Submerged in a rush of water,
Immersed by an encompassing cold,
Sharp against the humid heat above.
Gone, the tropic green and piercing blue canopy.
Deep in the spinning flood,
Spun up by swimming souls,
Sunbeams descending like veins of lightning through cloudy water.
Near, the beating rhythm of soap and stone.
Cloth sharply folded in on itself,
Beating stains against wet rocks in the flowing stream,
As mothers wash and children play.
One by one they all go home,
Shivering in the chill of a setting sun.
Adventuring in Africa
This year I set my feet on a new adventure. I am visiting all the countries across the continent of Africa. Yes, every single one. So far, I’ve been back to Nigeria, Sudan, Tanzania and the DRC. I’ve also a ventured through the borders of Algeria, Egypt Sierra Leone and South Africa.
You may be asking yourself, “How is that possible with closed borders and global confusion?” Books, my friend. Books. Who better to guide me into the history of Ethiopia than to see it through the eyes of Maaza Mengiste? Who could show me a clearer picture of apartheid than reading Cry, the Beloved Country?
Over the next two years I hope to read a book from each country by an African writer, to submerge myself in their narratives and prose to better see the continent I love.
While visiting the great island of Madagascar I encountered a new proverb: “In the washhouse, the clothes leave with their owner, the soap with the river water, and the rock remains.”
Those words sent me spinning back into my own island childhood. Playing in murky rivers with other African children, downstream from the sound and presence of mothers cleaning cloths against the rocks.
We would dive down into the stream unsettling dirt, with our eyes open into the tan haze of cloudy water, searching for the feel of cold, grey stones beneath or feet. In the soapy, muddy water we couldn’t tell who was white or black. We were children at play.
On the way home, refreshed and shivering from the river we would stop and eat beignets stained purple from being fried in palm oil. The heat warming us in each bite.
Looking around me at the pain, the cries for justice, the generations stained by growing prejudice, I find myself longing for those river rocks. Rocks that withstand the dirt and grime, they release the soap and sorrow into the river.
Venturing Toward Community
Jean Vanier believes, “There are three activities that are absolutely vital in the creation of community. The first is eating together around the same table. The second is praying together. And the third is celebrating together.
So often we turn ministry upside down. Whether its the swirling chaos of life or the difficulties of community around us too frequently—with altruistic purposes— we up-end the gospel into manageable and measurable to-do lists. We try and track our output in numerics. We invest ourselves in an ideology and cement ourselves to the spot. We beat our dirty clothes against dry, desert rocks (Psalm 1271-2).
In our attempts to do ministry we circumvent the flow of the Holy Spirit that is directing us toward Christ and others. In our best efforts we sit down to eat alone with empty hands.
Reflecting on urban ministry, Mark Gornik illuminates the common assumption that ministry “is first of all what we do: an action or strategy we take, a program we lead, a church we start, a particular word we have to share, or a special place of need to which we must go.” How sorrowful if this is the foundation of ministry and not “waiting on the Spirit, being ready to notice what God is already doing, and then finding ways to join in with our unique gifts and callings.”
Have we forgotten what it felt like as a child to jump deep into the flowing water? To feel the cold water immerse our small frames and feel its pressure on our ears. To hear the rhythms of a new world around us and feel our hearts beating against our eardrums.
How can we celebrate together, like boisterous children in a river, if we cannot hear the heart of God beating against our eardrums? How can we pray together, if we have not set together in fellowship, breaking bread and reflecting on Christ?
To truly be the community of Christ we must move from our desert outposts toward where His river is flowing into the nations, placing our lives once more in his hands and rejoicing as He washes away our sin, our misconceptions and failures, preconceived notions and prejudices. In Africa our tribalism often gets in the way of our witness. Is America any different?
Lord, forgive our sin. May the stains of our past leave with your everlasting river so that together we may see that the rock of our salvation remains (Ezekiel 47; 1 Samuel 2.2).