Why must the words “hope” and “Africa” seem to sound so odd at times, when put together in such a positive context? The Hope of all hopes, Jesus Christ, has poured out himself for all mankind. The Holy Spirit is just as powerful and present there as it is anywhere else. Yet we get bogged down by the news, rumors and corruption. You get discouraged. I get frustrated.
AIDS. Malaria. Starvation. Unethical governments. Drought. War. Violence. Lack of Education. Lack of clean water. Lack of ambition...the list of issues our brothers and sisters face a half a world away goes on, and how do we deal? Do we continue to invest money? Do we pray with half a mustard seed of faith that anything could possibly change there? Do we grow apathetic and close the door to our bubble of comfort so the world can't come in?
May I propose that Hope is as strong there as anywhere else? So what does hope look like anyway? Is it that “...thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without words, And never stops at all?” (Dickinson, Emily. “Hope is that thing with feathers...” The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson. Ed. Rachel Wetzsteon. New York: Barnes & Noble Classics, 2003. 22-23.)
I think maybe it is. Dare I say it's more obvious there than it is anywhere else I've seen.
That's the thing. I struggled with that. I struggled with the fact that Naomi and Raphael and all the other people we met were so full of joy and forgiveness...and hope. Despite post-election violence, tribal and religious factions, uncertainty about the future...these people have the faith I have continued to seek since I met them earlier this summer.
I struggle because I learned something about myself that left me broken. My hope is too often based on my circumstances. I am so incredibly dependent on myself and my skills. I have been my own back-up in case God fails me.
For our Kenyan brothers and sisters, there is no back up. There is no plan B. They live in faith because they have to.
I realize more and more that I have to as well.
For the past several months, I have been learning to trust God in a way I never have before. First it was my job loss. Then 3 months in Africa. Now I'm back, and I wonder what tomorrow holds. And the day after that. And the month after that. I have no clue. I have no back up plan. I am learning to trust God.
And you know what? It's been the most incredible adventure I could ever ask for. I have learned that I am only a small part of the body. At times it's very humbling, because I can't do much on my own. Other times, it's incredibly encouraging because I am not alone.
1 Corinthians 12 says: “Now the body is not made up on one part but of many. If the foot should say, 'Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,' it would not for that reason cease to be a part of the body. And if the ear should say, 'Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,' it would not for that reason cease to be part of the body. If the whole body were in eye, where would the sense of hearing be? If the whole body were an ear, where would the sense of smell be? But in fact God has arranged the parts of the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be...The eye cannot say to the hand, 'I don't need you!' And the head cannot say to the feet, 'I don't need you!' On the contrary, those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable...If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.”
We are a part of the same body as our fellow believers across the ocean. We need them as much as they need us. They are learning from us, yes, but we have so much to learn from them. We cannot only suffer with them in their trials. We must also rejoice in their victories, because their truimphs are ours as well. We must celebrate their Hope, because it is our Hope, too.
