Taking Action

It was not a pretty week last week. Well, I was not very pretty last week. The line up of tasks, responsibilities, and needs crowded against the counter like mad shoppers on black Friday, jostling and tugging, refusing to queue up or take a number for service.  Then my computer, which has been suffering maladies for the past three months, briefly sank into a coma. It felt like my partner against the mad onslaught threatened to leave me completely defenseless.

At least that’s how it all felt.

In the moments of computer lucidity, I shot off an email asking for prayers for encouragement and strength and wisdom and anything else my friends could think of.

My computer popped a few aspirin and came back to work. The day proceeded and I checked off a couple of items on the “to do “ list. But my heart still sat heavy and I couldn’t seem to lift my gaze from my own feet. That evening I allowed a series of events to compound my despondency until my own discomfort impelled me to take personal inventory, admit my part, choose willingness to have God remove those character defects, and take the action to do so.

The next morning, Psalm 16 greeted me and the last verse spoke directly to me: “You show me the path of life; In your presence there is fullness of joy; In your right hand are pleasures forevermore.” I have to take action. I have to walk the path. I have to accept and live into that fullness of joy. I have to take from that right hand, or grasp that hand for comfort and direction.

An unsettling image came to mind. It was the image of a stubborn, selfish child in the playground, sitting on the outside of the circle, watching everyone else have fun while choosing to wallow in self-pity. It wasn’t a pretty image. It’s certainly not how I’d want others to see me.

Clearly an attitude change was in order. Not just an attitude change about my view of circumstances, but an attitude change about my posture toward God and God’s promises and gifts.  There is a path of life. But standing at the edge and waiting for some miracle is not the same as stepping onto that path and walking into the miracle. I believe that there is fullness of joy in God. But I have to choose to live into that joy and extravagant grace. I have to lean into the wind of it for propulsion. And the hand full of pleasures (the Common English Bible translates, “Beautiful things are always in your right hand.”) invites me to take and hold.

I can’t say for certain what made the difference that day, and the days that have followed: prayers for strength and encouragement offered up by friends and loved ones, my attitude change, or a renewed understanding and willingness to take action with God. But I can attest to renewed strength and joy over the last few days. I can also affirm, based on experienced, that God works with us as much as for us.

Whispers

Alain, one of our economics teachers, wears joy. His face glows with it and his eyes glint with a smile. Even in the rush of the day’s tasks, Alain projects calm and confidence—not that self-cultivated confidence—but that deep, abiding assurance that “all will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.” It is a joy rooted in a faith forged out of trials and deliverance, hardships and grace. But on Thursday something like worry or sadness lined Alain’s face. We chatted briefly and he admitted to some concerns troubling him and his family. Our conversation sat heavy in my pocket.

Then a disappointing email greeted me when I logged on at school. A grant application to strengthen our library and provide training for UCBC faculty and staff was denied. It was the second time we’ve submitted to this particular grantor, and the second time we’ve been denied. Training needs and services to develop our library loom beyond our capacity and our resources. The news more than disappointed me. It slashed my spirit then sat on my shoulders like a gargoyle the rest of the day.

A phone conversation later that evening unlocked a trunk full of personal worries and concerns for loved ones who have their individual needs, concerns, and challenges.

I went to bed Thursday night pleading with God for provision, for deliverance, for healing, for miracles.

Friday morning began in the early morning quiet with whispers of truth and encouragement.

First I heard my dad’s voice, “There is something better. There is a reason. God has something better in store.” I believe that. It’s what I’ve experienced. I’ve also experienced dark times when all doors slammed shut and times of grace, when light seeped through the cracks and miracles sprouted.

Then two Old Testament passages came to mind. The first was Psalm 121, “I lift my eyes to the hills—from where will my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth….” When I’m feeling defeated I look down in appearance and my eyes look to the ground where I see a road strewn with trash, streams clogged with litter, and my own two feet plodding along. But when I look up in the daytime, I see the magnificence of the Rwenzwori Mountains. When I raise my gaze at night, the sky speaks in stars. My riding instructor once told me to look where I want to go, not at my hands holding the reigns, or at the ground. If I look low, the horse is likely to stumble and I’m more likely to fall.

The other passage was Proverbs 3:5-6 (the last verse my dad quoted to me before I said my good-bye to him in 2010). “Trust in the Lord with all your heart. Lean not to your own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct your path.”  Yes, trust with all my heart, not just part of it, if that’s even possible. I cannot know full confidence in God if I do not trust fully. If I trust part-way, then my confidence will be partial. Will it even be confidence?

When I opened to the day’s reading in Forward Day by Day, the whispers continued. Simon of Cyrene was forced to carry the cross for “some poor man about to be executed.” The reflection suggested that the situation, ugly and distasteful as it was, opened the door for Simon of Cyrene to participate in one of Christianity’s major dramas. And while the early days of persecution of the new church drove the new believers out of Jerusalem, it also spread the Way.

None of us—Alain and his family, my friends and loved ones, even me—are not where we are by accident. We are, each of us, where we are to be at this moment, facing what we are facing for a reason and a purpose, and for a season. In those difficult seasons sometimes all we can do is look back to times of deliverance and blessing and provision and miracles and listen for whispers of encouragement.

Continuing to learn

Since arriving in Beni, I’ve been living at Bethel House, a guesthouse that CI-UCBC rents for visitors, international staff, and the visiting Congolese teachers. Conversations around the dinner table open doors to sharing and friendships. They are also impromptu French (for we Americans) and English (for the Congolese) lessons.

To be honest, at first I wasn’t eager to be housemates with visiting professors. While UCBC cultivates a cadre of quality teachers who embrace the vision, mission, and practices of UCBC, the university has to lean on visiting Congolese teachers to fill out courses—common practice in DRC where Congolese professors earn the greater part of their salary by traveling from institution to institution, teaching “their” courses. The system has emerged out of necessity and fuels corrupt and self-serving practices. There are fewer than 1000 Ph.D.-prepared professors across the nation, and many of DRC’s professors, eager to protect their secure way of making a living, keep the PhD pool limited by impeding younger teachers from obtaining advanced degrees. They further line their pockets by such practices as requiring students to pay for the class syllabus or have their exams graded. Then there are sexual abuses. Just another set of reasons why UCBC is nurturing its own cadre of teachers.

It’s in this context that I’ve “developed an attitude” toward all visiting teachers at UCBC. I've assumed that they are all “bad guys," and have had to ask God’s forgiveness for holding prejudices based on generalities. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that the prayer one offers before a meal is called grace.

We were three Americans and three Congolese at dinner three weeks ago when our Congolese friends dove into the topic of DRC politics and the government’s failure to meet the country’s needs. Losa, a linguistics teacher from Kisangani; Pastor Tsongo, a chaplain from Bunia; and Leoni, an economics teacher from Butembo asked the question, “So what are we teaching in our universities? Our politicians are products of our universities, and look at how poorly they lead.” They continued to lament the condition of their country and the paucity of leadership.

With Losa

They also opened the door for me to offer, “Well, that’s exactly why UCBC exists. It’s what Congo Initiative and UCBC are about—raising up ethical, Chrisitan leaders who are transformed, who are different, who take responsibility to bring positive change to their country. But what do you see? Are our students at UCBC any different from students at other universities?”

Without hesitation, the three guests nodded, “Yes.” Losa  described UCBC students’ willingness to work, both in class and outside of class. He spoke at length about how UCBC students participate in the work program and help to maintain the campus facilities and grounds. Pastor Tsongo and Leoni concurred. “At other universities, students destroy property. Then the university fixes the room or the facility, and the students tear it down again. That doesn’t happen here.” They went on to comment about service learning and the work program. Losa recounted to Pastor Tsongo and Leoni that during his first time at UCBC in 2010, students, faculty, and staff spent a day doing community service and picking up trash around the city. “I have never seen students do that. And the teachers and administrators were working too.”

A view across campus

“And you have Internet,” continued Leoni. Nevermind that our Internet is limited and slow. Leoni was impressed that faculty and students have easy access to computers. Yes, computers are only a tool, but in this context, in the eyes of area residents, that UCBC provides Internet service and computer access is a mark of success.

Leoni applauded UCBC's bilingual education. The others concurred that to interact on the global stage, Congo’s leaders, teachers, and business folks must be able to converse in English. In fact, every visiting Congolese teacher I’ve met over the last two months expresses a desire to learn or improve her or his own English.

Finally, my dinner companions noted that students and faculty live out their Christian faith. Leoni pointed to chapel attendance, with its music and worship. Then she came back to what she saw in students’ behavior—showing respect, working hard in their studies, demonstrating kindness, and participating in manual labor to help maintain the campus. 

The admiration these three expressed for UCBC encouraged and humbled me. Would Leoni, Losa, and Pastor Tsongo be able to point to my witness and example?

The faculty van

In the days since this conversation I am attending to my attitudes and behaviors, with the Congolese culture of hospitality as my example. As a start, I now look forward to the round of morning greetings that ring in the work day. Each passenger who climbs into the faculty van offers, "Bonjour!" and greets each rider by name. Arrival on campus opens up another round of greetings, complete with handshake and a couple of exchanges of "Comment allez-vous?" or "How was your evening?"

I used to brush these exchanges aside as a delay to the day's start. I've now come to appreciate the opportunity to stop, look someone in the eye and intentionally acknowledge her or his presence. There is something human, kind, and affirming (dare I say, Christian?) in such exchanges. 

Sure, one could breeze through each greeting without intention, just as one can recite the Lord's Prayer, the national anthem, or any other familiar set of words. But one can also embrace each exchange as a blessing, a brief moment of grace, and an example of God's daily work of redemption and transformation.