the glory of the Father, it’s keeping a steady stream of income.

I wonder how often this is true about us in the States, as well. We do our work, even if it doesn’t square with our citizenship in the Kingdom. We many times work not for the benefit and healing of the world, but for the paycheck, the status, the security. Maybe our work is even going against Kingdom values, promoting greed or deception or consumerism, and we just haven’t connected Sunday to Monday. When you connect what you believe on Sunday to what you do on Monday, things start to take on new meaning.

This also has profound effects on unity in the staff here. These people, in impoverished mindsets, desperate for job stability, hungry for influence in a culture that exalts authority, haunted by tribal divisions that still exist but are rarely acknowledged, can become extremely vindictive, bitter, even out-and-out aggressive toward one another. Despite being professing Christians, World Relief is plagued by slander and gossip, aggressive power-plays, and even threats between staff members. Some play on governmental ties to tilt the scales to their advantage. Some spread rumors to undermine their coworkers. Then they sit together in devotions and praise a God who insisted the world will know His followers by their love for one another. And because, in Burundi, you don’t address conflict face-to-face, all this goes unmentioned for weeks, months, years.

So when we talked about Shalom with each other, those ideas were pushing against some serious wounds in that room. When we talked about how your work is restoring the Shalom of the world, we were asking people to seek first the Kingdom, and let God worry about the rest. And all of that works together to heal our Shalom with the Creator, Lover, and King. I’m not arrogant enough to think that everything changed from four days. But I believe the Kingdom is like a mustard seed. It’s like yeast working through dough. I can trust in that.

I was honored to share with this community. But my favorite part of the week was when the community responded and asked questions. People were really wrestling with the ramifications of the scriptures we were working with, and I was so thrilled to see new ideas start to seep into the fabric of this community. And it wasn’t only the well-educated and important who were asking the questions. The guards, the ladies who clean the office and bring tea, the drivers, the people at the bottom of the World Relief totem pole were asking questions to the white, western male who had been put in a position of authority. That simple fact was an incredible breaking-down of societal delineations in Burundi, a breaking-down that I think is right in line with the upside-down Kingdom we work to bring.

I’m now greeted by “Shalom” whenever I walk into the office, and I can only hope that is because Shalom is starting to become a reality there.

Tomorrow: Part III: The Birthday!

February So Far - Part I: The Big Question

2009-02-18T05:02:00.000-08:00

So let’s be honest with each other. I owe you all a few explanations. If you read the blog regularly, there have been some promises and allusions I’ve made which deserve fulfillment and exposition. And because things have been moving so quickly these days, I’ve been letting them stay where they were, as sentences in previous posts. But now is the time! Charles Mingus is yelling in my ear, and I feel the gravity of the blogosphere tugging! Let the updates begin!

In January, we asked you all to pray with us about when exactly we should conclude our stay here in Bujumbura. We were struggling to make the numbers work financially, and we were hearing more and more stories from home about lost jobs, lost savings, lost hopes. We didn’t want to take on unnecessary debt, and yet we also didn’t want to miss on opportunities God might yet have for us here. We considered coming home at the end of February and asked you to pray with us for a week.

Firstly, thanks to all of you who did pray. Your encouragement and support was an enormous blessing. We heard God through you.

Now, obviously, we haven’t made clear the result of that week of prayer and searching. I’m still receiving emails and questions that want to know when we’re coming home. Well, I’m happy to tell you that we are staying through the end of April, as originally intended. This came as a result of several things.

One, we were hearing a consistent theme from many of your encouraging emails. You were affirming to us that there would be right reasons and wrong reasons to leave, and fear would be a wrong reason. You believed in us and in the God who clothes the lilies. We were lifted by those words.

Two, we were praying that God would give us peace about things at home, and He did. We completely believe that, even as God is going to supply our needs, He is going to supply yours. We stand with you in your difficulties, friends and family, and we entrust you to the hands of the Father and His body here on earth. We know the Fellowship community is showing amazing unity and brotherhood in these dark times, and if you’re not a part of a faith community, live in Fort Wayne, and have need, go see what God is doing there!

Three, we were praying that God would establish the work of our hands for these coming months. In the days as we were praying, new opportunities for ministry appeared for me in music and preaching. New affirmation came for Karri in her work at Turame. God seemed and seems to be pouring us out on this community. Indeed, it seems it has taken these first four months to prepare us for the work we will be involved in for the final four months.

Four, we were praying for clarity about how to spiritually, emotionally, and practically address the issue of financial support. We received an overwhelming vote of support and confidence from World Relief HQ and our volunteer coordinators, Lorelei and Caroline. (Massive thanks to both of you!) They made it clear that financial support should be the last reason for us to end our time here. We received new support from many of you, and we are sorry for our tardiness in sending personalized thank you messages to you, but they are coming! All in all, we still welcome any support you all have to offer, and we are completely confident that, as God clearly still has work for us here, we will find manna on the ground each morning.

So, we will return to the States at the end of April. Even now, God is preparing new things for us to look forward to upon our return to the States. We’re in conversations with people who have exciting possibilities to consider for both Karri and I. Since we know that each life is a story, and any good story has to carry a little bit of suspense, we’re still working through exactly what the next season is going to look like. J.J. Abrams tells us that any episode with a big exposition has to bring a new question into the story, so we’ll just leave the narrative there for today. We’ll be in Buja until April 30th, and then on into the future.

Where the future is, what it will hold, and for how long is still in pre-
production.

Tomorrow: Part II: The Retreat

Last Weekend

2009-01-30T22:56:00.000-08:00

I had a busy couple of days last week, and I realized that the things which were occupying my time had not been properly represented on this blog. So, in an effort to keep you, my dear reader, abreast of my current activities, I shall give you the basic itinerary of my newfound responsibilities.

Thursday, 3:00pm – Worship Team Practice

A few weeks ago, I had a brief meeting with our dear pastor Emmanuel Ndikumana to discuss my future involvement with the worship team at PTI, our church. Motivated by our looming departure, he extended an invitation to take over the worship team for the remainder of our stay here in Bujumbura. In his words, his intention is to “squeeze me for all I’m worth.” What experience and knowledge I have accumulated from my years of leadership in music and worship, he wants the church to absorb and apply. Now, I was hesitant to agree, because it had been almost a year and a half since I had last led worship, and I was hesitant to impose my cultural tendencies onto this community. But this was during a week where Karri and I were asking God to reveal if He had work for us to do here for the next four months. This seemed to be an answer. And with Emmanuel’s assurances that my cultural tendencies were welcome, I agreed.

So last Thursday, I went in early to practice to meet with some members of the team and finish selecting our pieces for the gathering on Sunday. I then spent the afternoon hopping around like a lunatic, banging on the piano and waving my hands in the air. Let me tell you, it’s not easy leading a group of musicians through a language barrier. And when it comes time for you to rehearse the song with a Congolese beat and a Kirundi lyric while shouting directions in French, your brain tends to feel like it is being drawn and quartered. But I love these musicians. They’re eager to try new things. And as I always said back at FMC to my other beloved group of musicians, I’ll take a musician who’s willing to try something new and blow it over a musician who won’t try something new at all any day.

Friday, 8:00am – World Relief Devotions

On Thursday morning, I was approached by David, my colleague in Church Mobilization at World Relief. I had a feeling of what was coming. “Good morning, Jim. Are you ready for to bring us the preaching tomorrow?” The answer to that question, of course, was “No. Was I on the schedule?” Yes, I was. No one thought it prudent to inform me of this fact, however, and now I had an afternoon to assemble a teaching for the next morning. I cobbled together some thoughts from a lesson I shared with our youth group students a few days earlier about the Kingdom of God, about what it looks like and what it means to be priests of this Kingdom. The next morning, I arrived a bit late (because you can never really predict Bujumbura traffic.) No sooner had I found a chair on which to place my coffee cup than Sophonie, my supervisor, smiled and said, “Jim, are you ready to share with us?” I guess I had to be! “Good morning, and sorry to be late. Let’s open to Mark 1.”

At the end of my talk, (which included teaching the staff the Hebrew word T’shuvah, a word which was repeated to Karri and I for the rest of the day, regardless of context) Ngaira, the country director of World Relief and my other supervisor, gave the benediction. Included in that benediction was the announcement, prefaced by “I haven’t discussed this with Jim, but I’m sure it will be alright,” that I would be expanding this teaching as the main speaker of the four day retreat scheduled in two weeks. I guess I’ve got some more preparation to do.

Friday, 4:00pm - Music Workshop

I had been thinking for a while how to handle the increasing requests for music lessons I was receiving. My ideas came together in a music workshop, hosted by our church, PTI, and made available to any and all who would be interested in coming. I announced the class to the World Relief staff and our church family, and invited them to bring any and all who would be interested in learning more about music. I held an organizational meeting on the Friday previous, and I had twenty people there, eager to learn. This last Friday was the first class, all about music theory. I printed thirty worksheets and ran out quickly. I have no idea where many of these people came from. But they are hungry to learn. Well, maybe they aren’t so hungry to learn what the A major scale is as much as how to play the A major scale like Jimi Hendrix. But enthusiasm is enthusiasm, and I’m excited to teach what I can.

The experience ranges from complete beginner to experienced musician, but even the experienced musician has little to no knowledge of why music works the way it does. These people have tremendous ears, and can replicate many things, but they have no idea why what they are playing makes any sense. To see the lights turn on for someone is one of the more satisfying sensations you can have as a teacher, and I saw lots of lights turning on last Friday.

Sunday, 8:00am - Sermon at PTI

Not only did I get to lead the team in worship on Sunday morning, but I was also scheduled to give what is known to PTI as the exposition. What this meant was I stood in front of a mic singing for the first thirty minutes of the gathering, and then a different mic preaching for the next forty-five. I expressed my distaste for this to Emmanuel, but he simply laughed and told me not to worry about it. So I got myself good and sweaty playing guitar and piano in that frenetic way that you FMCers know so well, had a brief moment to compose myself, then took the pulpit.

We’re working through the book of Mark, and my text was where Jesus calls Peter and Andrew to be fishers of men. I walked through the relationship between a Rabbi and a disciple and gave the historic context to the story as best I could. I finished the talk with an invitation to be a disciple of Jesus and change the world. What’s great about PTI, though, is that once the sermon is through, the congregation is invited to ask the speaker any questions the talk may have raised right there on the spot. So once I had finished and Emmanuel had prayed a blessing, the mic went around the congregation and I fielded a few questions about the historical setting of the text. I’m realizing that this kind of understanding of the Bible is quite novel to most Christians here, and they are hungry for more. Emmanuel assured me that I would be back to teach again soon.

So, friends, if you've read this far, you can percieve that God has been bringing new opportunities to us in the last few days. We'll write a post about the sum of our prayers and conversations regarding our return date soon, but you can see that God is clearly continuing to demand our time and energy here. Hopefully that doesn't mean I'll have many more weekends like this one.

A Picture

2009-01-30T22:46:00.000-08:00

This is what happens when someone who doesn't speak your language very well asks you to explain the US economic crisis.

New Year Update

2009-01-13T02:30:00.001-08:00

Friends –

Happy New Year! I hope this letter finds you all full of new dreams for your world and new visions for how to bring the light into the dark places you encounter each day. We are writing to you because we want to invite you into some tension we are feeling and some prayers we are praying. Our hope is that you would join us in this tension and pray with us through the upcoming days as we seek God’s good and perfect will for the remainder of our time here in Burundi. We hope you forgive the length of this letter, because we have much on our hearts we want to share with you.

We have been so excited to hear your stories from back home, pregnancies, weddings, good news of all kinds. We hope you know that we are celebrating with you. We wish we were there to jump around and shout and embrace you in these times, and we are definitely doing so in spirit. We are also hearing a great deal of bad news of late, relationships breaking, friends passing away, heartaches of all sorts. We hope you know that we are grieving with you. We wish we were there to sit beside you in these times and mourn, giving our support by our words or possibly our absence of words. We feel greatly connected to these stories, and they enrich our lives whenever we hear them, drawing us close to you, our brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers.

But one story seems to be coming up over and over, and that story is shared by countless people across the country. We are steadily hearing how the economy is siphoning the jobs, indeed the hope and joy, away from so many of you. We are hearing about choices to go without, changes in living situations out of a lack of resources, the inability to provide necessary repairs or health care because of ever-tightening budgets. We are hearing about deficits in giving to churches all over, not just to Fellowship, our church home, and it is becoming clear that many of you are simply not in a position to give.

Firstly, we want to say how much we are hurting for you. These stories break our hearts, and we many times wish nothing more than to return home and shoulder these burdens with you. You are our family, our community, our fellow citizens in the New Jerusalem. We are bound together with you. Please know that we are interceding on your behalf at the throne and we believe that our God is a God who hears the cry, no matter how weak or small.

Secondly, we want to thank you. We want to thank you not just for giving to us and praying for us, those of you who have done so. We want to thank you for standing beside each other. I’m sure there are some of you familiar with the African concept of Ubuntu. This is a sense of interconnection to teach person. It is gratitude expressed on the behalf of humanity. It is seeing someone serve their brother and approaching them, despite the fact that you personally received nothing physical, and saying, “Thank you. You have helped put us back together by doing that.” So, in that spirit, we want to offer up gratitude to those of you who are giving generously in any way, especially to those who give even out of their lack. Like the widow of Jesus’ parable who gives her last, these are the sacrifices that stir the heart of the Father and the souls of each of us. We are so thankful, those of you in the FMC community who gave to the Christmas Eve offering for peacemaking in our neighbor Congo. You cannot know the light you shine by standing for peace when the conventional wisdom would simply chalk up another thousand marks under the cynical phrase uttered by many, “AWA,” meaning “Africa Wins Again.” You are part of a church, a body, a people who are standing up and saying, “There is already sufficient blood shed for all on a cross two thousand years ago. But if more blood is needed, you can have some of mine.” You are being broken open and poured out for these people who need your hope. We thank you for that.

Thirdly, we want to invite you into our tension. We are at a profound crossroad about how to approach our remaining time here in Burundi. Again, we are keenly aware of the struggles so many of you face financially to provide for yourselves, and we know that many others of you are giving more than ever because there are more needs around you than ever. It is becoming increasingly difficult to ask for support from you, our community, because our hearts are bent to give, not to receive. We wish nothing but restoration and wholeness for each of you, and we don’t wish to take anything from you that would diminish that.

The reality remains, however, that we are still badly behind in our support. At this point, we are already indebting ourselves to World Relief, who has generously given beyond our raised support to keep us here in Burundi, that we might continue the work God is doing through us. We have cut our proposed budget nearly in half, and still lack badly at the bottom line. Now, please hear us. We are not asking right now for belt-tightening or pocketbook-opening. We are asking you to pray with us. Our prayer is simply for the ability to discern the will of God for our time here. Our desire is to stay until the end of April. Prudence would be to leave at the end of February. Even in the latter case, we would still have an outstanding deficit with World Relief. However, we believe in the miraculous provision of God. We believe that if, indeed, God’s desire is for us to remain here for the entirety of our intended stay, God will provide in a way only God can ordain. If our work here is the best use of time, gifts, and resources for the Kingdom, we trust that God will make a way. But we need discernment to know if that, indeed, is the case. If we stay simply because it is what we want, we will lose much. If we leave early because we desire to stand beside you all in your struggles, and God still has work for us here, the Kingdom loses much. If we capitulate to fear and fail to trust in a God who sends enough for today and no more, we lack much faith.

We hope you hear our hearts in this. We could not simply ask for support again. We had to invite you all into this tension, because we believe that wisdom comes from the body as well as from the still, small voice of the Almighty. So please, pray with us and give us your discernment. We will join with you and together, we will find God’s good word for today and tomorrow. We will continue to share stories and pictures on the blog, and we cherish your comments, emails, prayers and ideas. Again, our contact list is only so long, so please share this letter and our story with anyone you feel might want to partner with us in prayer. We long to be with you all, and we carry you with us into the streets of Bujumbura every day. May the God of peace bring you your daily bread, and may you trust that He will do so again tomorrow.

Grace and peace,

Jim and Karri

a blog from the wife who never posts...

2009-01-02T02:09:00.000-08:00

Jim and I tend to be a-typical in many situations. We’ve learned to both accept and value this as a unique aspect of ‘us.’ When we were warned of the ‘terrible’ first year of marriage, we had the most delightful first two years of our lives. Our cooking, cleaning and social habits have also proved a-typical, and again, we embrace it, in spite of advice that would presume otherwise.

When we arrived in Burundi we encountered new friends that were at a variety of places in their culture adjustments. Many love it here, some are frequently frustrated, and others are struggling to adjust – all perfectly normal emotions. And so, in our a-typical fashion we began wondering how we would adjust and find our own way here. When asked how we were doing two months in by an older woman, I replied that things were wonderful. To which she replied, “Enjoy it because it is the honeymoon phase. It will get a lot harder.” So, okay, I appreciate advice, especially from someone with experience. But that was not exactly constructive or encouraging. I suddenly felt like everyone was placing ‘bets’ on when we would crumple into a puddle of culture shock and despair. Yet things continued to be exciting for us and have become even more enthralling and enjoyable as we form new and deeper friendships with both Burundians and ex-pats from around the world.

So, if you couldn’t see it coming, I write all that to lead into, of course, our first real emotional struggle with the culture of Burundi. For the holidays we traveled with two friends to Uganda to both relax in a big city and also raft the Nile River. The trip was incredible. Not only were the adventures amazing (yes, I rode a motor bike taxi for the very first time – in a city with traffic that resembles Baltimore!) but we made amazing new friends with a young woman working with widows in North Uganda (where the LRA – Lords Resistance Army - has ravaged the people and stolen the children for years) and a guy drilling wells in South Sudan. There is nothing more thrilling that when you connect with someone’s spirit and passion whom you have only just met. The German woman whom we met on a bus who left her job for a year to travel Africa and work with street and orphan children also rocked my world.

However, this incredible trip ended with a bus ride from… well, you know where. Needless to say the 18 hours we spent on the bus – which did not get us all the way home – left something to be desired and brought up emotions in me I never thought existed. (Namely frustration, impatience, anger, judgment, ethnocentrism, capitalism… need I go on?) The bus trip, for us, ended with Jim, our friend Meg, and I, grabbing our things, jumping off the bus at its millionth stop for the drivers to do who knows what, and running to a taxi, desperate to see the bus disappear in our rear view mirror. The taxi ride, racing to get to Bujumbura city before the military roadblocks were erected at 5:30pm and forcing us to sleep in the taxi, proved to be a test of God. The neck-breaking speed and mountainous curves and passing semi trucks forced me to leave a permanent finger imprint on the back of the driver’s seat. We made it through the last check point, which was already up, with a few coy smiles and shouts of ‘Merry Christmas.’ Our delight to be ‘home,’ sleeping in our own beds and not on a bus with people that had driven us crazy, was paired with a deep sense of frustration towards the entire culture. We thought perhaps we could sleep it off. To no avail…

The holidays were quite enjoyable with friends and missionary families. However, this dark cloud of cultural resentment towards Burundi as a whole lingered throughout the next few days for all three of us. For me personally, little things like a small shop not having the product I wanted, a taxi driver trying to charge us too much for fare, children and adults alike staring and calling us ‘muzungus’ all left me brooding and resentful. Yet none of this was a new experience. A bus ride to the beach proved to set us all on edge again as the driver crammed 5 people into our 3-4 seat row. My mind raced to Uganda, which has tightened traffic laws. Buses can only fill the bus to its occupancy. If they attempt to slide an extra individual in, the passengers actually complain and retort that they paid for their ‘seat’ and are not going to share it. Suddenly I was comparing Burundian culture not only to the US but also to Uganda, finding it lacking on all counts.

I chastised myself for these thoughts but they were so deeply rooted in something I could not identify that I failed to shake them. And then, yesterday, New Years Day, Jim and I went to church. He preached there for the first time. But prior to his sermon, the senior pastor asked if anyone had a short testimony to share about God’s provision during the previous year. Everyone was silent and then a woman, clearly from a poor community on the edge of town, raised her hand. He called her to the stage. I faced the stage and waited, wondering how long this would take. And then the sharp, sweet joyful tone of her voice filled the church as she burst into a traditional song walking up to the stage. Traditional ‘praise’ music in Burundi is ‘call and response’. Jim and I have seen it in many contexts before but our church, usually translated in only French and English, does not reflect a ‘typical’ church. The congregants responded to her Kirundi song, softly at first, as if to say “Do we do this here?” and then with increasing volume. In that moment, when her song met my ears, I felt a complete release in my heart of all the tension I had been feeling towards Burundi. My heart seemed to whisper, ‘Ah yes, this is why I love Burundi.’ I had just finished praying during the worship time to be free of this new ‘culture shock’ I was experiencing and with one voice of a poor woman it was gone.

Her testimony touched my heart as well. She was grateful for healing and health in her family. Then she spoke of the recent storm that had just come through. My mind flashed back to Jim and I sitting on our second story porch watching it crackle and blow all around us, heavy cool rain pouring down. She said that they had been praying for rain for their crops. (It has been very dry this rainy season, hurting many subsistence farmers.) But then the storm was too strong and the metal corrugated roof of her house was lifted up by the wind. In that moment she cried out to God and asked that he not destroy her house, not now, not at the beginning of this New Year. And then, though already lifted from the house and ready to blow away, the wind released the roof back down in position. And she praised God.

Her story reminded me of my own small perspective on the world – both here and at home. To me, in my sturdy strong house with vegetables I bought at the market or store, a storm is just something of wonder, to watch and enjoy. Which it is. But for others it means food, it means another month without hunger. And still for others it threatens to destroy the only shelter they have for their family. It is capricious and could take all they have inside their mud brick walls at any minute. The woman said there was still other damage to her house after the storm but a friend quickly came by and offered to fix the home for her family.

And so, I left church yesterday different than when I came. And I praise God my battle with cultural resentments and culture shock and ethnocentric mentality was not an enduring phase. I learned from it though. I now understand that, though not the nightmare predicted by some who assume Jim and I to be ‘typical’, I am not above raw uncontrollable emotions that can judge another culture as ‘inferior’ because it is outside of my concepts of ‘logic’. Save for the grace of God, my heart is bent towards separateness, towards judgment and superiority. And yet I have been called to follow a Rabbi, the Savior, who implores me to love my neighbor as myself, to see Christ in the eyes of each that I meet, to live in the humility and knowledge that I live and breath and exist on the grace of God alone.

So, to the passengers on a bus that seem to have no concept of time, I must say grace and peace. To the man who puts 17 extra people in my seat so that his profit margins slightly increase, I must say grace and peace. To the grown men who think it appropriate to yell ‘white person’ at me everywhere I go, grace and peace. Because I serve a God who created us all, who calls us to live out a kingdom where we stand beside those with whom we think we have nothing in common and choose to love anyways. The upside down kingdom also appears ‘illogical’ to those outside it. I serve a God of grace and compassion who hears the cry of a poor woman and commands the wind to put back the roof of her home….a God who knows my arrogance and self-righteousness and continues to love me just the same.

Noeli Nziza

2008-12-27T14:20:00.000-08:00

On Christmas morning, I called a local restaurant to see if they were open for the holiday. We had just arrived back from some travel and didn’t have any food in the house. Our inclination was to be a bit concerned. In the States, you’d be fortunate to find most anything open on Christmas Day, and the places that are open will usually be staffed by resentful, non-tenured employees. So, we decided to call first, so as to ascertain both the status of the restaurant and, potentially, the demeanor of those with the good fortune of answering the phones at 10am on Christmas Day.

“Hotel Ubuntu. Bonjour.”

“Bonjour. Est-ce que vous ette… um… Je voudrais… er… sigh. I was just calling to see if you were open.”

“Oui, oui, monsieur. We are open.”

Now, I can only describe the tone of voice with which my query was answered. It wasn’t cheery or helpful, nor was it mean or resentful. The tone carried with it an underlying message.

It said, “Why on earth wouldn’t we be open?!?”

Which brings me to the heart of my (somewhat tardy) posting for this, my first Christmas away from the candy canes, commercials, and cold fronts of Indiana. Growing up, I had a constant sense of anticipation for Christmas morning. My siblings and I once snuck downstairs in the wee hours of the morning just to see the presents under the tree. We fell asleep in the glow of my mother’s spectacular annual arboreal creation, restless with excitement for the daylight and the sound of ripping paper. As I got older and older, I slept later and later, but I always had a sense that Christmas was coming, and just in case I would forget, the stores and TV ads made sure to remind me.

But here, in Burundi, my observation has been that Christmas looks quite a bit different than in the States. Walk around the city like Karri and I did on the 25th and the shops will be open, the vendors will be out, a lot of people will be working. Maybe they can’t afford to close; maybe they’re just used to working on holidays. And there are loads of holidays in Bujumbura, holidays for Christians, holidays for Muslims, holidays celebrating military victories, holidays commemorating political assassinations. Christmas falls right in line with the rest of them, maybe with a bit of a shot in the arm for commerce in light of some extra gift giving. But the celebration isn’t broadcast in neon lights like back west. Burundians will go to church (if they’re Christian) on Christmas Eve and possibly Christmas morning. They’ll have a meal with their family, exchange some gifts, and that’ll be it. The big celebration, so I was told by one Burundian friend, is New Years, which I am really excited to see.

Now, I questioned why, in a country that is predominantly Christian, the celebration of the birth of the King of Kings is regarded as a second class citizen to the purchasing of a new calendar. But perhaps the truth of the matter is that the celebration just doesn’t look like what I’m used to. And what am I used to? I’m used to noise. I’m used to motion-activated pine trees that gyrate and sing “Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree.” I’m used to a constant barrage of commercials that insist that what I’ve purchased for my loved ones is sub-par compared to this lovely set of steak knives. I’m used to the sound of the masses squeezed together at the doors of Wal-mart, planning the most efficient circuit around the store, only to be squeezed together all over again at the checkout lines. I’m used to all that noise, leading up to an evening spent with my fellow believers, lighting a candle and singing what carol? That’s right, kids. “Silent Night.”

Karri and I went through an advent reading schedule this year. We spent the month leading up to Christmas reading Scripture each day, psalms of joy, prophecies of hope, promises of peace, and celebrations of love. Advent, which means “arrival,” has been celebrated for centuries in the church as a way to prepare our hearts for the coming Messiah, and by joining in that tradition, we connected our hearts with the hearts of the people Jesus was born into. These were people who were desperate. They were brokenhearted. They needed hope, joy, and peace because they had none. And their prayers were the lines we occasionally sing this time of year.

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lowly exile here
Until the son of God appear
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel

I was invited to speak at a Burundian friend’s house church two weeks ago. Karri and I sat in the living room of a woman whose husband worked on another continent to support their four children. My friend pointed to two girls who desperately wanted Bibles but couldn’t afford them. And then I met Sandrene. Sandrene is a widow, and the mother of five children, and is HIV positive. She looked at us with tears welling in her eyes and told us she had been asking God who was going to take care of her children when she dies. And she felt God say to her, “You children will not be abandoned, because I am their Father.” I opened the Bible to Luke 3 and read to this small group of believers, “Fear not, for I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people. For unto you in the City of David, a Savior has been born, and He is Christ, the Lord.” And I told them that their hearts and the hearts of those people who cried out for Emmanuel in Israel two thousand years ago are one and the same. Christmas means that hope has come for the hopeless, joy for those filled with sorrow, peace for the embattled, fearful, and broken. And I saw Sandrene close her watering eyes and nod.

Christmas has been more real to me here than ever before. Now, I desperately miss my family and I miss the snow and I miss the candles and “Silent Night.” And I don’t want this to come across as a rebuke of Christmas in America. It’s easy to say “Well, Christmas is just too commercial. We need to get back to the true meaning.” Normally, all that conversation prompts is a nice, hearty helping of guilt along with your Christmas turkey. But this year, I got to share Christmas with a people who are looking for hope all the time. I got to look at the birth of the King through the eyes of Sandrene, and without all the noise, my ears were clear enough to hear her crying out for Emmanuel, God with us. And in each of our countries, cities, neighborhoods, families, there are Sandrenes. There are people who need hope, joy, and peace. Maybe if we lifted our voices like the angels before, declaring the birth of a Savior for all people above the din of the other noises, they’d be filled with wonder like the shepherds long ago.

So Merry Christmas, Joyeaux Noel, and Noeli Nziza to you and yours. May you be filled with hope, joy, peace, and love as the Messiah enters your world, and may you be the heralds of good news of great joy to the Sandrenes all around you.

Let earth receive her king.

My New Diary

2008-12-15T00:50:00.000-08:00

(copied from the opening pages of my new diary.)

I am now the proud owner of a Chinese diary, purchased in a Chinese-owned, fixed-price store on Avenue d’Uprona in Bujumbura, Burundi. I am writing in it with a pen from Fellowship Missionary Church, on Tillman Road a few hundred yards from a Wal-mart in Fort Wayne, Indiana. This pen has traveled farther than many of my friends and family.

This diary probably has some sort of typo or defect, which is why it has ended up here in East Africa. In fact, this diary came with a pen of its own, a black plastic click pen that, when clicked, extends the ball point just a millimeter beyond the shoddily-cut plastic end, rendering it nigh useless but for filling the handy leather strap where it was meant to reside. Hence the replacement pen from Tillman Road.

Burundi is the middle child of the world.

It seems that all it receives are the hand-me-downs of its older siblings to the east and west. Recycled tee shirts from your senior spring break in 1992, stationary with typing errors, electronic appliances that are nicked, defective, or simply no longer in their prime fill the markets and storefronts, and the people lay out their hard-earned, yet meager earnings to purchase these international leftovers. The disdain emanates from the older siblings as they watch their old toys trotted out and fought over.

The younger siblings here on the continent receive doting care from the new colonial powers, showering them with international aid, business connections, advocacy on the global stage, celebrity endorsement. This comes from a not-so-subtle sense of guilt that they messed something up. There was clearly an error somewhere in their history of raising these uneducated children with dark skin. Somewhere there was neglect, an abandonment, where the kids unleashed violence and atrocity on each other while mom and dad were too busy with their careers.

So they sent their youngest kids to military school, a school where their leaders become tyrants who whip them into shape at the cost of their rights and freedoms. They shower their babies with money and misplaced affection because they’ve been through so much (and there’s now a motion picture out chronicling their neglect.)

And all the while, the middle child sits, not early enough for oldest-child advantage, the recipient of the same abuse and neglect as all children, but without the endearing baby-face of the youngest that brings about pity and attention.

So here I sit, with my most-likely-flawed hand-me-down of a diary, from a Chinese store on a potholed Burundian thoroughfare. Maybe it’s not so bad to be the middle kid. You learn more quickly to learn things the hard way. You develop creativity and vision to make do with what you have. Maybe Burundi just needs to embrace their “middle-kidness” and stop trying to be the all-important eldest or the spoiled youngest. Maybe if Burundi learns to stand on its own, it will grow up just fine.

A Reflection

2008-12-01T21:15:00.000-08:00

My beautiful wife finishes her last paper this week. In a matter of days, she will be Karri DeSelm, MBA. Those three letters are the culmination of two years of life, two years that have redefined the way we see the world. We chose to move away from home, to leave jobs, to say goodbye to friends, to entrust the expansion of the Kingdom in Fort Wayne to our sisters and brothers in Christ, and pursue the cloud of smoke, the pillar of fire that we saw spinning before us.

We did this because we believe something about the world.

We believe something that has brought us the most inexplicable joy, the most severe heartbreak, the most soulful doubt, and the deepest sense of wonder that we’ve ever known in our lives.

We believe something about the world that requires faith, hope, and love from us every day when we leave our house and take the Burundian air into our lungs; an air that is laced with the dust kicked up by unshod feet, the drifting scent of exposed garbage and over-worn clothing, and the exhales of a nation who have learned to shoulder their poverty every day.

We believe something about the world that is discarded as foolishness by the skeptical unbeliever and the overly comfortable believer alike.
We believe something about the world that was proclaimed by a host of angels to a group of shepherds, who may as well have been Burundian cassava farmers, Kurdish nomads in Iraq, or homeless, abandoned men and women on the benches of Love Park in Philadelphia.

We believe something about the world that forces us to shout defiantly into the seemingly endless chasm of injustice, of systemic evil that allows Herod or President al-Bashir to wipe out entire generations, that causes doctors in Bujumbura to strike for a liveable wage while our guard’s father, brought in vain to a now-vacant hospital, lies in his bed with only over-the-counter medicines to mend his broken body.

We believe something about the world that is heartened by the words of Isaiah, “Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you. See, darkness covers the earth and thick darkness is over the peoples, but the LORD rises upon you and his glory appears over you.”

We believe something about the world that was believed by a teenage girl on a donkey with a social stigma on her head and a baby in her womb.

We believe something about the world that was difficult to believe for Jews under Caesar, difficult to believe for the innocents who hid in their homes in Rwanda, difficult to believe for the brokenhearted mothers who lost their children in the streets of West Philadelphia.

We believe something about the world that means changing the way we eat, the way we dress, the way we talk, the way we drive, the way we vote, the way we cry, the way we worship, the way we commune, the way we read, the way we dream, the way we suffer, the way we give, and the way we resist the powers of this world.

We believe something about the world that affirms the God of Genesis 1 and 2, of Job 38 and 39, of Isaiah 49 and 60, of Revelation 22.

We believe something about the world that, in this season of advent, causes us to look at all of the hurt and brokenness in the world and take up the posture of the people of God for generations – expectation.

What do we believe?

We believe He’s putting it all back together again.

And why? Why do we believe this when all the darkness in the world seems to conspire together and snuff out any possibility of hope? How can we believe this when the Caesars of the world seem titanic, when the Herods of the world seem more violent, wealthy, and unwilling to change than ever before? What news, what headline could possibly justify the complete reorientation of our lives around the singular vision of the healing of the nations when they insist on furiously raging together? Why do we believe this about the world?

Because.

Unto us, a child is born.

The tour...

2008-11-27T23:35:00.000-08:00

Since the chances of hosting any of our dear loved ones from the States is slim (though we'd love to have you!) we thought we could give you the virtual tour of our home. Jim and I live with two other ladies (the same age as us) - Wendy and Jillian. They live upstairs and we live downstairs but the open spaces are communal.
This is the front of our house...
...and the side yard pretending to be a jungle...
...and the downstairs porch...
...I decorated the living room myself...well, let's say I rearranged the furniture and planted a few plants...which I noticed our guard/gardener already replaced because they died...
...and the dining room with Jim in it. (I forgot to photograph our bedroom. It is just a large room with a bed and a bed-net and lots of closet space... And the occasional mass invasion of a biblical plague of grasshoppers.)
Moving on to the upstairs, we have the best feature of the house -the balcony. We spend many hours on both sunny days and in amazing rainstorms sitting here, reading, praying, typing. It's an incredible view, with Lake Tanganyika on the horizon hedged in by Congo.
And finally, here is a view of our gate and driveway from the upstairs porch.
I'd like to also introduce you to Selius, who works with us full-time as a gardener/landscaper by day and a guard by night. (He goes home each weekend). He is kind enough to put up with my Kirundi as well, since neither he nor I speak French and he doesn't speak English.
This is Emmanuel, who is a great cook and keeps us well fed! We had a great time cooking together for Thanksgiving yesterday. (Though he doubted my measuring skills once or twice since we don't have measuring cups of any sort.) But he stuck with me and it all came out great!

This is our cat Kumusi. He came with the house. He is very little but we do feed him, I promise!

As a final stop on the tour I'd like you to meet our friends. We like to refer to them as the 'creepy Burundi statues.' As you can see, we get a lot of mileage out of them during social events at our house...

(we are 'American Gothic,' the painting - get it?)

Our friends - Meg and Isaac:

There's a spare bedroom upstairs if anyone wants to come for a visit!

Update Letter - Winter 2008

2008-11-14T22:58:00.000-08:00

Friends –

Hello again from Bujumbura! The snow and frost have come for you, our friends and family in the West, but we continue to be showered with sunshine and African rains here in Burundi. Alas, we won’t see snow again until nearly 2010! I’m sure you’re probably planning your holiday gatherings: who’s going to cook the turkey (we’re going without that this year as well!), when to build the first fire of the year in the fireplace (if you haven’t already), what to buy for that special someone (may I suggest some fine Burundian coffee beans from your nearest Starbucks?). We’re also preparing for the holidays here in Africa, and thought it appropriate to send you our season’s greetings along with an update of the latest news and events in our tribe. If you haven’t been keeping up, our blog has lots of stories and pictures to bring you up to speed.

HOME: We recently moved into a new house in a neighborhood called Kibenga, just south of the neighborhood where we formerly dwelt, at the end of a long, bumpy dirt road and 50 meters from a primary school. The house we lived in before is a guest house, and we were always meant to find housing of our own. We are living with Wendy and Jillian, friends of ours from World Relief. They live in the upper floor of the house, and we live in the ground floor. We live quite communally, but it’s nice to have a place where you can retire for a little privacy. The hallmark of the house is the upstairs balcony, which gives a beautiful view of Lake Tanganyika and the Congolese mountains, and is lovely while reading a book during a mid-afternoon rainstorm. We’re working out hiring new house staff and learning how to get around in this new context, as we’re living without a safety net, so to speak. But we really enjoy the new place, and it’s fun playing peek-a-boo with the curious young faces that peek out of the school’s gate each morning.

WORK: Karri is working hard at finishing both her graduate work and a five-year business plan for Turame, the microfinance institution where she is serving. (See story below) She’ll be finished with her classwork in December, becoming Karri DeSelm, MBA. And not a moment too soon, as her desk is quickly piling up with new tasks and responsibilities, shuffled into place by a Turame staff that is already convinced of her irreplaceable qualities. Jim is continuing to work with Church Mobilization at World Relief, and has been able to preach and worship with the staff here in Bujumbura, as well as upcountry in Nyanza Lac and Gitega. He continues to write music and has found a new joy in keeping the blog lively and interesting for you, the humble reader.

CHURCH: We continue to grow connected to our church here, PTI, and have begun to feel like a ‘regular member’ rather than a guest. We marvel each week at the diversity of attendees – Burundian, American, Scottish, British, Canadian, and many other Africans from across the content whose lines have crossed in Bujumbura. Pastor Emmanuel only grows dearer to use as we interact with him and he shares his passion and vision for training up young pastors in Biblically sound theology and shaking loose some of the ‘religious dogma’ which plagues denominations here and creates division, rather than unity, within the Church. In Burundi’s church, denominational, and ethnic context, it is a daunting task but one he continues to ‘suffer’ with great joy.

PRAYER: Our hearts are still constantly with you all at home and we grieve and rejoice with you as we hear stories of what is going on in your own lives. Thank you for all the prayers; we know they continue daily. All of the prayers for possible challenges of living here have been answered faithfully by God. We ask that you pray for God to continue to open our eyes, seeing and engaging Burundi in the way that God sees it. We pray that we do not miss opportunities to form relationships and love others that God is putting before us. Please also pray for the Church here and its divine role in bringing about peace in Burundi and refusing to engage in continued power struggles and violence. Pray the Church will have the courage to take a lead in ensuring the 2010 elections are peaceful.

SUPPORT: As a final thought, our fundraising support still stands at only 50%. World Relief will continue to send us funds through the remainder of our internship despite our support raised, but we would be indebting ourselves to them once we return to the States. Because of this, we’re thinking and praying about the wisdom of returning home early and cutting our time here short in lieu of going into a good amount of debt. We deeply do not want to end this experience early, and are asking humbly for you, our friends and family, to consider supporting us once again. We know the holidays are upon you, and you’re making choices about gifts, parties, and charitable giving, and many of you have already given very generously.

So our proposal is this. We welcome your support if you have not supported us yet, and if you have done so and wish to do so again, we thank you very much. We’ve included at the bottom of this letter a link to a site where you can donate and a form you can print and mail. If, however, you are willing, we ask that you pass on this letter to someone else we know, someone who might be interested in supporting us this holiday season. Our contact list is only so long, and we’d love to increase awareness about Burundi and God’s work in it, along with our donor base. If you’re receiving this as an email, forward it! If you’re reading it as a blog, tell someone about it! Let’s bring the warmth of Africa into people’s hearts this winter, and keep the DeSelms in Burundi!

We miss you all, and cannot wait to worship with you again. May the God of peace enrich your season greatly with peace and dreams of peace. May you experience the love of a God who took on flesh and moved into the neighborhood. And may you find new ways to take on the flesh of Christ himself, and incarnate His love, joy, justice, and mercy in the world around you. Let earth receive her King!

Grace and peace,

Jim and Karri DeSelm

MICROFINANCE STORIES FROM THE FIELD:
I recently had the opportunity to have a long conversation with the Gitega (the central province) Branch Manager, Gerard, and also travel with him to visit community banking groups consisting of 30-45 members (90% women). In our conversation, Gerard shared the story of his life, how he came into development, and “fell in love with Burundians” – his own people – later in life and felt called to serve them through microfinance. His English seemed to miraculously improve as he told me with excitement of the banking group that had managed to save over $1,000 (a huge feat!) and of those coming to him with lists of potential members begging for Turame to bring services to their province. He told me about asking permission of each one of the community leaders in the new regions in which Turame hopes to expand, and of how permission was granted with enthusiasm at each request. He told me of the challenges urban dwelling Burundians face – high living costs and expenses – and of the challenges of encouraging women in their ability to adequately manage their business and take higher loans in order to expand and increase their profit. He told me of the many consequences of the long war on the people – loss of businesses, assets, and even cows who once provided free fertilizer to crops. Now people suffer to rebuild their lives. Farmers cannot afford the high expense of chemical fertilizer and are failing to produce a harvest that can sustain their families.

And then I saw hope – in the faces of women and men who continue to take Turame loans. After the meeting prayer and sharing of the ‘Word’ through translation clients told me of their increased income which allowed them to send all of their children to school, to feed them without problems, to pay back their loans with ease. They were making plans for their future, plans for their children. One widow told me her children would not be alive if Turame had not come because no one would loan her money. They were proud and had dignity and confidence. Isaiah 1:17 came to me in clarity: “Seek justice, encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow.” In a new and real way the work I am doing everyday in an office behind a computer connected with its true purpose. To seek justice, to restore dignity, to serve those in need, to worship and glorify God with my work - to see the Kingdom of God growing, unstoppably, throughout Burundi.

TO SUPPORT US ONLINE:

WORLD RELIEF SUPPORT: JIM AND KARRI DESELM

To SUPPORT US BY MAIL: (Click the image and print)

…And what a feast it was…

2008-11-14T22:30:00.000-08:00

Outdoor Porch + Burundi + Mosquitoes + Shaved Legs (desensitized) + Laziness (to go retrieve bug spray) =

Unfortunately my choice, without thinking, to wear a skirt to work the next day equally horrified my colleagues, who decided I was sacrificing myself so that the rest of Burundi could be unbothered by mosquitoes for the evening, as it seems they all heard about where I live that night…

Don’t worry mom – they claim that malaria infected mosquitoes only do their blood sucking between the hours of 2 and 4 am. Lets just hope these mosquitoes weren’t on U.S. east coast time…

Open Letter To Mom - Part III

2008-11-07T08:54:00.000-08:00

As far as daily life goes, we get up around 6 every day. It kinda blows my mind that we get up so early, but the sun sets at 6, so we’ve been going to bed pretty early. We get up and have breakfast, which usually looks like fruit salad, toast, and coffee. We’ve found a pretty good bean to use a local coffee shop, so our habit is still nursed here in Africa. Sometimes I knock up a tasty egg concoction with onions, peppers, and salsa. You just have to clean up quickly, or the ants will get breakfast as well.

We get picked up by our offices at between 7 and 8. Karri’s been keeping really busy with Turame. They’re giving her some human resources work, story writing, and other documentation, and Wendy shares some of her massive workload with Karri, also. I get to the office and have some quiet time, read, practice French, and prepare for whatever gathering I have to prepare for. Sometimes it’s a talk for the kids on Tuesday, sometimes it’s picking music for the team at PTI (our church), sometimes it’s translating Kirundi hymns for the staff devotionals here at the office. My boss, Sophonie, has been away quite a bit, so it was pretty slow starting off, with not a lot of direction. But now we’ve got a bit of momentum, and I’ve got a better sense of how I can serve here. I’m gonna put together a guitar workshop and take it to some of the upcountry locations, start working with the musicians here in Bujumbura, and help formulate a vision for the staff devotional time. I’ve had the sense that the more available I am, the more opportunities I will have, so I’m not really running around just to get busy. I think that would be a waste, and I’d end up doing a bunch of stuff that I can’t say no to when the things God really wants me to do come around. Now I think those things are starting to develop.

Lunches are always a highlight of our day. We sometimes go to a little café, just the two of us. But most days, Isaac, Jillian, Wendy, Karri and I head over to this place just fifty meters (metric, you know!) from the World Relief office. It’s called (creatively, as are all shop names here in Burundi) “Coffee Shop.” This isn’t the coffee shop we buy our bean from. In fact, the “Coffee Shop’s” coffee isn’t all that great. Go figure. But their food is really good and really cheap. So we’ll get brochettes, (which are kebabs in french), omelettes, or croissants, and sit in the open air dining room, chatting about life, politics, work, and weird topics you wouldn’t think could occupy an entire conversation.

We head back to work, more of the same, meetings and study, and head home around 5 or 6. Sometimes, I head home a bit early and study or read at home. This is partly because I’m more comfortable there and partly because I like to be around for Enock in case he needs anything. SO I usually take a mototaxi, which is just a guy on a motorcycle that I flag down. They wear bright orange vests so you can tell the taxis from the regular Joes like Isaac who just own a motorcycle. I negotiate a price, which is necessary because, as a white man, I’m overcharged by over 100% initially. You’re expected to bargain, which means walking away sometimes. I’ve never actually walked away and had the driver just give up. He always drives up to me again and tries another price. I can get a ride for between 500 and 700 francs, which is between fifty to seventy-five cents. That’s still probably two to three hundred francs more than a Burundian would pay, but hey, I’m a muzungu! Then I hop on the back of his bike and hang on! It’s a great way to travel in the city if you’re alone, partly for the cost, and partly because you get a great breeze to cool you off. Karri opts for the Mutatu buses, which I mentioned in an earlier blog. That costs right around a quarter, and the price doesn’t change for us white folk, which is nice.

We get home and figure out our evenings doings, which normally involves some lovely meal from Enock and maybe a night out with friends. Sometimes Karri has homework to do, sometimes we just watch some movies, sometimes we walk over to a friend’s house house and chill there. It’s always different, but we’re normally in bed by 11 or 12. Then starts a new day! It’s the little things that make us love it here, though. It’s rain storms in the evening, or discovering a great new cultural event to participate in. It’s listening to Burundian drummers, or the trilling of birds that I’ve never heard before. It’s finding that one connection with someone who speaks a different language, that one wisecrack that passes through the cultural limbo and causes you both to guffaw in pleasure and approval. It’s being with the poor every day and wrestling with where we fit in the scope of the kingdom with them, being forced to decide if the banknote you’re about to pass will actually be a just a fish rather than a fishing pole, and whether that’s ok for today. It’s greetings with kisses, handshakes, half-hugs and whole hugs, learning new words in Kirundi and seeing delight in someone’s eyes when you make your feeble Western attempt to repeat. It’s eating real food, fish caught by fishermen in Nyanza Lac, beef raised by herders in Gitega, mangoes from our neighbor’s tree. It’s remembering that God can be in two places at once, moving with the sun from the church in Ruziba to the activity center in Fort Wayne.

So that’s life for the present in Bujumbura! We’re living a full life here, and know that Christ has seen fit to graft us into his body here. Still, we miss home, then smell of fallen leaves, the quick inhale of that November morning air that gives you a shiver, and that instinctive hum that comes out like a reflex when you hear those words, “How about a fire in the fireplace tonight?” Give all our love to the family, and know that our hearts are still with you, and you with us. Love you!!!

Jim

Burundi Fun & Beauty

2008-11-06T03:05:00.000-08:00

DRC Mountains from across Lake Tanganyika

Showing off... I can do that too...

Very high jumping...

Jim bringing the house down with his skills of ROCK

Burundian Drum Team

Karri teaching a thing or two about drumming

Jim introducing us at Enoch's rural church

Karri & Enoch in front of the bricks Enoch bought to build his future home

Kids

Amazing Moth!

David with jack-jack and Sam - the dogs we lived with at Trina and Seth Chase's home

Karri & David - one of the youth who is actually a twin... I think this is David...

Jim, Karri, Isaac, & Wendy celebrating Wendy's Quarter Century Birthday

The Power of Example

2008-11-05T06:21:00.000-08:00

Today is the day – the historic US elections. I must say that it is quite a different experience planning to participate in my civic duty while in Burundi. We (Jim and I and American friends) made it to the US Embassy (across the street from my office…. But don’t try to take pictures – I’ve already been threatened by the security guards there keeping a watchful eye…) a few weeks ago to cast our absentee ballots. For me, this year has been quite unprecedented as I cast my first primary ballot ever in Philadelphia, attended two ‘Obama’ rallies to hear him speak (one of which I will never forget as we – the crowd – took over the streets of downtown Philly on foot), and finally cast my presidential vote while living in Burundi. I would say I have thoroughly fulfilled and enjoyed my ‘civic duties.’

This morning found Jim and I awake at 5:30am and out the door to our friends’ house. Brandon is Canadian and Duncan is British but still they agreed to host the mini-election party since our invitations to the Ambassador’s party never arrived. I could go on, noting the nose-almost-pressed-to-the-TV screen position I took up on the floor, the tears I couldn’t hold back during Obama’s acceptance speech… but that isn’t why I’m writing.

I wanted to mention the power of America’s example in the world – good or bad. And today it was the former. Not because the US elected Senator Barack Obama (okay, well, it was great for that reason too!) but because I have had a Tanzanian, a Kenyan, and multiple Burundians say to me today that the US is setting a wonderful example in the world regarding the democratic process. In the African Great Lakes and East Africa region it seems almost fictional to hold an election in which there is no ballot stealing, no threatening of voters, no riots – rather, a simple voluntary concession to the winning candidate. That is it, done deal. John McCain retires for rest to his Arizona cabin. No mobilizing supports to take over the streets, no assassinations. These are the contrasting pictures those around me are drawing.

As they have shared these thoughts with me my immediate reaction is to correct them, to remind them of the debacle of the 2000 elections, to explain the influence that corporate America has over the political system, but I don’t. And, in hindsight, I am glad. I am proud of America today and its ability to run a democratic election that ends with a speech about unity and solidarity, rather than violence. I am proud to know that my vote counted in this election (given my extreme confidence in our US postal system and the Burundian US Embassy…). We must be aware that as the US, we are always setting an example – whether good of bad. Today it is a good example that is likely to have ripples of influence far beyond what we may ever know.

Burundi is facing an election in 2010 – and by ‘facing’ I mean approaching an event that brings apprehension and fear into the hearts of the country’s citizen, who hope and pray for peace but find such ideals have a marred track record in Burundi. But the Burundians around me are discussing a new hope in the example they see in America. It can be done. And it can be historic – just as our election is today. Wounds can be healed and new faces can replace the old.

As Christians we understand hope – we know the author of hope. And as the Church – worldwide – we must share that hope of peace, of resurrection, of renewal, of transformation, with a world peering desperately into the darkness for a light. The Church is still the Body of Christ, the light in the world. No politician can ever fill this role. But as the Church we must play a positive role – the role of the peacemaker – demonstrating the values of the Kingdom of God. I believe there is a large role for ‘the peacemaker’ in the realm of politics. May we, I, step forward with courage, and follow Christ, the Prince of Peace, even into the depths of political turmoil.

“And I knew that as they were sitting in, they [the students doing sit-ins in the South] were really standing up for the best in the American dream and taking the whole nation back to those great wells of democracy, which were dug deep by the founding fathers in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution.” – MLK; “I’ve been to the Mountaintop” – 3 April 1968

Open Letter To Mom - Part II

2008-11-02T07:45:00.001-08:00

The expats we’ve been hanging out with have been strewn throughout the blog, but here’s a rundown of some of our closest friends:

Wendy – Wendy works for World Relief in Baltimore and gets sent out from time to time to help with different organizations like Turame. She’ll be here for about the same time we will, and we really love hanging out with her. She works extremely hard, and occasionally finds time for a game of Phase 10 with her friends.

Isaac – Isaac was on the plane with Karri and me from Brussels. He’s an MK who grew up in Mozambique and just graduated from Virginia Tech. We tease him mercilessly for being young and being single and being perky, but he’s actually extremely smart and well-traveled. Whenever we have questions about international affairs or travel, he’s quickest to chime in with his experience. He’s a joy to be around, even though Karri threatens him with physical violence every once in a while.

Jillian – Jillian is here for two years as the Church Partnership coordinator here in Burundi. She came from a ministry in urban Washington DC, running an after-school homework help and alternative recreational center for the youth of the neighborhood. She’s got a big heart for those kids. She’s also a fiery personality and a straight shooter. She’ll set you straight if you’re off the map, and she’ll love you while she’s doing it.

Brandon – A Canadian who loves waking up in the morning, putting on classical music, and drinking a good cup of coffee. When we hang out with Brandon, we’re either going to a great restaurant, normally a place called Ubuntu which has the best pizza in the country, or hanging out at his place watching Planet Earth, a nature-type series by the BBC. But whatever the activity, it usually also involves listening to his music collection (he has impeccable taste) and talking about the stuff we love to talk about: world politics, environmentalism and development, emergent Christianity, art, just brilliant, brilliant stuff.

Duncan – Hailing from the UK, Duncan is one of the few people who speaks faster than my wife. He splits his time between Bujumbura and his place upcountry, working in agriculture development. Duncan is very easy to be around, loves the Lord, and is quick with an anecdote.

Adam - A terrific guitarist from Liverpool who works for a Belgian organization that de-mines African countries. Burundi is pretty mine-free right now, so they’re focusing on collecting and dismantling small arms. He and I like to grab a drink at Circle Nautique, a club owned by a Frenchman named Jean Luc, after rehearsing with our musical ensemble. Adam is dating…

Martina – A singer from Italy and photographer for the UN. Martina has one of those voices that works so well on French torch songs, with that thin tremolo of a vibrato and crooning style with long, arcing approaches to notes. Karri says she reminds her of the main character from the movie “Chocolat”, a free spirit with a zest for life and all things beautiful. She’s also passionate about cheese.

Fabien and Jenny – Fabien is a Frenchman and a great guy, who plays and sings in the band occasionally. He’s what Adam refers to as a “mutterer,” meaning his French is so French, it’s nearly indecipherable, but he’s a lot of fun to hang out with. He’s dating Jenny, a South African, who works for Accord, a mediation and conflict resolution organization. Karri has had a great time chatting with Jenny, and they have a lot in common.

Matt and Daniella – Matt’s from Kansas and works at the Embassy. You can tell he really loves life, and volleyball might be his favorite part of life. The story goes that he had pined for Daniella, an Italian girl who works for the UN, for months, and she finally noticed him. Now they spend as much time together as they can.

We also frequently run into Christy, Suzie, Meg, Tomas, Fred, Estelle, Maria, Mohammed, Steve, Andres, a veritable United Nations of friends, and I'm sure I'm leaving people out. We hang out at the beach, catch dinners, spend evenings sitting around eating good food and playing music. It's a real joy to be around such a diverse and interesting community.

-To Be Concluded!-

Open Letter To Mom - Part I

2008-10-31T07:11:00.000-07:00

"You know, sometime when you’ve got time, I’d love to hear about some of your just personal stuff, like...where are you living and what’s it like? How are your jobs going? Are you building relationships with the African staff? Who are the ex-pats you’ve been hanging out with? Your blog gives us great stories, but the mom in me wants to know the mundane stuff too, like...how’s the food? Have you gotten sick at all? How do you get around – primarily by bus, walking, moto? Silly stuff, I guess. Anyway...just curious!" - Email from my mom

Mama –

There’s just so much to say about the details of life here. I’ll do my best to give an adequate description! We’re living right now at Seth and Trina Chase’s house, which is in a more upscale neighborhood, or cartier, of Bujumbura called Kinindo. It’s the World Relief guest house, and it’s really beautiful. The yard is huge, full of trees and plants you’d never see in the States. There’s a volleyball net in the backyard, which the youth group enjoys every Tuesday. The grounds are kept up by Jean Marie, our day guard and gardener. He doesn’t speak English or French, but is extremely friendly and works very hard. Our security system, however, is canine in nature. Jack-Jack, a yellow lab named for (who else) Jack Bauer, and Sam, a golden retriever (makes me miss Alex!) named for Samwise Gamgee, patrol the yard and alert us whenever someone is at the gate. Burundians generally are pretty afraid of dogs, and even though these two guys are more in the “lick-you-to-death” category, many of our guests find them pretty terrifying.

The inside of the house is terrific, with five bedrooms and three bathrooms. There’s a great front porch, where we hold the Bible Studies for the kids and share meals on cooler evenings. There’s lots of room to be private, but we’ve been relishing the chance to live communally with our roommates. We’re living with two girls named Wendy and Jillian. Wendy works at Turame with Karri and Jillian works at World Relief with me. Isaac, another World Relief intern, lived with us for a while. We have had a great time sharing our lives, our food, and a lot of good laughs with these, our new friends, and we’re really seeing how great it can be to open ourselves up to this lifestyle. In the States, it’s easy, almost encouraged, to be isolated and see your house as your “castle.” While I totally get that, I think we may have lost some of the joy of community by retreating too far into that mentality. Just the practice of sharing your meal with someone else, even strangers, is really working on my heart and connecting me with these people on a level that I haven’t experienced in a while.

Our meals are prepared by Enock, our cook and housekeeper. He’s renowned throughout the expat community for his culinary prowess. Some of his specialties are a tremendous salsa, peanut soup (one of Karri’s favorites), fajitas with homemade tortillas, the best scratch bread in the country, and the “Enock Special,” a concoction of sausage and stewed veggies over rice. Enock has really great English, and serves as our Kirundi liaison between us and the two guards, Jean Marie and Andre. It’s really bizarre going from an apartment in West Philly to living in a situation where your meals are prepared, your laundry is done, your bed is changed and made, your bathrooms are cleaned, and anything else you need done is seen to. It feels kinda wrong at first, but it’s expected for expats to employ Burundians in this way. If you don’t, you’re looked down on for keeping your wealth to yourself. Enock is a great guy, and through his job here, he’s been able to begin building a house for his family, begin saving for his wedding, and have the financial freedom to focus on his other job as the pastor of a local Burundian congregation.

- To Be Continued! -

Ode To A Mukeke

2008-10-27T04:44:00.000-07:00

I found myself a wee bit hungry
Had a grumble in my tummy
Had only Monopoly money
To find a meal that satisfies

We ambled to a small café
Requested “Le carte, sil vous plait,”
When mine eyes espied the Mukeke
Served grilled along with Frenchie Fries

“Pardon, monsieur!” I called in French
“But what is this specific dish?
I’m interested, but do not wish
A dish gastrointestinally unwise.”

“It’s fish, my friend!” the waiter spake,
“A fish we take straight from the lake!
I’m certain that this meal will make
A most enjoyable surprise.”

“I’ll have it, sir! How about you, honey?”
“I find you not the least bit funny.
I’ll not eat fish, nor cow, nor bunny,
No food that runs or swims or flies.”

“I’m sorry, dear, it slipped my mind,
Fish makes you turn the shade of lime.
What would you like, beloved of mine?”
“I think I’ll just have Frenchie Fries.”

He bustled off to fetch our meal
And there we sat, both quite gentile,
Anticipating a great deal
The aromas that began to rise.

Then in a flash, the food came in
I grabbed my fork to dig right in
When, on descent, to my chagrin,
I nearly speared the fishy’s eyes.

Yes, eyes, I said, for right before me
The mukeke, in all its glory,
Lay head to tail, presented wholly
Tucked in its bed of Frenchie Fries.

“Oh, dear,” my lovely wife said quick
“I think I’m going to be sick.
I thought that fish came like a brick,
Not straight from lake to grill to fries!”

“Nor I,” I murmured, not quite right,
For I had taken my first bite
And found myself in great delight
At what had passed by my canines.

The fish was tender, spiced so well
I ceased my fretting ‘bout the tail
And pulled my second bite pell-mell
Away from fishy’s ribs and spine.

My wife tried to ignore my feast
Not enjoying in the least
The odor from the noble beast
That fell before my forkéd tines.

I finished what was facing out
Then grabbed the fish by tail and snout
And flipped over the noble trout
For one more side it had to prize

And when the sequel of my meal
Came to a close, there lay the tail
With spine and ribs connected well
To fishy’s head and beady eyes.

“Me oui, monsieur,” the waiter said.
“Surely you will eat the head
A local wouldn’t be caught dead
Leaving a morsel like that behind.”

And there upon my eyes won out
Because I could not help but doubt
My willingness to morsel out
The beady, bulging mukeke’s eyes.

“I’ll pass, my friend, and please forgive
My sad unwillingness to live
As locals who gleefully shiv
The head and munch with joy inside.”

My wife made an attempt to grin
Alas, she’s vegetarian
And never will take for a spin
A meal that still retains its eyes.

We paid our bill and walked away
And e’er will I recall the day
When I first dined on Mukeke
Served grilled with Frenchie Fries.

Nonviolence and People Smarter Than Me

2008-10-15T01:22:00.000-07:00

These days, I've been reading the book of Isaiah. And I can't seem to shake the impression that God isn't too keen on war... or violence at all, for that matter. Now, I know that this is a hot issue, and a lot of you all may have some fairly strong opinions, but I thought I would write a posting about what I've been learning about the long history of nonviolence and the people of Christ. Thing is, if I go shooting my mouth off, I'm liable to say something foolish... probably already have. So instead of ranting like the goofball I can be, I thought I'd share the thoughts of some of the people I've been reading.

“Now the earth was corrupt in God’s sight and full of violence” (Gen. 6:11) - from the Flood

“This is what the king who will reign over you will claim as his rights: He will take your sons and make them serve with his chariots and horses, and they will run in front of his chariots… When that day comes, you will cry out for relief from the king you have chosen, but the Lord will not answer you in that day.” (I Sam 8:11,18)

A couple stories of military might being minimized, perhaps showing that God’s desire is for power, vengeance, and tolerance for violence to be God’s and God’s alone

Egypt’s army being swallowed by the sea (Exodus 14)
The walls of Jericho being toppled by trumpets (Joshua 6)
Gideon’s army being whittled from 32,000 to 300 (Judges 7)
A shepherd boy saying “No” to the king’s armor and defeating an entire army with a slingshot (1 Sam 17)

“He will judge between the nations and will settle disputes for many peoples. They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore.” (Isa. 2:4)

“Every warrior’s boot used in battle and every garment rolled in blood will be destined for burning, will be fuel for the fire. For to us a child is born, to us a son is given…” (Isa. 9:5-6a)

“Rejoice greatly, Daughter Zion! Shout, Daughter Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, lowly and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey. I will take away the chariots from Ephraim and the warhorses from Jerusalem, and the battle bow will be broken. He will proclaim peace to the nation. His rule will extend from sea to sea and from the River to the ends of the earth.” (Zechariah 9:9-10)

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” (Matt. 5:10)

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth. But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek, also.” (Matt 5:38) – encouraging neither violence nor passivity

“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you that you may be children of your Father in heaven.” (Matt. 5:43-45)

“The Kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field. But while everyone was sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and went away. When the wheat sprouted and formed heads, the weeds also appeared.
The owner’s servants came to him and said, ‘Sir, didn’t you sow good seed in your field? Where did the weeds come from?’
‘An enemy did this,’ he replied.
The servants asked him, ‘Do you want us to go and pull them up?’
‘No,’ he answered, ‘because while you are pulling the weeds, you may uproot the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest. At that time I will tell the harvesters: First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles to be burned; then gather the what and bring it into my barn.’” (Matt. 13:24-30)

“Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me and for the gospel will save it. What good is it for you to gain the whole word, yet forfeit your soul?” (Mark 8:34-36)

“With that, one of Jesus’ companions reached for his sword, drew it out and struck the servant of the high priest, cutting off his ear. ‘Put your sword back in its place,’ Jesus said to him, ‘for all who draw the sword will die by the sword.” (Matt. 26:51-52)

“Jesus said, ‘My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, my servants would fight to prevent my arrest by the Jewish leaders. But now my kingdom is from another place.” (John 18:36)

And of course, we have the Messiah, Jesus, led like a lamb to slaughter and hung from a cross, subjecting himself to the sword and abstaining from bringing the sword himself.

“Their feet are swift to shed blood; ruin and misery mark their ways, and the way of peace they do not know.” (Rom. 3:15-17, Paul quoting Isaiah)

“We wrestle not against flesh and blood but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore, put on the full armor of God…” (Eph. 6:12) - sounds like the only breastplate we need is righteousness…

And now let’s hear from the saints of the early church.

“Celsus exhorts us to help the Emperor and be his fellow soldiers. To this we reply, “You cannot demand military service of Christians any more than you can of priests.” We do not go forth as soldiers with the Emperor even if he demands this.” (Origen)

“The professions and trades of those who are going to be accepted into the community must be examined. The nature and type of each must be established … brothel, sculptors of idols, charioteer, athlete, gladiator … give it up or be rejected. A military constable must be forbidden to kill, neither may he swear; if he is not willing to follow these instructions, he must be rejected. A proconsul or magistrate who wears the purple and governs by the sword shall give it up or be rejected. Anyone taking or already baptized who wants to become a soldier shall be sent away, for he has despised God.” (Hippolytus, 218 AD)

“I do not wish to be a ruler. I do not strive for wealth. I refuse offices connected with military command. I despise death.” (Tatian)

“We ourselves were well conversant with war, murder and everything evil, but all of us throughout the whole wide earth have traded in our weapons of war. We have exchanged our swords for plowshares, our spears for farm tools… now we cultivate the fear of God, justice, kindness, faith, and the expectation of the future given us through the crucified one… the more we are persecuted and martyred, the more do others in ever increasing numbers become believers.” (Justin, martyred in 165 AD)

“We who formerly formerly hated and murdered one another now live together and share the same table. We pray for our enemies and try to win those who hate us.” (Justin)

“Emperors could only believe in Christ if they were not emperors – as if Christians could ever be emperors.” (Tertullian) whoops… sorry Constantine.

“The divine banner and the human banner do not go together, nor the standard of Christ and the standard of the Devil. Only without the sword can the Christian wage war: the Lord has abolished the sword.” (Tertullian)

“Christ, in disarming Peter, disarmed every soldier.” (Tertullian)

“Seneca spoke of venting one’s fury: ‘We check manslaughter and isolated murders, but what of war and the much-vaunted crime of slaughtering whole peoples?’” (Pliny)

“Murder, considered a crime when people commit it singly, is transformed into a virtue when they do it en masse.” (St. Cyprian, 200-258)

“I serve Jesus Christ the eternal King. I will no longer serve your emperors… It is not right for a Christian to serve the armies of this world.” (Marcellus the Centurion, a saint who left the army of Emperor Diocletian in 298, and was executed while praying for his persecutors.)

“I am a soldier of Christ and it is not permissible for me to fight.” (St. Martin of Tours, 315-397)

And a few words from Dr. King.

“A nation what continues to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death.” (Martin Luther King Jr.)

“To our most bitter opponents we say: ‘Throw us in jail and we will still love you. Bomb our houses and threaten our children and we will still love you. Beat us and leave us half dead, and we will still love you. But be assured that we will wear you down by our capacity to suffer. One day we shall so appeal to your heart and conscience that we shall win you in the process, and our victory will be a double victory.’” (Martin Luther King Jr.)

... and we will still love you.
... and we will still love you.
... and we will still love you.

“BLENDING IN” in Burundi

2008-10-07T05:35:00.000-07:00

For all of you who plan to travel to this beautiful country, I thought I would offer a few pointers in case you would like to blend into the local population…

1) Stop, gather around and watch any activity that is going on. If they are paving the road, line the streets and watch. If they are putting up or repairing an electric pole in your neighborhood, gather around the pole and watch…. for as long as it takes. If someone is painting a new sign on his business, support him by hovering below him, watching his every move. Try not to get too distracted by a muzungu (white skinned individual) that passes by you. If this occurs, you will be forced to make a choice. Stare at the street paving or stare at the muzungu. Tough call.

2) If you live anywhere outside of Bujumbura, and see a “muzungu” passing in a car or by foot, be sure to stop whatever you are doing, turn, and stare blankly until they have disappeared into the distance. Yes, this means stopping mid sentence in the conversation you are in. And make sure you have only a blank expression on your face. Try not to blink. (Jim and I decided the kind of looks we get from everyone – young and old alike – when we pass by in the rural countryside is comparable to a man strolling stark naked past your house playing one of those ping-pong paddles with the rubber ball attached. Yeah, that kind of a stare.) And get as close as you can get, continuing your blank stare. The object is to make them feel as uncomfortable as possible…

3) Hold hands with your friends in public, especially if you are a man. From primary school age all the way to the eldest of the elders, if you have a good friendship with another man or woman, hold hands while walking and don’t be afraid to put your arms around one another. (I find this delightful!) Also when shaking hands hold on for as long as it takes the two of you to finish a good long greeting. ATTENTION: Once you are married DO NOT touch one another in public – ever. No holding hands, and especially no patting the back or rubbing a shoulder. Come one – get a room!

4) If you are riding a bicycle up a large mountain, you can grab onto the back of large semi-trucks and let them pull you up the mountain for free. As many as 5 of you can fit along the back. (Participate at your own peril.)

5) If you plan to start a business, catchy names I would suggest include “Nice Stuff” and “Good Price.” A good slogan for a new school may include “We struggle for excellence.” (Of course, I’m not making fun. These names just make me giggle. This is coming from the girl who currently only speaks ONE language.)

“Karri Bathes with Beautifully Bare Burundian Babies and Women in Natural Hot Spring”

2008-10-07T04:53:00.000-07:00

*pictures coming soon*

How’s that for an attention grabber? So, here is my premiere entry into OUR blog. I get to tell you all about our amazing weekend in RUTANA, a southern province of Burundi.

We packed seven people into one large vehicle (Jim, myself, a Belgian, a Brit, an Italian, and two French expats) and headed out Saturday morning. Ten minutes into the trip the winding uphill curves compounded by the side facing seats got the best of me and nausea set in. Luckily, our new friends were very gracious and gave me the front seat for more than half the trip.

The passing scenery was beautiful – lush green mountainsides geometrically configured with plots of tea plants, banana trees, coffee plants, and other unidentifiable veggies. After about 2 ½ hours we found our sign – “The source of the Nile” – and headed down a dirt road into rural unblemished Burundi hillside. (More about the Nile later…) We reached a makeshift roadblock to the “natural reserve” guarded by two gentlemen, one which agreed to serve as our guide. A guide is an essential element in not only leading you but also keeping the swarms of Burundi children from overtaking you. While the beautiful curious faces aren’t daunting, the constant demands for cash are quite exhausting. He hoped in the car and directed us where to park – facing a breathtaking view of two 90 degree angled cliffs leaving enough of a gap to overlook the lower elevations and mountain ranges of Burundi all the way to Tanzania. After relieving myself near a tree (which is tricky when Burundian youth hover transfixed on you from a distance) we ate our picnic and then trailed off after our guide.

He first took us down the mountainside a ways (I must admit, I was a little nervous he intended to take us all the way down what looked like the Grand Canyon with no trails) and then stopped to let us marvel at the beauty, swaying over the edge of the cliff, taking a few camera shots that could never tell the full story of the glory we were surrounded by. We then agreed to his offer for a 30 minute walk to another site.

This led us a down a dirt road and through villages – homes built of unfired bricks or mud or cement, surrounded by intricately woven fences. Jim and I discussed what we perceived as the difference between poverty and rural living. While we are only outsiders looking in and cannot yet understand what life really looks like for Burundians in various areas, here we felt a peace and tranquility. It seemed the people knew and delighted in the beauty they were surrounded by, at peace with a lifestyle of subsistence farming and slow days. Perhaps it is still poverty and much development is needed in terms of education and infrastructure, but it is not the choking poverty of an urban shanty town. And then we were there.

Suddenly before us, as we stood on top of this mountain, we faced a 270 degree view of Burundi and Tanzania, low flat lands and mountain ranges melting into the horizon, our toes on the edge of a small canyon. When we called out to one another our echoes reached us multiple times, reflected by both the surrounding cliff walls and the pack of children perched on a nearby cliff chanting our shouts back to us. I breathed deeply, feeling every detail of life melt away. I am continually amazed when I encounter new wonders of the world, to think about God creating Burundi, a place I had never seen in full until this weekend. I somehow forget God’s creation extends far beyond what I have seen, what I have known. Its like believing you are a true connoisseur and lover of Picasso’s work and then discovering he his “blue period” and being blown away all over again.

We sat and wandered, enchanted, until the light was slipping and we knew he had to return to find a hotel (you don’t want to be driving long distances in the dark – security and road safety) in the nearby town. We arrived in a small town with a power outage but nice, simple accommodations. (Bed net and all!) After settling our stuff we scavenged for a ‘restaurant’ for dinner. We found a guest house that technically served dinners, but after a rousing conversation in French, bits of Kirundi, and Swahili it was clear customer service was not high on their list of priorities, so we moved on. After ordering six chicken dishes (which came with a complimentary chicken heart) from a different place, we ventured to the town’s center to have a drink and wait. While we were there the power returned to the town amidst applause.

The dinner was good – hot and filling. Jim and I enjoyed sitting around a table listening to our French speaking friends converse, slipping from French to English with ease. Alas, we pray that will be us very soon. We spent the remaining hours of the evening reclining in a circle at our guest house, listening to Jim and Adam strum away on the guitar while Italian - French speaking Martina crooned away to classic French and English tunes.

We awoke to a light rain and very cool weather. It was incredible to snuggle under 2 blankets while sleeping! There is no sleeping under the covers in the Buj as it stays fairly warm even into the night. (Jim really enjoyed not sweating this weekend!) After a good omelet and Nescafe (not so good) we packed up and trekked out to a new adventure - to find the “Southern most source of the Nile” – a claim to fame in Burundi. We arrived, were met by a “guide” (I’ve realized ‘guide’ simply means any man arriving on the scene from the area who will show you what you ask and be paid a small fee in return.) and ventured 20 feet down a hillside and… there it was. A small vertical cement slab with a plastic pipe jutting from its face leaking a trickle of water. Hmmm. That’s right – not only do they claim this little stream of water is the source of the Nile (actually just a stream that may source Lake Victoria in Uganda, which is the actual source of the Nile) but they found it necessary to cement it up and filter it through a crude looking pipe. (We decided it would be more impressive if they at least created a statue of a Sphinx whose mouth could trickle out the water.) After ‘marveling’ at this natural wonder (wink) we hiked up a short peak ontop of which was a miniature monument of a pyramid in “honor” of the source of the Nile and its “significance” to Egypt. The view was beautiful, as were the children who scrambled up the pyramid in their bare feet, laughing at the Americans who attempted to climb its “summit.” A young child with a herd of little goats wandered by. Ahhh. I took another deep breath.

Finally, we took off to our final destination – a natural hot spring. After “triangulating” the directions we received from various Burundians to ensure the info’s validity, we arrived at the hot spring. There were two pools set down off the road, the larger of which was designated for men and the smaller one (less than 1/3 the size of the men’s) was allotted for women and their many children. They were used by the community for bathing. The two other girls and I ventured down a rocky path and stepped up to the edge of the pool. There 3 women (of three generations) in the pool, along with a baby, all bathing themselves and one another. We stripped down to our bathings suits, which I’m sure they found equally as humorous as three “muzungos” arriving on the scene, and stepped into deliciously warm water. We made quick friends with the women, smiling a lot and communicating with hand gestures and broken Kirundi, while playing with the baby who was transfixed by Martina’s white fingers. We soon learned that the middle-aged woman was the mother of both the younger girl and the baby (her mother was also in the pool with us) and had a total of 10 children. At that moment they all suddenly appeared, stripped, and got into our little hot spring. Again, lots of smiling and giggling. It was an incredible moment of female bonding mixed with intrigue and curiosity. I must say, I never dreamed I’d bathe with bare-naked Burundian women IN a natural hot spring in my first month here.

After the relaxing dip, we all pilled back into the truck, which was, by now, swarmed by onlooking Burundians, and pulled away. Ah, it was an amazing weekend.

Let's Get A Slow Clap Going

2008-10-03T02:13:00.001-07:00

Okay, please notice the title of this blog. Now please notice who has been posting on this blog. My wife is brilliant, beautiful, eloquent and insightful, and I cannot get her to post on this blog to save my life. So I'm appealing to you, the listening public, to convince her. We're gonna get a slow clap started through the comment function of this posting. If you want to hear from Karri Kathryn DeSelm on this blog, just post a comment that says "CLAP." We'll see if we can get her out here. I'll kick it off.

PS. - I'm pretty sure your comment won't show unless you have a gmail account. It's free, and I really love reading your comments. So if you have posted a comment and it didn't show, that may be the problem. Sign up, and let's hear those claps!

An Anecdote

2008-10-02T06:41:00.000-07:00

I’ve been approaching most experiences during my time here in Burundi with a sort of “Let’s see where this goes” mentality. I find you’ll never have adventures unless you try things you might not fully understand. You never know what you’re going to hear, see, or learn. You never know what this person is going to say, do, … or try to sell you.

So two days ago, I was meeting Karri in front of the Turame office, where she works. We were going to take a Mutatu Bus (I’m not positive that’s how it is spelled, but you won’t be able to tell the difference, so that’s how it’s spelled!) back home at the end of a long day. Mutatu Buses are great, as long as you’re not claustrophobic. A one way trip costs around 28 cents, so to make the trip worth the cost, they pack the thing. Now, “bus” is a fairly fluid idea in this circumstance. Imagine a 15-passenger van, filled with 20 people or more, poorly maintained and driven through a city with practically no traffic laws, and you’ve got the idea of a Mutatu. You can meet all kinds of great people on them, though. And you kinda have to, because they may be sitting on your lap.

Karri and I were just leaving the office when a young man approached me. Not terribly unique. As a white person, you are generally approached several times a day by strangers, usually looking for money, but sometimes just looking to practice English. This young man shook my hand, I greeted him in French, and he started firing away in le Francais. Slightly abashed, I redirected the conversation to English. “If it pleases you, I would like to have a conversation with you.” A conversation, eh? We’ll see. “I’m sorry, but my wife and I are going home now.” “I understand. Can I make an appointment with you to have a conversation?” As he opened his leather bound appointment book, I was simultaneously considering politely excusing myself and seeing where this thing went. My curiosity won out. I made an “appointment” for him to come by the World Relief Office in two days at 3pm. I highly doubted he would show.

We started to head for the market and strange people sitting on our laps, when I noticed that he was walking beside us. I rationalized, “He may just be in the market for a little English. Let’s see where this goes.” I strike up a conversation, and he dives right in. His name was Gilbert (pronounced ZheelBEHHHR), he was from Congo, he was a student in the University, he was visiting family here in Bujumbura. A student! He must have just wanted to practice! He follows us all the way to the Mutatus, and we chat about his family, sports, and the weather. His English is good, and there is little for me to correct. I think his appetite is sated when I climb onto the bus. I shake his hand and he says, “Wednesday, 3 o’clock!”

Well, Wednesday night, I’m sitting at home. My beautiful wife arrives and tells me, “That guy stopped by today for your appointment. He went all over looking for you. I told him you probably forgot and made a new appointment for tomorrow morning at 10.” Now, to be fair, I honestly did forget. I mean, the appointment I made with a guy on the street for what I thought to be a language practice wasn’t high on the radar. So the next day, I receive my visitor promptly at 10am.

I offer him tea, and he accepts. I ask about his family, and he says they’re fine. Then he starts talking about his “mission,” which involves “raw materials” and “someone for to buy.” I start to decipher what he’s referring to, and as best I can tell, he has some raw materials that he’s trying to find a buyer for, and he’s hoping I know someone. “What are these raw materials?” I ask. He doesn’t know the word in English, says it in French and I don’t understand. I ask him to write it down.

He writes on my scratch piece of paper, “Iranium”

Uranium? This guy is wanting me to find someone to buy his Uranium? I tell him I work for an NGO that helps poor people. You want to talk to a scientist. He doesn’t understand the word scientist. I apologize and say, basically, “No, I don’t know anyone who would be interested in the Uranium you are selling.” He understands, and I start to walk him out. In one last ditch effort to sway me, he says that the “Iranium” has been “treated” and he has a “small paper” to show me. He pulls out a photocopied picture of what is clearly a schematic for a B-O-M-B. It has abbreviations for kilotons. It has fins at the end of a cylinder. This man was asking me if I knew anyone interested in buying weaponized uranium. “Nope. Sorry! Well, thanks for stopping by!”

I walk him to the door and say goodbye. I will never know if Gilbert (sorry, ZhilBEHHR) actually had access to those materials. It could have been a scam. He could have been a liar. Honestly, I don’t care to think about it. But remember the moral of this story, children!

Make new friends. You never know when you might need some “Iranium.”

Spoke Too Soon...

2008-09-29T22:57:00.000-07:00

Friends -
Unfortunately, the couple who decided to rent our house just contacted us to let us know that they won't be taking the house after all. It wasn't a decision based on the house, it was based on their job situation and deciding not to relocate to Fort Wayne at all. So we have some more praying to do! Please, please, if you know anyone who is looking to rent a place, let us know by emailing at jim.deselm@gmail.com.

Grace and Peace!
Jim

Saturday at Club T

2008-09-29T00:33:00.000-07:00

The sun had thrown an orange and red blanket behind the mountains of Congo. The water, warmer than usual, was being churned into waves by the satisfying breeze that had simultaneously made the hot day bearable and caused the volleyball to fly in all sorts of unexpected directions. We had settled onto towels on the sand with our drinks, new friends and old friends alike, and Brandon began regaling us with stories from his summers as a tree-planter north of Vancouver. Apparently, this is a Canadian legacy; university students take several weeks of their early summer to go out into the deep forests of the North and replant the land that the logging companies harvested that year. It gives them income to pay tuition and satisfies the governmental mandates to ensure that their country’s natural beauty and resources are not depleted. Never heard of that in the States… funny…

Beside my lovely wife and I were some new friends. Steven, “the white Kenyan,” laid on his back, half listening, half dozing through the story. He grew up in Kenya, and Swahili is practically a first language for him. He works for the Assemblies of God here in Burundi, and hustles for the volleyball harder than anyone on the beach. Perhaps not as hard as Matt, who works at the US Embassy. He wasn’t listening to the story at all. He was too busy organizing another game, this time with anyone who still has the legs to play at this point in the afternoon. Estelle was enjoying the conversation, though. She enjoys most conversations that give her a chance to practice English. We get a few French tips from her, and discuss which languages are hardest to learn. We’ve got friends from South Africa, England, France, Canada, Italy, Scotland, and we realized that we were two of only four or five Americans there.

The conversation drifted back and forth from French to English, and I occasionally let my eyes drift to the cityscape of Bujumbura to the south. It sprawled to the East along the lake, southwest to the mountains, capped by the white walls of the university. I looked back across the water. No hippos today. Oh well. On the volleyball court, there’s a guy I don’t know who can really thump the bal. So I watch him smack another one, this time right into Matt’s face. His sunglasses fly off, and we all howl in laughter and approval.

An airplane soars overheard. We’re only a few kilometers from the airport, so you can make out the tail colors. Brandon shouts, “AIR BURUNDI!!!” As far as I can tell, the joke is that the Burundian airline only has one plane, so whenever it flies overhead, you cheer it. Everyone laughs, and I look at Karri. We’re both thinking the same thing.

There are moments in my life where I’m really happy, moments where I’m with great people doing great things (or a great deal of nothing!) that restore my soul. It may be sitting in a living room with the gang from Eastern, laughing that painful, tearful laugh that you wish would keep going for the rest of the night. It may be hitting that moment with the musicians from FMC where the creation is ringing with the sounds of eternity, and we fall into sync with enthusiasm and gratitude. And if I’m aware enough, if my eyes are open enough to see it, I’m caught up in the idea of heaven. I start to understand when Isaiah describes the Kingdom manifested here on earth, how it involves food and wine, friends and family, stories and songs. It’s a feast. It’s a community. It’s a wedding. And if I can catch it, I can feel the vibrations of heaven on earth in those moments.

So my eyes meet my wife’s eyes. We’re sitting on a beach in Africa, surrounded by mountains and surf. The sun has disappeared and the reds have gone purple. The heat has dissolved into a delicious dusk, and the drinks are cold. And we’ve got friends from all over the globe sharing stories in all sorts of different languages and accents. They’re teaching us about things we never knew, reminding us that God’s world is huge and America is just a corner of it.

“We’re blessed,” our eyes say to each other. “This must be the life of eternity.”

Answer to Prayer

2008-09-24T03:15:00.001-07:00

Friends -
Thanks to all of you who prayed for the request I posted a few weeks ago. We now have a renter for the house, and we're thrilled. God provided in His perfect timing, and with His perfect will. Continue to pray that the details will be worked out in the coming days. Thanks all!

Jim

The Headlines

2008-09-23T02:35:00.000-07:00

So, I'm a verbose person. And the fact that I just used the word "verbose" proves it. There are loads of cool things happening right now, and I could easily write a whole posting on each of these things individually. (Probably will at some point or another!) But I'm going to flex my summarizing muscles and give you my best shot at being succinct. Isn't there a proverb about fools multiplying words? I'm pretty sure there is. The thing about me and being wordy is... aaaaaand there I go again.

--------NEWS FLASH----------
---DATELINE: BURUNDI---

HANDSOME INDIANA COUPLE COMMITS TO LOCAL CHURCH
Jim and Karri DeSelm, new interns at World Relief Burundi, have joined PTI (Partners Trust International), a local church with emphases on multiculturalism, discipleship, and local pastor empowerment. The pastor, Emmanuel Ndikuumana, leads this church which is led in French, English, and Kirundi. Jim has joined the worship team, playing guitar and trying not to be too white. The couple have also committed to serving the youth group, a vibrant community of around 20 students who try not to laugh as they butcher the French language as they teach out of the book of Romans.

ASPIRING SONGWRITER JOINS INTERNATIONAL ENSEMBLE
Jim DeSelm, a local staple at Philadelphia coffee shops, has transplanted his musical stylings to the African Continent. While continuing to work on his own compositions, he has joined with an ensemble of ex-patriates from around the world to make music. Adam, a guitarist from Great Britain, Martina, a chanteuse from Italy, and Fabien, a husky-voiced Frenchman, are just a few of the new musicians Jim will be working with. They will be playing a show this Friday with selections from French folk traditions, South American jazz, and the works of Leonard Cohen and Neil Young. The artist may also have his African solo debut!

VIRUS RIPS THROUGH BUJUMBURA HOUSEHOLD!
A nasty cold has been circulating through the Chase house in Kinindo province. Symptoms include congestion, sore throat, headache, overall snottiness, and a lot of wadded up tissues. Rumored to have begun by Isaac Barnes, a World Relief intern, it passed first to Jim DeSelm, and then to his wife. Karri, a beautiful young lady, even through her sniffles, was quoted in saying, "I dink ibs de duss," which our research experts can only assume has something to do with a new anthrax scare, or something even more horrifying. Jim has recovered fully, and Karri seems as though she will pull through, but we remain ever vigilant!

TURAME NEWCOMER PROVES WELCOME ADDITION TO STAFF
Karri DeSelm, soon-to-be MBA, Eatern University grad student, and general foxy lady, has made quite a splash at World Relief's microfinance institute, Turame. In a recent staff meeting, DeSelm was invited to facilitate a discussion about Problem Trees, a topic which she was recently educated on in Philadelphia. Reviews of the discussion were overwhelmingly positive, and DeSelm has been invited to facilitate more discussions in the future. Brains, looks, personality... her husband must be a lucky man.

HIPPOPOTOMUS TRIES TO STEAL MAN'S FOOD
A tiny yet threatening hippo tried to encroach upon a man's meal last week. The man was quoted as saying, "Back off, tubby. My fajita!"

Un Cafe, Sil Vous Plait

2008-09-17T04:27:00.000-07:00

So, Burundian coffee is pretty good. And when you’re sitting in a coffee shop in Bujumbura, sipping the local bean, smiling genially at the baristas who can’t seem to stop staring at you, trying your best to get by on the little French you have, why not write a blog and wax eloquent for a little while?

Two days ago, I had a chance to sit down with Ngaira, the country director of World Relief, to discuss how I could serve the community in my time here. He’s one of those men who you would want to sit and listen to for hours on end. He’s a man of medium height, with broad shoulders and a distinguished face. He wears glasses and a shaved head, and when he laughs, he laughs a broad, tooth-filled laugh that raises his normally baritone voice an octave or two. When he speaks, his voice is very expressive and drenched in a wisdom that commands respect. We shared our passions with one another, something he does with anyone who comes to serve with him.

One place our passions intersect is the role of worship in a community. At World Relief, we have a staff devotional time every Tuesday and Friday. It’s a simple time of singing, teaching, and prayer, done mostly in Kirundi (the primary local language). Ngaira shared his a dream for these gatherings, that they become more accessible across cultures, and that the worship become a transformative discipline that draws our hearts closer to the Father and one another. “I will admit my bias. I’m a worship guy,” he said.

Worship in Burundi is deeply connected to the Christianization of the country in the mid- to late 20th century. Western missionaries from extremely conservative theological standpoints brought the Gospel of Christ, along with their views on the length of ladies’ dresses and men who wear earrings. They also brought their hymnals, and these songs have been translated and sung in churches for decades. As we in the States can testify, as a nation becomes predominantly Christian, there is a correlative hollowing of the faith into a well-rehearsed religiosity.

Burundi is, by some estimates, over 90 percent Christian.

That is not to imply that the great hymns of the church have been stripped of their truth, or that the Holy Spirit has ceased to bring resurrection through the church of Jesus Christ. It simply means that, like in the States, there are many Christians here who know the right moves, pray the right prayers, and sing the right songs without truly opening their hearts to Most High God. Ngaira’s dream, and mine, is that we at World Relief would be a community who worships passionately, with the door wide open for the Spirit to move, rebuke, encourage, inspire, and unite.

So I’ve been praying this Scripture over my time here at World Relief, a text that was shared at the first devotional gathering:

“May your deeds be shown to your servants,
your splendor to their children.
May the favor of the Lord our god rest on us;
establish the work of our hands for us –
yes, establish the work of our hands”
Psalm 90:16-17

The temptation for me would be that I jump headlong into the conversation, throwing around my American spirituality and my American culture like they are the only perspectives that matter. But this is a work that can only be accomplished by humbling ourselves to the purposes of God the Father, that He would impart the vision, and that the vision would establish the work of my hands. So I’m moving slowly, watching, praying, learning, and waiting on the Lord to say “Whom shall I send?”

Maybe by then I’ll be able to say “Here I am, send me!” in French.

Day Number One With A Bullet

2008-09-15T02:57:00.000-07:00

I’m not sure what I was expecting when I stepped off the plane onto sovereign Burundi soil. I think it was something like a blast of heavy air in the face and a sandy haze hanging over the landscape. Something like the cinematic renditions of the continent with lush vegetation teeming and children running alongside the plane. I was expecting the environment to be the thing that ushered me into Africa for the first time. Instead, it was a uniformed man holding an automatic weapon.

Pause!

Right about now, several people who love Karri and me very much are wiping the sweat off their palms. I don’t want to give the wrong impression. We are very safe and we are very comfortable and we are blessed to be where we are with the people we are with. Please bear this in mind while reading the rest of this post. (Especially our mothers!)

Aaaand we’re back.

The drive from the airport to our new home consisted of two checkpoints, one official and one impromptu, a larger-than-life picture of the current president, some rally-course driving by our host and new friend Trina, and a road that could mildly be described as bumpy. When you’re living in a country ranked in the bottom five for development on the entire planet, you find that there are more than just poor people at issue. In the first two days we were in Bujumbura, we learned the merits of locking car doors (people will pull your door open and grab whatever isn’t bolted down), keeping your hands in your pockets (if there was an Olympic sport in pick pocketing, Burundi would medal), and the difference between thunder and a grenade blast (a grenade is louder, incidentally).

There’s a bizarre certainty in knowing the unstable situation you find yourself in every day. It’s almost as if the tenuous balance we encounter as white people in Bujumbura is so present, it’s a security. I’m never going to be caught off guard here, because I will never be off my guard. There’s never a fear of bandits and thieves, because you know that you have no real control over their absolute existence. The only thing you have control over is your own awareness, and that’s actually rather comforting. If you enter into your environment every day with the reality of life in the city at the forefront, and the appropriate precautions taken, then you will be the safest you can possibly be.

And there’s also a trust in Christ and His providence that you can’t find in the States. We just finished a year in one of the most violent cities in the country, and we never feared for our security. Not once. But here, there’s a release to the Eternal One that I’m finding myself leaning into. I know that He is leading us, and I know He has our best in mind. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.” There’s tangible weight in those words in my first days in Burundi. I’m secure in the Good Shepherd being mindful of me, not in blinding me from the dangers of my surroundings, but in assuring me that His arm is not too short to save. So today I walked through the streets of Bujumbura, and He restored my soul.

Not that this is the valley of the shadow of death, mind you. But AK-47s make me a little nervous!

Prayer Request

2008-09-04T07:54:00.000-07:00

Friends -

A quick addendum to today's post. We just received word that our renter is not going to be renewing the lease for our house this year. We are actually very at peace with this news, and believe that God is in the midst of it. Unfortunately, however, this means that we need to find a new renter for our house.

We are taking several steps to make the house available. Please pray that God would provide the right renter for this house and quickly. We are confident that the Lord is in control, and that this is the best thing for our renter, who we have gotten to know over the past year. Pray for our renter, as they look for a new place to stay, and pray peace over them, as they are struggling greatly right now.

If you know anyone who is looking for a place to stay, please let us know. Comment on the blog, or email us. Thanks, friends!

H Hour, D Day

2008-09-04T07:10:00.000-07:00

I love Fort Wayne. It feels like I can't get lost. It feels like it's growing up with me. It feels like it's always on the verge of something. All the people I know here are on the brink of breaking through, getting out, kicking it once and for all. They're all getting ready for that next thing, waiting for the pieces to come together, hoping that phone call, email, text message comes. And we're all still here. I don't know why, but I love that. It's familiar. It grounds me.

So when it comes time to depart, there's a security in knowing that South Side will still have ivy when I see it again, but there's a faith that something will surprise me on every return. Bandido's will have a technicolor paint job and you will be in the midst of an exciting new step in your journey. And that's why it's not too hard to leave this time. Because every time I've left, it's been right where I left it.

But Africa? Africa's a wide-open mystery, inticing, yet potentially hazardous, filled with potential adventures and misadventures. And Christ is there. That much we are certain of. He has been there since He drew the mountains from the earth, since he carved Lake Tanganyika into the crust.

And He is with the poor. They reach out to Him and He answers, like He has since the Exodus. The people call out and He responds, "I have heard their cry." And as He sent Moses, as He sent Nehemiah, He continues to respond to their cry through His people. So we're going, filling our place in the long line of people of faith who have left their families, friends, homes, careers, for the sake of the oppressed, believing that we're going to see Christ in the least of these.

So these last days before the day, I am thinking of you. I am thinking of my friends and family in Fort Wayne who are always on the verge of something. I am thinking of those of you who are endlessly on this side of your breakthrough. Fort Wayne will be here for you. It's not going anywhere. But the Rabbi is walking, and He's calling you to follow. Maybe it's time for you to set your H Hour, your D Day. Maybe it's time to step into the wilderness, in faith that the Promised Land is really Promised, that the cloud of smoke is real and the pillar of fire won't dissipate. Maybe there's a cry coming from the people of somewhere, and God is whispering, "I have heard their cry, and so now... go."

Preparing to Leave

2008-08-25T11:49:00.000-07:00

Friends -

Grace and peace to you! We're back in Fort Wayne, preparing for our departure on September 9th. It's good to see the family again and to worship with our community at Fellowship. Having gained more insight after a day of orientation at World Relief headquarters, we thought we'd give a bit more clarity as to how we'll be serving in Burundi.

There are several projects that World Relief runs in Burundi. Karri will be involved in their microfinance initiative. She will be working along side the staff at Turame, a financial institution where widows, mothers, other entrepreneurial poor with resolve to grow beyond their situation can receive small business loans. Karri will be returning to her teaching English as a Second Language (ESL) experience, helping the Turame staff with the English language and American cultural mannerisms. She'll also get to do some documentation and story writing, helping others understand the nature of Turame and the people they serve. She will also be finishing two classes via the internet, so she'll need prayer as she balances her work and her school.

Jim will be working with World Relief's Church Mobilization initiative. This is an effort to bring the local pastors together to encourage them, empower them, and connect them to helpful ministries and programs. Jim will be serving with the staff through music and teaching at these pastoral gatherings. He will also be leading some devotional time for the World Relief staff, as we're hoping to find deep community together as we serve. Please pray that God would pave the way as Jim makes relationships with the staff and the pastors, that God would speak through him and that the people would be receptive to God’s call.

We're so excited to be on the ground in Africa! We believe that this is a season where God will make himself known to us in powerful ways, as the more we draw near to the poor, the more we draw near to Christ himself. We believe in the next months, we will see visions and dream dreams of how God will use us in the future for His Kingdom, even as He is using us at the present. The skills and experiences we will receive will give us a foundation for service in the years to come. If you would like to support us and support the future God is calling us to, please cut off and mail in the attached form. You can also support us online, at:

World Relief: Support

Send us an email at to receive our email updates and prayer lists.
jim.deselm@gmail.com
kkdeselm@gmail.com

Peace be with you!

Karri & Jim DeSelm