Community at Work

Mixing cement

“So how do you appreciate how we work together?” The question came several times during the day. More than 300 women, children, and men gathered at the SECA 20 Francophone Church, when many UCBC students, faculty, and staff worship. It's the church where I worship in Beni. Friday may have been a holiday in DRC (Liberation Day), but it was work day for the community of Francophone. For the past year or so, the church has been building a new sanctuary community style. When enough money is collected, materials are purchased, and then it’s “all hands on deck.”

On high

Friday’s scene was an OSHA nightmare. Men climbed ladders to straddle open rebar 20 feet, 30 feet, or more above the ground. They hoisted themselves up and slid down poles when a ladder wasn’t available. Two helmets, more appropriate for riding a moped than for a construction site, were the closest thing to a hardhat. Children dashed through the work area, a patchwork of lumber scraps and nasty-looking nails. They retrieved buckets, just emptied of their 10 pounds or so of cement, that bounced to the ground from 20 and 30-feet up. On two occasions a worker purposely dropped his hammer from his perch on a crossbeam. Flip-flops and sandals outnumbered close-toed shoes by 3 to 1. Socks, generous (?) donations of castoff clothing from other parts of the world, served as work gloves.

Hauling empty buckets

The scene was also a community dream and magnificent drama of spirit and joy. When I arrived at the site at 9am, activity had already been in full swing. Pots of beans were cooking for lunch. A DJ and sound team directed the crowd to its chores, played praise and worship music, acknowledged and publically thanked individuals, and cheered on the crowd during the day with “Au, courage!” “Asante sane, Bwana!” (Thank you, Lord!), “Mungu akubariki sana (God bless you!).”

Lunchtime

When it was time to mix cement, the DJ/announcer directed some people to shovels and cement, others to carry water, fireman-line style. Ten and twenty-liter jerry cans cut in half with handles fashioned from rope or heavy-gauge wire, served as water buckets then cement buckets. When it was time to pour cement, the sound crew called out instructions, and each of us found a place in one of several lines to haul cement or return emptied buckets. As music played, we danced and sang. Lagicia and Aimee, two UCBC students, took me under their wing. In addition to translating instructions that I couldn’t follow, they were my Swahili and French teachers and culture and dance coaches for the day.

DJs for the day

It's amazing that there weren't any injuries, given the number of people, the working conditions, and equipment. Well, maybe it isn't so amazing. After all, this was a community of faith, united for one purpose that day, working under the protection of a power far greater than OSHA!

The only hardhats on site

God-carrier

I’m selfish. I admit it. I want people to do things the way I think they should be done. I want events to unfold according to my expectations. I begin too many sentences with I.

But when I give in to God and allow that people and events do as they are supposed to do, God either teaches, surprises, or blesses me. God has been sprinkling blessings amidst the teaching lately (“a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down?”).

For this stint in Beni, I’m living at Bethel House—a house that CI-UCBC is renting to accommodate international staff and visiting professors. For the first time we Americans (currently it’s Americans who make up “international staff”) share living space and meals with Congolese professors. It’s a grand opportunity for cultures to brush up against each other.

This past week I’ve been harboring ill feelings towards one of my “housemates.” He hasn’t done anything to me. He’s just been who he is, wrapped in his personality, preferences, and values, a product of his culture and experiences, with views about gender and class shaped by all of that and more. And, of course, I’ve been wrapped in my personality, preferences, and values. I, too, am a product of my culture and experiences, with views about gender and class.

I confess that earlier this week I did not want to spend time with this teacher. I was not interested in getting to know him or engaging in conversation. I had developed opinions and maintained prejudices based on a handful of observations. My selfishness and tendency towards judgment stood firm.

Then Desmond Tutu challenged me in that loving, impish voice and that gentle, magnanimous spirit. Krista Tippett conducted an interview with him in 2010 for On Being. Early in the interview Bishop Tutu responds to a question about the “dynamite” power of the Bible. He says, “We are created in the image of God….Each one of us is a God-carrier,” then proceeds to tell the story of a township parish he pastored early in his ministry. The members were poor, many of them domestic workers in the white enclaves in another world. Most of the women were called “Annie,” and most of the men were called “Boy,” because the whites insisted the African names were too difficult to pronounce. Tutu would tell his congregants, “When they ask ‘Who are you?’ tell them, ‘I’m a God-carrier. I’m God’s partner.’"

God-carrier. We’re each of us a God-carrier? Yes. Created in God’s image. Yes, we are. We are. Not just me. Not just the people I love, or the people who are my friends, or the people I enjoy being with, or the people with whom I gladly and expectantly share my life. But even the moto-driver who insists on charging me double the going rate for a ride between Bethel House and the UCBC campus is a God-carrier. The Congolese youth who stares and shouts, “Muzungu!” when I pass is a God-carrier. My temporary housemate is a God-carrier. Ouch!

Have I become great friends with this other teacher? No. But as I’ve allowed my heart to soften, mealtimes are more pleasant, at least for me. I’m less inclined to focus on what I find distasteful. I’m kinder and gentler and more inclined to act as a God-carrier myself.

"We are perishing!"

One day he got into a boat with his disciples, and he said to them, “Let us go across to the other side of the lake.” So they put out, and while they were sailing he fell asleep. A windstorm swept down on the lake, and the boat was filling with water, and they were in danger. They went to him and woke him up, shouting, “Master, master, we are perishing!” And he woke up and rebuked the wind and the raging waves; they ceased, and there was a calm. He said to them, “Where is your faith?” They were afraid and amazed, and said to one another, “Who is this, that he commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him?”  Luke 8:22-25

The disciples have gotten a bad rap. They are criticized for their lack of faith, “The disciples had the master with them. They had no need to fear. Nor do we have reason to fear, if we truly have faith.”

Really? “The boat was filling with water, and they were in danger.”

I try to imagine what it was like. Water swirls at our feet. Howling wind shrouds the moon and baffles the stars. The only horizon is the next wave galloping wildly toward the boat. According to Matthew and Mark, “The boat was being swamped by the waves.” Who wouldn’t be scared? Every system in the body jerks to attention. The brain is wired for survival. In response to the threat, adrenaline and a flood of other hormones let loose. The heart beats wildly. Muscles tighten. Executive functioning gets shoved to the back wall. In the moment, all we know are fear and panic and the need to survive.

It's what I felt when the out-dated, Russian prop plane with torn seats and loose ceiling panels suddenly and momentarily dropped in altitude. It’s how I felt years ago when I thought my life was falling apart, every experience and hope for my young family crumbling to dust. It’s the fear I knew at the prospect of losing a child to the ravages of disease and the aftermath of trauma.

“We are perishing!”

This story isn't about lack of faith. In my humble opinion, sermons that use this story to challenge us to buck up, believe, and put our trust in God miss the point. This isn’t a rubric against which we evaluate our faith:

• Remains calm in the face of danger. 
• Acts confidently and with conviction when faced with challenges. 
• Verbalizes absolute trust in God.

This is a story about Jesus’ great love and our surprise that, in spite of the physical evidence otherwise, there is hope. There is salvation. There is protection. There is provision. I don’t hear a critical Jesus. I hear a gentle Jesus—the voice of the parent comforting a child wakened by a nightmare. “It’s OK. It’s going to be OK. I am here. I am here. There is no need to be afraid."