Sunday had arrived. Mark and I were ready to go early but had to wait for our ride until about 10:30am. We ate breakfast at the Emmaus house. The food was very good, simple menus like homemade bread, eggs, a little fruit, but it was a great way to begin a day. We took pictures and explored as much as we could while keeping our white dress shirts and ties clean (red dust EVERYWHERE). I felt like such a Mormon in my “Sunday attire” wearing my backpack…I just needed a name tag.

We made the trek to a church gathering that had a building they had built on leased land. This location was in the courtyard of a school that had gone bankrupt. Like so many places we would visit, the church was right in the middle of a “slum” area. The “road” into the slum was worthy of the 4 wheel drive that was Anthony and Misti’s transport, and the “houses” were nearly beyond description. The photo below represents a “nice” church building not only because it had a high roof that abated the heat a little bit, but also had a men’s AND women’s pit latrine out back.

Courtyard of a bankrupt school

We don’t have any pictures of the inside of the building, but you can see the general structure and construction here. Inside we sat either on rough wooden benches or plastic outdoor chairs like K-Mart /Wal-Mart sells in the summertime.

The outside of a "nice" church building

We worshiped in song for about 1 hour. A group of three women were the primary worship leaders. We sang some songs we knew and learned others simply from the repetition of the same phrase. The church had “special” music groups to sing. Like in the US, some small congregations have people who want to be “up front” who God has not gifted in that manner but in their hearts want to give praise to God…we got to see a little of that this day.

Mark gave his testimony (and did a fabulous job…again) and I shared from Genesis beginning at 8.1 how God remembers people, even when they think they are forgotten. I used a “Noah’s Ark” rug I purchased while on a mission trip in Turkey as a visual reference. I think I may have lost some of those who attended, but God uses even the worst presenters to love and teach His children. While I was teaching it began to rain softly and I was standing under a leak which made the teach-translate-dodge water drop cycle almost comical. After I taught for about 25 minutes (including translation) a torrential rain hit and the Pastor/translator could no longer be heard about the roar of rain on an uninsulated metal roof. He did not stop, however. He summarized all I had taught (in English and so he, in turn, was translated by another church member) and then gave an invitation and then did about 20 minutes of announcements. All in all it was about a two hour thirty minute experience. It was hot, very smelly and completely (except for the announcements) wonderful.

This was our second two hour plus worship experience in 24 hours and we were convinced that we were on holy ground. The people with whom we worshiped had little more than the clothes on their backs. Some had endured severe persecution related to following Christ and yet their joy overflowed. When the offering time came, the congregation came forward out of their chairs and deposited their tithes (in one basket) and their offerings (in another basket). From even their extreme poverty they gave. I felt unworthy of their companionship, yet they received us with a hearty welcome of honor and there was never a hint of jealousy over us (we who have more than they can even imagine, I kid you not).

Mark passed out candy after the service to the children who would kneel politely as they took the treat from his hand and then they would see if they could “get back in line” for another piece. Mark left a couple of bags for the “Sunday School” teacher to hand out when she had the children again on Tuesday for study of the Bible.

Anthony and Misti took us back to Garden City for dinner. We ate at an Australian-owned restaurant called “Spur” that had an American Indian folklore back story and decor. It was really a Twilight Zone experience. The food was ok at best; both Mark and I wanted to try out more Ugandan fare and the menu at Spur had to rival the breadth of The Cheesecake Factory’s, but was all Western or Asian food.

We enjoyed the companionship of our host family, however, and the afternoon/early evening was quickly gone.

Anthony and Misti allowed us to come and hang out at their place again for awhile, and to send emails (just as slow as the first time) and then they took us back up to the Emmaus house. Although we both were very tired, we made sure to stay up to a little past 10:30pm. We read books, met other Emmaus house guests, used the even slower internet at the Emmaus house and saw the time fly by.

After our morning/afternoon worship experience we went further into the “downtown” area of Kampala and visited the Garden City mall. The mall is a fairly good size and has western style restaurants and shops. It is where most of the expatriates stationed in Kampala go to shop and hang out. Garden City had one of the best “ForEx” shops we found, so Mark and I would return there to exchange dollars for shillings whenever we were able.

Our hosts wanted to eat at the Indian restaurant at the mall so Mark and I treated them, their daughters Charis and Sophia, and Kelsey to an absolutely excellent Indian meal.

The waiter had no idea how to use a camera.

In addition to really fine food and outstanding service we had Cokes made with cane sugar from a glass bottle (Coke NEVER tasted so good) and ginger ale made with real ginger (that was different, but very good).  The meal for the seven of us cost about 110,000 shillings which is very, very expensive by Ugandan standards but much lower than average for US restaurants of the same quality (meal total was about $69).

After the meal (which took about 90 minutes or so) we traveled to Anthony and Misti’s home for a planning session.

Their home is a missions residence near the main International Mission Board offices in the Muyenga neighborhood (in Kampala) where we were also staying. It is a walled, gated and guarded (at night) compound and quite large. The girls have a wonderful tree house in the yard and the “garden” is well managed. Because of the disparity of incomes (between the missionary and the average Ugandan) and due to the amount of time required to get from one place to another, it is customary for missionaries to employ several Ugandans in different capacities to help them care for property, their children and even themselves. Our IMB mission workers do not earn a “living wage” by American standards, but they do all right in making a respectable life for themselves and their children in Uganda.

Muyenga neighborhood taken from a nearby hill

Anthony gave us a brief overview of our assignments for the week. We nodded approval although we had no idea of what we were doing. I was able to give the girls some gifts we brought from the States and to give Anthony supplies he had requested (HP Inkjet cartridges were especially appreciated).  One of my stateside friends had given us $600 to spend on our trip, so we arrived with plenty to share and ended up passing some of what we brought on to a team from Texas that joined us later on in the week.

We were allowed computer access and took about one hour to send 3 emails and 4 or 5 text messages to our family and workplaces.  I had forgotten how slow the internet used to be in its earliest days.  Ugandan internet is mostly dial-up on copper wires and the rest world is broadband on digital and optical lines.  The two don’t mesh well to say the least.

7:45pm in Uganda is very dark, and we were still at the Shelton’s home after 8pm.  Anthony was gracious enough to take us back to Emmaus House.  Both Mark and I were plenty tired and fell asleep before 10pm…bad move…at 4am Sunday we were tossing and turning trying to make it to 6:30am.  We survived, however, and made it to Day 3 ready for “real church” with our ever expanding Ugandan family.

Looking back am constantly amazed over how clueless we really were as to what was just around the corner.

Stay tuned!

After sleeping like we had not slept in two days, we awoke to a fine breakfast of something that looked like pancakes, peanut butter (for me), fruit juice and a semi-overcast day. We spent the early hours exploring and taking pictures of the place where we were staying. We didn’t suffer any jet lag, me because I have learned how to avoid it pretty successfully and Mark because he is just flat out tough (more on that later).

The gardens at Emmaus House

We were supposed to be picked up by Anthony, our host missionary about 10am, but a little after then Misti, Anthony’s wife and co-laborer, arrived at the Emmaus house to let us know that the plans had changed. On short notice, Pastor Thomas of the Sweeto gathering had called for a “women’s day” and Misti and Christine, another one of the Mission Board workers, were to supposed to speak at the gathering. Not knowing what to do with Mark and me and unwilling to leave us there with nothing to do, Misti invited us along. We accepted gladly.

One the way we met Grace, a Ugandan woman who has been working in the slum areas of Kampala sharing the gospel with the women there, finding resources for meeting places for the “house churches” and teaching new Christians the basics of following Jesus. Grace is beautiful inside and out and her name suits here very well.

We also met Kelsey, an American woman who came to work in Uganda as a volunteer at an agricultural testing lab north of the city. She had no American friends and no support system in country and (very long story short ) connected with Misti so she would have someone to hang out with from America. Kelsey is also an extraordinary woman. She has her degree in agricultural science from California Polytechnic Institute (a prestigious school) and came to Uganda “to work with the people here.” She had no training in cross-cultural communication (outside of living in California) yet she just jumped in and began exploring the country…on her own. I don’t believe she is crazy, but she does have an extra measure of pluck.

Skipping a lot (I do mean A LOT) we found the gathering spot, a government/community building which is something akin to a picnic pavilion at most state parks in the States. We were greeted with “Praise God” by Momma Agnes. Mama, I discovered later, is the self-appointed leader in any context you find her. She wore on her person a passion for Christ and an intensity for service that can only be truly found in places of great need and held only by people whose mission is Christ alone. Mama is “fat.” In the US we consider that a negative. In Uganda, being “fat” means you are well provided for and it is actually considered desirable in both men and women. When Mama shared Jesus and spoke of His provision for her, people believed her.

We all received places of honor as we waited for the gathering to begin.

Mama Agnes, Kelsey, Me, Misti, and Grace @ Sweeto

For the first thirty minutes or so only men came to the gathering. We were not disappointed, however, because they all brought instruments and began tuning them. I have never seen or heard anything quite like it, but it was extraordinary. I was so sure that there would be nothing but dissonance, but once these men (there were at least six or seven) began to play together the music was in tune and harmonious and exciting! Below is a picture of the “bass” version of the instrument which also doubles as a tambourine and a drum and is played by two people simultaneously.

Pastor Thomas is standing to the right (in front of the white truck). The worship instruments are to the left. The man in the white shirt was one of the translators.

Pastor Thomas greeted the few who had arrive and we began worship. We jumped, we stomped the devil we sang with all our hearts (whatever words we could pick out either in English or the local dialect being sung). About forty minutes later the crowd had swelled to near capacity, other men, women and children came from the local area.

Mark and I were allowed to bring greetings from our brothers and sisters in Christ. Mark had never spoke in public before, but he came ready to roll. He not only introduced himself very well but won the undying love of the people there by letting out a worship whoop that made it sound like he had been in Uganda his whole life.

Christine shared her testimony to relationship with Christ and read a long passage of Scripture. The process took a long time because everything was translated for the sake of those who were not fluent in English. Then Misti got up and gave a message that would have done Beth Moore proud. That woman can flat out preach. Since it was “women’s day” and yet so many men showed up, Misti took the opportunity to speak about marriage and to tell the men that the accepted Ugandan custom of treating their wives as household slaves and instruments of personal pleasure was opposite to Scriptural teaching. Pastor Thomas was translating. He rearranged quite a few things that Misti said, but enough of the men spoke English well enough to get the “unedited” version Misti was presenting.

Mark and I give greetings to the congregation at Sweeto

After a couple hours we were finished, and needed to go meet up with Anthony. We said our goodbyes and went off to another section of Kampala that houses the “rich” of Uganda.

Mark Lauer and I journey began at the Cincinnati airport mid-afternoon on a Thursday. We flew to Detroit, then to Amsterdam and from Amsterdam to Entebbe, Uganda. Mark and I arrived at the Entebbe airport after nearly 18 hours of flying and a little less than 7 hours of varied airport layovers. It was about 10pm Uganda time Friday night. I had to purchase entry visas and we were told twice by uniformed guards to get into the wrong line so getting out of the airport took about 40 minutes longer than it could have.

Right away we knew we were going to have to be very mellow and take everything as it came during the next seven days.

After “clearing” customs–actually we just walked right past the customs agents pretending they were not even there–I had the joy of meeting Isaac, who was soon to be my adopted son, Anthony, our missionary friend, and two other mission workers at the airport reception area. Although it was not my first international experience, I was already feeling overwhelmed. I hadn’t expected Isaac to come and frankly didn’t know what to do with him.

It was so dark and a little too warm. The night was overcast so we could not see the stars and the airport parking lot had only one light. Getting luggage loaded onto (yes onto) the Toyota Land Cruiser was a dirty chore. The superfine red dust that I would soon learn to love coated everything and I was dirty from the flight and dirty from dirt. Along the road there were very, very few street lights and the hundreds of shops lining the lane were dark. It was just 45 minutes of some pretty bad roads, driving on the “wrong” side of the street and wondering if oncoming traffic would crash into us as the opposing drivers attempted to dodge potholes that make the Detroit freeway system look like polished glass.

Video of Detroit Potholes

Satelite pics of Detroit Potholes…No Kidding!

The missionaries were kind enough to give Isaac a lift back to Kampala, our destination, but Isaac and I didn’t have time to get to talk very much on the way. I felt guilty about ditching him unceremoniously off at a crossroads while I went with my American friends to get some rest. This emotional unease became the norm for the rest of the week.

Neither Mark nor I can sleep for more than 40 minutes at a time on a plane, so we were appropriately tired by the time we arrived at our lodgings for the week (now about midnight Uganda time). Lydia, our host at Emmaus House greeted us upon our arrival, got us checked in (an experience in itself) and led us to our more than adequate quarters.

We showered, shaved, got under the mosquito nets and slept deeply.

The reception desk at Emmaus house.  No one ever manned this desk.

During my lifetime I have heard the cliche repeated again and again “people do not like change.”   I know for my part that I never carry it.  The jingling in my pocket drives me to distraction and I get rid of my coin at the first opportunity.

Many would say, “Me too, I hate change.”  Yet it is my observation that the exact opposite is true.  I believe that people in our culture relish, perhaps even lust, for change.  Why else would we fight for keeping the penny? (http://www.progress.org/archive/fold207.htm et al)  Why is the remote for the television so easy to use?  Why are we always looking for the next “big thing”?

What I believe people in our culture do not like is change they do not control.  Change is ok if I am either the one making the change, or if I am at some level feeling like I have control over or at least input into the change being made.  That is why I don’t like change in my pocket, I cannot make it be quiet at a moment’s notice and I cannot move without it reminding me that it is there…out of my direct control.

For the Christian this cultural dynamic is especially difficult.  The Christian world view states emphatically that only One is truly in control and that He is both the progenitor and controller of all change.  Control for the Christian is more or less regulated to “self-control” which is, in turn, the result of the presence and work of God’s Holy Spirit (Galatians 5.22-25).  Life is full of jingling reminders that  I control nothing outside of  myself and that only as an act of the grace of God.

Perhaps this is part of what God meant when He required me to “walk humbly” with Him (Micah 6.8).  What do you think?

Spring has arrived and the grass is shooting up from the ground nearly too quickly for the lawnmower to keep up. The flowers on my apple trees burst open during one night last week and all is well in my humble garden…except for my three precious blue spruce trees.

These three trees represented three Christmas celebrations. Each tree was selected, in turn, by my children and reminded us of the unique tastes that each child possesses. Finally, each tree served as a statement that we were finally “home” and that after years of moving (seven major moves in twelve years) we were going to stay put.

We took tender care of the three trees. When each one completed its seasonal duty we placed it in the best location my back yard had to offer. They grew healthily each year and offered year round beauty. I was very proud of these trees.

Some sort of bag worm got the first (and most beautiful) tree we planted. Last year’s drought took the second tree. The third tree appeared to be healthy all winter long, but now during the season when it should be resplendent, it is turning brown.

We have lost all three trees.

One could draw all sorts of conclusions from the death of the trees, or draw no conclusion at all. In the midst of my grief (yes this former Oregonian does mourn the loss of his evergreen trees) I am reminded in a painfully clear way that this world is not my home. I am not permanent, my house is not permanent, even my children are not permanent here. We are just passing through to the place where death is no longer operative and decay holds no sway.

I thank God that he has allowed me to stay in this sure hope because of Christ Jesus. Elsewhere I would descend into despondency.

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Yesterday I had the great honor of having lunch with a pastor of African descent. For most of my life I have had significant relationships with “brothers of another color” but since I came to live in Campbell County (98% white) I have not made the effort to develop one of those relationships. In not doing so not only have I done wrongly but I now remember what I have missed by not being in such a relationship.

My new friend was quick to laugh, easy to relate to, transparent about his struggles and full of hope for his future, the future of his children, and indeed for the future of our nation. His world view is different from mine, but not incorrect. He sees what I see, but from a different point of view. His love of our Lord is passionate and his face radiated with the light of Christ as our conversation turned to spiritual things.

He took time to introduce me to his extended family and to speak of his history, both relationally and spiritually. Hanging on the walls of his office are not the certificates of accomplishment that many pastors use to make themselves feel a little more qualified, but 8 by 11 portraits full of faces related to him, gathered together for their biennial family reunion. I felt more than a little embarrassed that my own family heritage is so lean.

He talked at length about the pastor who discipled him, about his “home church” and the close community he still feels with those who helped him grow up.

In a day when we have seen and heard the screams of a man mad at his world, it is good to see the strength of a man not only connected to his world, but living well in it. This man who desires not only for political wrongs to be made right, but even more so for what is wrong in the hearts of humans, regardless of their color, to be made right with God.

This is the only true hope of our nation and the only thing that will bring about real change.

Easter is the strangest weekend in America. People who have lived their lives without much thought of God throughout the year all the sudden get religious. They get dressed up, the women are beautiful, men wear coats and neckties and they come to church–they bring their kids.

Adults are uncomfortable because church is weird, a lot of the kids are tortured because they are experiencing the full power of sugar laden treats a “bunny” left in a basket this morning and now they are expected to sit still and be reverent when every cell in their body is simultaneously saying, “run, jump, be loud…I want another chocolate!!!!”

Church is strange Easter weekend as well: Some churches convince everyone to show up literally at dawn for a worship service, bleary-eyed and dazed. Then oftentimes these churches share a meal of egg casseroles and breakfast Danishes—that’s odd at least. Other churches spend the whole week putting on elaborate drama and musical productions chronicling the last days of Jesus of Nazareth—trying to figure out how they can make Jesus’ resurrection from the dead seem real and powerful. Other churches have a series of events to encourage their members to be penitent, to experience the sorrow that should be felt concerning the crucifixion of the Christ.

Very few churches do not do something special to mark what is THE day in Christendom.

People who come to church every week and people who come only once or twice a year expect something special Easter week. Both regular “attenders” and occasional “attenders” want to be entertained, they want to be emotionally moved, they want to feel like God is satisfied with them showing up at His house and that God will be ok with them. For some they just want God to be ok for today and for others they want God to be ok with not really hearing or seeing them for another nine months or a year because they DID come; they are sorry that Jesus died; they do believe that he rose from the dead; that they really do want to go to heaven when they die…if heaven exists and their friends are there and they won’t be too bored…

Let’s just admit to ourselves that we are here whether we know it or not because this day is the day when Time says to us, ‘STOP’. Most of us don’t know why, but we do know that this weekend is like the involuntary duck of the head right before an unseen object would strike, or the pause before stepping into the street only to avoid a falling into a dangerous hole; it is the light that flashes inexplicably right before we are snatched from certain death.

It is like our lives are spinning around some unseen axis that we instinctively know exists but aren’t quite sure what exactly that is.

If I may, I want to suggest that this invisible axis and really the reason we are here is because we have this nagging question about life…eternal life to be exact. We stop this weekend because even with the distractions of bunnies and chocolates and egg hunts and big family dinners we are curious sometimes even haunted over what is going to happen when we die.

I pray that going to church this weekend is not just another exercise in meaningless religious activity, nor some emotional boost that is received and that soon wears off. I pray that this weekend is a reorientation of the orbits of daily activity around the axis of our existence: the reality of the crucified Messiah resurrected and in full authority over the hearts of those who belong to Him.

I spoke with Pastor Shane today and the conversation drifted to my blog…I told him that no one had visited the site, so I wasn’t doing much to keep it up.  Somehow or another, my tracking has not been accurate, so for you precious few who have been waiting for an update…here it is.  I promise to post regularly, but in order to keep me from feeling like I am speaking to the air (which I absolutely despise) leave a comment from time to time, even if it is just “hmmmm.”  It will help me out a bunch!

I mentioned this during this past weekend’s services that “Election ‘08″ has been a joy for me.  To be transparent, if my hope was set on our government and its ability to be “in control” or to “effect real [positive] change” I would be depressed.  The more days worth of experience I amass however, the more convinced I am that I should stand with the apostle Paul in praying for our government with the understanding that all governments–just governments and unjust governments–are under the authority of God.

“Let every person be in subjection to the governing authorities.  For there is no authority except from God, and those which exist are established by God.” (Letter to the Romans 13.1) AND “First of all, then, I urge that entreaties and prayers, petitions and thanksgivings, be made on behalf of all men, for kings and all who are in authority, in order that we may lead a tranquil and quiet life in all godliness and dignity.” (First Letter to Timothy 2.1)

I pray that our government would be a defender of God’s justice, correct in its action home and abroad and that it would remember that it is indeed in subjection to Him.

In those years when we are blessed with peace at home and abroad, when the laws that are enacted and enforced serve to help us live quiet and dignified lives and when the defenseless are protected then we can give thanks to God for His great blessing and generous grace.

In those years when we suffer from war, disease, famine, disasters of every sort, we can give thanks to God for loving us still even in the midst of our pain.

Surely if God were to unleash His just wrath upon us in keeping with the due punishment for our sin, we would know nothing but misery.  Thanks be to God that His hand is still held out in love.

Keep praying for our government!

Check out this article from my digital library: Study a Theme In Genesis