Bill Hybels is coined as saying, “The local church is the hope of the world.” Having lived in American for twenty-six years though, the majority of that in the “Bible-belt,” I’ve never found this statement too convincing. Being here, on top of some healthy church experiences in LA, is slowly dissuading my lack of convince. I’ve been to eight different church services in Uganda, each providing a unique location, denomination, structure and size, and each sharing a rich, and I believe representative, canvas of a Trinitarian, Gospel-oriented Church.
America has found me visiting a lot more than eight churches, also of various location, denomination, structure and size (none of which is difficult to pinpoint in a matter of minutes). For whatever reason though—no, that’s not true—for a lot reasons I think, I’m often more partial to the international brand. Maybe it’s just travel adrenaline, or cultural intrigue, but I love worshipping overseas. My two closest engagements with the Acts 2 Church were in the Dominican Republic, where I was baptized actually, and a diverse Body in Cape Town, South Africa, with the lovely Cons family. But now I’d have to add eight more to that list. And eight more reasons to believe in the power, Love and possibility of the local Church at large.
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The Poor.
I remember being in the impoverished ghetto of Soweto, South Africa, wrestling through thoughts about showing-up in the slums in on our shiny, chartered bus that would serve for the day and then leave that same afternoon. What message would this leave the village? What miscommunications would it lift from our lives? I entered these thoughts again when a large group showed-up at the baby home. In some ways it’s great to have extra hands holding and hugging the kids, but in other ways it’s like giving a lick of a lollipop and then abruptly pulling it away—for probably the hundreth time in these children’s lives. Finally, babysitters are always more lenient and the Mamas loose a lot of leverage on days and weeks when vans arrive. So is it better to not arrive at all?
Being here this summer, alongside a little work with the poor, homeless, and addict-related in LA, I’ve realized these questions, and more so lacking answers, are universal. Furthermore, African questions of poverty and its treatment are not immeasurably different from those we’re accustomed to at home. Granted, the scopes here are immeasurable and unimaginable, whether sex, drug, or slave trades, street kids, poverty enabling disease, or disease enabling poverty and so on, whereas at home it’s far more calculatable. But in terms of broader questions that arrive with ongoing trends of poverty, much is the same. The homeless man in Chicago, or the heroine addict in Tucson, isn’t that far excluded from the one here. And the AIDS patient in Texas is just as scared and shamed and devastated as the one hear. And it’s the same question(s) here that wonders if my $1 donation will buy the next piece of bread, or pave the next path to destruction. (Actually buying the next piece of bread, or more committingly, dining with the person, always seems the best option. But such a thought provides a series of new ones: “I’m too busy today…But if I give them a little, they’ll just want more…What if they kidnap, rob, or kill me?” Believe me, I have these thoughts, too, but I still think it’s the best and most Biblical option.)
Who are “the poor” anyway, and how do the non-poor best serve them? Furthermore, how do the non-poor know that their service isn’t in vain, and should that even matter? The Bible has more than three hundred passages relaying God’s concern for the poor, so it’s clearly something of His interest. Jesus’ brother, James, explains looking after orphans and widows as undefiled religion (1.27). But Jesus himself says there will always be a population of the poor, needy, lost and broken. How do we reconcile this tension, or more tricky, how do we stand on it? It seems that if our goal is to “fix” these lines, we’ve lost before the start. But if our goal is to avoid them, we’re avoiding any movement toward to the finish. And maybe the idea that there’s no finish is just a cop-out, or justifier toward a comfortable life without guilt? Or maybe Jesus was exaggerating, or just had too much to drink?
I’ll always prefer living in questions, rather than ducking in answers, but leaving this one unanswered is tough to swallow.
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Random.
*On days I want an extra long nap, I’ll pull the Malaria-card, but otherwise, the parasite has departed my system. Dangers of relapse remain, so I’ll continue with spray, mosquito nets and anti-malarials, but otherwise, I’ve been good to go.
*Holly looks like an average twenty-four-year old from Oklahoma. But if you dig a little deeper, she has dreams and ambition far exceeding average. As of yesterday, she was approved as an NGO and will start moving herself, and village kids, into her new orphanage this weekend. Constraints are that kids must be five or older and have AIDS. This limitation, let alone family environment, is unheard of in AIDS treatment. Despite rising cases and awareness, victims are outcasts, here and elsewhere. Anyway, I passed Holly on the road, as she was heading for her first viewing and visit to the inside of the home. We joined for an evening of painting, measurements and dreamed-of stories to soon take residence within those walls. It might’ve been the best “Extreme Home Makeover” I’ll ever be a part of.