Sunday, August 21, 2011




Habari yako,

The two pictures at the top of the posting are what we saw coming out of church one Sunday--the cows crossed right in front of our car--on a major road in Nairobi--on their way to a pasture in the forest sanctuary. To the left of the text is a picture of one of my favorite people in Kenya--Pastor Mercy, who has been a tremendous source of comfort, affirmation, and encouragement.

In the blog, I’ve tried to convey some of our impressions of life in Kijabe to you in the West. Leland and I obviously see life here in light of our own experiences, biases, world views, philosophies. The African culture is quite different from ours—some things are mutually hard to understand—our directness is seen as rudeness; our pursuit of excellence is seen as being critical and “nitpicking.” When nurses or patients tell us what they think we want to hear instead of what really happened, we interpret that as untruthfulness instead of politeness; we see the lack of pursuit of excellence as “wrong.” There is a cultural tension in living here that we may never resolve—yet we need to find ways to work together that affirm each other. Lately, I’ve found that harder to do.

Leland and I have been learning Swahili. Our teacher, Edward Amalu, has a vast knowledge not only of the grammar and vocabulary but also of the origins of the language and the different groups in Kenya who influenced the development of Swahili. There are many sounds in Swahili that are not part of American English speech—the n’g as in n’gombe (cow) in which one does something weird at the back of the throat, the ny as in nyanya (either grandmother or tomato—go figure that one) which has the same sound as a child’s taunting, or the ubiquitous m or n beginning a word with the next letter being a consonant. With my hearing loss, it is a bit harder to know if I am saying something correctly—so I tend to overemphasize some of the beginning m’s or n’s. While many of the patients and staff seem to appreciate that we are trying to learn the language, the staff’s laughter, bordering on ridicule, of our pronunciation can be hurtful. At least the patients are a bit kinder. Edward said that is just the African way and it isn’t meant to be harsh. But it is hard for us to imagine a group of nurses in the US who would do the same.

Do you know that there is no word in Swahili for “excellence?” The closest is nzuri (or mzuri) sana sana which means very very good. We see the poor quality of construction of our quadplex and the workers’ complete inability to understand why these wazungu are so upset about panes of glass that fall out of windows, ceilings and toilets that leak onto the floor, doors that are so warped that one cannot lock them. It is apparent that “excellence” was not a pursuit during construction.

One of our missionaries recently participated in fighting a fire. A Kenyan living nearby had been given a house—apparently some of her neighbors greatly resented that. When the house was burning, it was learned that the fire truck from the town was disabled, so the truck from Rift Valley Academy was finally called for—but ran out of water. By the time the missionary arrived at the scene, many neighbors were standing around watching, with only about 5 people fighting the fire with buckets. The missionary saw some men looking through tools at the scene and was heartened, thinking they were arming themselves to join the firefighting effort. But, what they were doing was stealing the tools. We hear many wonderful things about the sense of community in Africa and how people support each other. And, we see that in the way some share their food, housing, clothing. But we also see these other things—the women who have been disowned, the reports in the newspaper of the 90 year old man who was accused of witchcraft, burned and lynched by his “neighbors.” It is amazing how often reports of mob “justice” are in the paper. Leland and I see such contrasts every Sunday when we go from the poverty of most of the patients in Kijabe to the relative affluence of many in Nairobi.

We have been in Kenya now for nearly a year. I feel sometimes like I am on an emotional rollercoaster. Lately, that coaster has been going downhill. We have been told that we have to cut back because of lack of funds—our census over the past two months has been lower than usual yet I think I am better emotionally when things are too busy—then I don’t have time to ruminate on missing my kids, my friends, the little things of life in the US (like a garbage disposal and a clothes dryer). However, we have been incredibly blessed with good health—and considering the environment, that is remarkable. One excellent young nurse recently cared for a sick baby and pricked herself with a needle used on the child. She had the baby tested for HIV—the test came back positive. It is not unusual to take care of children with HIV and/or tuberculosis (two of the latter this past month). So, we don’t take our good health for granted here. One of the long-term missionaries, a general surgeon, has developed a very serious debilitating illness which has not been able to be diagnosed in Kijabe—or probably anywhere in Kenya. He has failed treatment for a host of infectious diseases including TB—and has returned to the US so that he can have more diagnostic studies. We just learned today that his wife’s father in the US has been diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer. Our difficulties pale in comparison.

Since we both felt the need for a break from Kijabe, we drove down to Nairobi last weekend and were ensconced in the Mennonite Guest House. It is a wonderful place—relatively low cost with meals included, a spacious and clean room with two balconies overlooking the beautifully tended grounds. At night, we heard the call to prayer at a mosque nearby—since it is Ramadan, there tends to be more activity after dark in the Muslim areas. We each read a book—mine, The Appeal, by John Grisham, and Leland’s, Cry the Beloved Country, were found in the Guest House Library—each of us finished our book in one day. One of the best things about staying there are the people we’ve met. Meals are family style, so we met new people at each meal. Saturday night at dinner and again on Sunday morning at breakfast, we talked with a lady born in South Sudan who now lives in Canada. She was a refugee in Northern Kenya earlier in her life; she attempted to obtain an American visa but was turned away because her children didn’t have documents (they were refugees, so didn’t have legal “papers”). She then went to the Canadian Embassy where she was told that if she emigrated without the children, she would be able to get papers for them later. That is what she did—her son stayed in Kenya and completed high school before emigrating to Canada where he is enrolled in a master’s program. However, her daughter became pregnant and now has three children and is dying of AIDS. The lady is in Kenya to take her nephews back to Canada—her brother, their father, recently died and they were abandoned by their mother. The boys are 14 and 7 years—and are the saddest looking children I have seen in a while. She said that about 8 months before her brother’s death, she had a premonition that God wanted her to adopt two children from Kenya—but at that time she had no idea that those children would be her nephews. She has a tremendous faith and spirit; it was humbling and a privilege to eat with her and listen to her story.

Relationships are said to be incredibly important here. I, in particular, have been criticized for not spending more time chatting with the nurses. I’ve been criticized for my lack of chatting just about everywhere I’ve ever worked—and especially with my hearing loss, I tend not to spend much time in chatting. But, as I explained to the Deputy Matron who brought this to my attention, in the West, relationships are based on mutual trust. I find it hard to build a meaningful relationship with those who may or may not tell the truth about whether or not a medicine was given or who take little responsibility for carrying out orders. I had a retractable tape measure for measuring the babies’ head circumferences—they are hard to find in Kenya—that disappeared one day while I was resuscitating a baby—a pediatric resident helping me had her pen disappear. While these things are not huge or costly, it is hard to replace them here—the hospital does not stock pens and I’ve brought mine from the States. And it is very discouraging to have that kind of thing happen. There is a different culture regarding relationships and money as well. Leland was interested in getting to know the security guards by name; he introduced himself to one guard who told Leland his name and then said, “Now that we are friends, can you give me money?” There are many needs here—many people with whom we work are advancing themselves by going to school part-time; we try to help those with whom we have a real relationship. But the constant request for money makes it hard to be a cheerful giver. Last Sunday, two children knocked on the door asking for money to pay a relative’s hospital bill. We have very little way of knowing when these are legitimate requests.

Another facet of life here in Kijabe is the constant feeling of being on display. It is understandable that some, even many, of the patients have seen very few white people—so when the babies look at me and their eyes become like saucers, I understand and can laugh about that. Often children will walk or run by me and hit me or try to touch me. The stares that accompany every move through the hospital are not unfriendly—but neither are they friendly. They are the same stares that are given to animals in a zoo. What is harder is that, despite the many decade presence of white missionaries in Kijabe, the Kenyan population of the town also tend to stare in the same way. Once I was shaking out my mop and saw five men avidly watching me from behind a tree. I wondered, had they never before seen a white woman shake out a mop? And then I thought, "Perhaps not!"

One of the things we are most looking forward to is Michael and Marisa’s visit to Kenya at the end of this month. We will meet them in Nairobi, then spend a couple days in Kijabe where they can rest and acclimate to the time change—then we plan a safari to Maasai Mara to see the end of the wildebeest migration. We will end our stay in Nairobi—hope to do the sightseeing there that we’ve not had the time to do as yet—the animal orphanage, the giraffe feeding center, the Museum complex with a world renowned early hominid collection.

I hesitate sometimes in relaying these less cheerful and upbeat facets of our lives here—yet I need to be genuine. This life is incredibly challenging; it can be exciting, fulfilling, enriching—yet parts are terribly hard as well.

Despite all that I’ve relayed, we continue to be convinced and feel deeply that God has called us here. I would ask for your prayers that I can be more forgiving, less critical, more welcoming of differences in philosophy and custom. We ask your prayers for BKKH and the financial difficulties that are impacting the care we give children. We need some creative ideas for raising funds to support continuing care so that no child is turned away for lack of ability to pay.

Leland often says that though he wanted to be a preacher, God never called him to that vocation. But, because our pastor is on his biannual leave, he asked Leland to fill in for him—so two weeks ago, Leland was in the pulpit. I’ll attach the sermon to the blog; I invite you to read it. The passage on which it was based, Romans 8: 26-39, is a favorite of mine—and also of my daughter Kelly.

I leave you with another of Paul’s writings from Romans that seems particularly appropriate:

Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us. Romans 5: 1-5

To him who is able to keep you from falling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy—to the only God our Saviour be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and for evermore! Amen. Jude verses 24-25.

Take care, God bless.

Susan

A SERMON ABOUT NOTHING


My wife, Susan, and I moved to Kijabe last September. She is a pediatric neurosurgery (brain surgery) nurse practitioner and I am a pediatric neurosurgeon. We take care of children who need operations to treat problems with their brain or spinal cord. We felt God calling us to come to Kijabe, to do and to teach pediatric neurosurgery, and we are blessed to be here. We have also been blessed by this church—by the liturgy, by the hymns, by the preaching. You have been an answer to our prayers for a church where we can worship. Asante sana.

All my life, I wanted to be a preacher, but God in his wisdom never called me to preach. Is there any greater calling than to be a preacher, to share the word of God with people? Preachers get into your heads with their words, and if their sermon is a good one, the words come back into our minds time and time again in the coming week. It would have been great to be a preacher…although neurosurgeons can get into your head in other ways.

The sermon this morning is about nothing. When you hear that, you may think God was wise when he did not call me to preach, but please hold your judgement for a few minutes.

In the world, nothing can be quite successful. Did any of you ever see the television series, Seinfeld? It was a show about nothing, and yet, it was one of the most successful television series in the last 20 years. Every week it brought in millions of viewers and millions of dollars. That is the value of nothing in the world.

What is the value of nothing from a Christian’s perspective? In the second reading this morning, we heard Paul’s question in Romans 8: “Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship or distress or persecution or famine or nakedness or peril or sword? NO, in all these things, we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

There you have it: Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

A. Of the things on Paul’s list, I think the most important is the statement that death is not able to separate us from the love of Christ-- neither the death of our loved ones nor our own death.

The deepest sorrow in all of life is probably the death of one’s child, but the death of a loved husband or wife can tear our hearts apart. I do not know the wife and children of °©°©°©°©°© Evan Michael, who was killed in that tragic accident recently, and I hope you will forgive me for using an example so near, but if it is not true for their family that death cannot separate them from the love of God, it is not true for any of us. When she came back to church that first Sunday after his death, we could see pain and sorrow about as deep as they get on her face. She probably could not feel the love of God through the pain of her loss. It is near impossible to praise God in the depths of grief.

In our sorrow, we cry with the Psalmists. One cried, “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?” Another cried, “Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry to you by day but you do not answer, and by night, but find no rest.” In our sorrow we cry, as Jesus did, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

That is what we feel, but what is happening on God’s side? God’s love was, and is, there for Evan Michael’s family. God showed it partly by our prayers for them, partly by the visits people made, partly by the donations we gave, and partly by the prayers of the Holy Spirit. You remember Paul’s words, “God helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray but that very Spirit intercedes with groans too deep for words.”


In our grief, God helps with Christian friends, who sometimes just listen and sometimes just sit there silently with us, just like God, sometimes being with us and listening and sometimes just being silently with us, somehow being God with us.


And He reminds us of his love with verses from the Psalms:


Ps 34:18: The Lord is near to the broken hearted and saves the crushed in spirit.


Ps 55:22: Cast your burden on the Lord, and he will sustain you.


And of course the most frequent statement in all the Psalms: “The steadfast love of the Lord endures forever.


The death of a loved one cannot separate us from the love of God in Christ, and, perhaps most importantly, our death will not separate us from His love. Only one thing needs to be said about that-- Paul’s words, which are our words: “For me to live is Christ but to die is gain.”

B. Paul’s second point was that life (with its sufferings) is not able to separate us from the love of God.

Susan and I work every day with parents, usually mothers, whose babies are born malformed with hydrocephalus and spina bifida and the mothers ask “why”? But is that what they need, an answer to “Why?’ If I told the mother, “When you conceived this baby, you ate some maize that was contaminated with fumonisin, a toxin made by fungus in maize that has mold. The fumonisin inhibited the enzyme that was needed for the DNA to form your baby’s nervous system.” Do you think she would say, “Oh thank you, I feel so much better? What she needs is not an answer to the “why” question.

But her question is why and her complaint is for justice. She thinks it is unfair for her to have an abnormal baby when her friend’s baby is normal. Life certainly is not fair. We all know that. As Oswald Chambers says, “Sin and sorrow and suffering are, and it is not for us to say that God has made a mistake in allowing them.” Suffering does not always make people better. I know a man whose wife died from cancer although the church had prayed for her for months. He was so angry with God that he never entered the door of their church again as long as he lived. He only came into the church again when he was brought in in his casket. Suffering is like a fire within us that can destroy us so we pray that God will preserve through the fire of sorrow the self that He created us to be.

The mother’s question is “why” and her complaint is for justice, but what she needs most is to remember--that God is here in it, with us--even though we cannot feel it and we may not believe it. Sometimes things are true even though we do not believe them or feel them to be true. When I take out a tumor from the spinal cord, sometimes the patient cannot move their legs the day after surgery. I tell them “Your strength will slowly get better-- over the next weeks and months.” That is true, but they may not believe it or feel it because of their weakness. It is true that God is there with us in our pain and sorrow even though we cannot feel His presence. You remember the words in Hebrews 13:5, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” Sometimes, what we cannot feel is more essential to sustaining us than what we can feel.

And although we have to be careful how we use these words of Paul, “God works to bring good out of all situations”, good often does seem to come out of even the most painful ones—not in them—but out of them. When I talk to the parents of a child who has just been diagnosed with a brain tumor, there is no one who is better able to talk to them, to comfort them, than the parents of a child who has had a brain tumor. God has brought good out of their suffering such that they can then comfort other parents.

C. Death cannot separate us from the love of God, suffering that comes upon us because we are human cannot separate us from the love of God, and thirdly ( I am not a preacher but I know that sermons are supposed to have three points), the suffering we bring on ourselves cannot separate us from the love of God.

You remember the story of the prodigal son, who took half his father’s estate and squandered it and ended up feeding pigs? Luke 15 says, “ But when he came to his senses, he said to himself, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger. I will get up and go to my father and I will say to him “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me like one of your servants. So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him.” The boy does not even get to finish his speech—he never makes it to the part about being taken back as a hired servant before his father interrupts him. The father says to his servants, “Quick, bring a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate, for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found. “ Such is the love of God our Father as Jesus described him.

That scene-- of the prodigal son on his knees in his father’s arms-- has been drawn by many artists. The most famous painting, from 1773, is by the Dutch painter Rembrandt. In it, the son is in rags, kneeling at the father’s feet, his head on the father’s chest. The father’s arms are around the boy, holding him. But what art critics comment on most about the painting are the hands of the father. The left hand is a large masculine strong hand, on the boy’s shoulder; the muscles are flexed, keeping the son in the embrace. The right hand is smaller, almost feminine, and is on the boy’s back, almost like a mother stroking andcomforting her child.

Fifteen hundred years before that painting, the early church father Irenaeus in the second century claimed that Jesus and the Holy Spirit were the two outstretched arms of the Father, who uses both of them to pull us and hold us into his heart. With one hand God holds us secure by the work of Jesus; with the other hand the Father comforts us through the Holy Spirit.

That is the love of God in Jesus, and neither the death of our loved one, nor our own death, nor suffering that comes because we are human, nor suffering that comes because we sin so badly, are able to separate us from that love.

Where else can we find a God like that? Where else can we find a love like that? Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Nothing. Amen.