Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world. JOHN MILTON, 17TH-CENTURY ENGLISH POET
Matongo, Kenya
We’ve rounded the corner of Thanksgiving and moved into Advent. Advent is a season of reflection, quiet and longing—a preparation for the One who is to come and whose birth we celebrate at Christmas. It is easy to get lost in the glut of what seems to be one big season of Thanksgiving-Christmas where the main focus seems to be feasting, shopping and all around busyness. And yet, we are called to these holy days of quiet, stillness and pondering.
These are some of the thoughts that come to me in the afternoon stillness—reflections from a time of quiet in Kenya.
September 2016
I am sitting on the veranda of the Karibuni house, on the compound of Matongo Theological College, looking out over lush trees, including papaya, avocado, banana and a variety of flowers to the green hills outside of Kisumu. Strangely, my companions on this lovely late morning are my computer and iPhone. Even more strange, is the reality that I have internet connection and a Kenyan sim card inserted into my phone which allows me to text and call friends in Kenya, and even my husband in California.
This is a far cry from my first visit to Kenya in 2006. Back then, the use of a local internet café was the only way to connect to friends and family back home. One such place was a small shop
inside the shopping “mall” in Kisumu that housed the Nakumatt store (think mini- Walmart) and various shops. This internet café had a bank of several old computers and a row of three or four phones, separated only by thin sheets of plywood giving one a false sense of privacy. In reality everyone in the internet café could eavesdrop on your end of the conversation. One paid by the minute for the luxury of connecting with loved ones. As the years rolled by, and my traveling days expanded, I might be able to borrow someone’s phone to call home for a few precious minutes. Or, if there was some streak of good luck, my hotel might have internet. If I stood still in the narrowest of spots, the electricity was on, and the system was not overloaded—I might be able to connect. So, to be sitting outside on a veranda overlooking the green hills outside of Kisumu, with internet on computer and phone, and connecting to my heart’s content demonstrates how much has changed in the past ten years.
But, somethings don’t change. Kibera still remains the largest slum in Nairobi and home to around a million people. Streams of raw sewage and garbage still run freely through the rutted red dirt paths between tin shacks. Children poke sticks in the fetid water, jump across the small embankments and call out, “Hello! How are you???” in their singsong voice when they see me, a mzgunzu (white person). A vegetable stand appears around the corner where one can buy tomatoes and Sukuma wiki (collard greens). A tiny tin closet of a store holds candy and soda for those who might have a few shillings to get a treat. A single faucet stands a foot away from the filthy water. This is one of the places people fill their yellow plastic jugs with drinking, cooking and washing water.
My friend, Deaconess Callen and I step carefully towards the homes of some of the women I have visited in the past. First we come to Ann’s house. Ann is a mother, grandmother and a widow who cares for seven people in her 12 foot X 24 foot space. Her walls are plywood and tin sheeting, neither of which muffle the cacophony of sounds around her. In the corner of the house stands the purple bucket with the water filter we delivered two years ago. (You can read about Ann in my previous post).
Next, we walk the narrow paths towards Helen’s house. She is waiting for us at the corner and walks with us to her home. I visited Helen in 2008 when it was discovered that she had a severe heart condition. A visiting doctor funded her surgery and when I visited again in 2014 she seemed to be doing fairly well. This year, the simple walk of a few hundred yards left her gasping for breath, and by the time we arrived at her house, she had to lie down in order to recover. Since her surgery, Helen requires several medications to keep her heart pumping efficiently. When she had caught her breath and was able to talk, she showed me her list of medications and said she had not been able to get her meds for several reasons:
She had a new doctor, and before he would write another prescription for her meds, she needed to have a couple of tests and some lab work. Of course, Helen, could not afford to pay for such tests, let alone pay for the monthly medication costs of about $25 per month. I looked at this woman’s beautiful face, now gaunt from her struggles, and thought, “We have to help her.” Thanks to folks who continue to support the mercy work in Kenya, Deaconess Callen was able to arrange for Helen to have the necessary tests, a doctor’s visit and the subsequent prescriptions written for her monthly medications. But this is an ongoing need for Helen. $25 is what it takes per month for basic cardiac meds to sustain her life.
Helen and Pamela
When I walked out of Helen’s house to meet her daughter and granddaughter who also lived in Kibera, I found myself thinking, “Nothing has changed. These beautiful people still live hand to mouth in these slums. This life of poverty is their life, and nothing I do will change that. I spent the next few weeks in Kenya contemplating this –has the work we’ve done here been for naught? Should I just pack up and go home? (A little self-pity explosion here).
And then I had to ask myself, “What did I expect?” Who was I to think “getting out of the slums” was the goal? Who was I to judge what was helpful or not?
I was reminded of a poignant piece in the book, Shirt of Flame. A Year with Saint Terese of Lisieux, by one of my favorite authors, Heather King.
If Therese is the saint of our age, maybe one of the things she is saying most clearly is that Christ is the way, not of rewards and triumphs, but of mystery and paradox: that we’re “healed” not to revel in victory, but to develop compassion, to help bear the burden of those who are still suffering.
Maybe, in fact, we need to revise our idea of healing. Maybe the people who are never healed, who carry the unbearable tension of wanting to get sober but not being able to–of wanting the neurotic illness to end, but of the illness not ending–are the ones who keep the world spinning on its axis.
Maybe the fact that we pray at all is itself the answer to prayer. Maybe he deepest desire of our hearts is simply to turn toward God, whether or not we ever “hear” an answer. Maybe the most we can do is prepare ourselves to be open to grace–by prayer, the sacraments and works of mercy-even though we sometimes feel those things aren’t helping us or anyone else at all.
King’s words ring true. Christ is the way of mystery, paradox, compassion. He opens the paths for us to follow, whether they make sense or not—whether there seems to be an answer, solution or not. And so I follow, not knowing what the next walk around the corner will bring, but trusting once again in the merciful One. And I sit in the stillness, listen and ponder these words by Rachel Naomi Remen.
Our listening creates a sanctuary for the homeless parts within another person.
Praying that your days are filled with gratitude, wonder and expectation.
Always Mercy,
Pamela
If you would like to support the ongoing mercy work in Kenya, including Helen’s monthly meds, the clean water project and future hospice house….
Make checks payable to Holy Lutheran Church, earmarked for Kenya
4701 Grove St. Rocklin, CA 95677
