Featured in the Health section of my daily NY Times e-mail, Food Scarcity and H.I.V. Interwoven in Uganda
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Torn on Sunday
I'm reflecting today on something I've been struggling with for about the last six weeks, now three months into my year here, the time for a missionary when novelty subsides one must really choose what the composition of one's life here will be. One of my big recurring struggles is what to do with my Sundays.
In the beginning, the choices were simple and obligatory. Visit this church today, meet the youth, be introduced, sit and smile while you hear a sermon you don't understand and sing songs you've never heard of. (The songs are easy to understand, since they're usually made up of one repeated phrase. Though, I haven't yet felt compelled to sing, for risk of seeming (and being) inauthenticly enthusiastic.) This repeats until I've at least made a couple of visits to the area churches, and visits with the Bishop to parishes around the diocese. Again, I stress that this was the easy part. I and others knew my role - guest and servant to the church - and I found my Sundays there to be both worshipful and a symbol of solidarity with the worldwide Communion.
But the time for introductions has ended. When (on occasion) I go to church, I go alone. When I arrive, heads turn. I sit in the back to avoid stares, but Acholi children (and a few adults) don't mind turning around to stare, or even moving to seats behind me so they don't have to crane their necks. And I'm quite sure weekly readings aren't from any lectionary found in my Prayer Book. (Though this is minor, it did strike a blow to that solidarity I was talking about).
So here's what's happening on Sundays now. I wake up, check e-mail, cook breakfast, listen to radio. And it's time. I have three options: throw on some clothes and walk down to St. Philips's Cathedral just down the road; hop on my bike and go to packed Christ Church in town; or pull out my prayer book for Morning Prayer on my porch, read the lectionary for today, and get an online sermon from St. Martin's back home.
For my spirtual money, option three is hard to beat. Much less stress and anxiety, no one stares at me, I get a sense of staying current with the church calendar (especially now in Advent), and a sermon that challenges and enlightens. But who ever heard of a missionary who didn't go to church with his host people? What missionary worth his (or her) salt doesn't come home singing the songs of worship of the people he's with?
The bigger problem is that I know where the answer takes me. I have a hunch that if I invested time going regularly to one church that the stares would subside and the songs would become familiar. With a little help in interpretation I'd become familiar with what the church is trying to do, and be able to offer what I bring, just like everyone else.
But, so far, the porch looks awfully friendly.
In the beginning, the choices were simple and obligatory. Visit this church today, meet the youth, be introduced, sit and smile while you hear a sermon you don't understand and sing songs you've never heard of. (The songs are easy to understand, since they're usually made up of one repeated phrase. Though, I haven't yet felt compelled to sing, for risk of seeming (and being) inauthenticly enthusiastic.) This repeats until I've at least made a couple of visits to the area churches, and visits with the Bishop to parishes around the diocese. Again, I stress that this was the easy part. I and others knew my role - guest and servant to the church - and I found my Sundays there to be both worshipful and a symbol of solidarity with the worldwide Communion.
But the time for introductions has ended. When (on occasion) I go to church, I go alone. When I arrive, heads turn. I sit in the back to avoid stares, but Acholi children (and a few adults) don't mind turning around to stare, or even moving to seats behind me so they don't have to crane their necks. And I'm quite sure weekly readings aren't from any lectionary found in my Prayer Book. (Though this is minor, it did strike a blow to that solidarity I was talking about).
So here's what's happening on Sundays now. I wake up, check e-mail, cook breakfast, listen to radio. And it's time. I have three options: throw on some clothes and walk down to St. Philips's Cathedral just down the road; hop on my bike and go to packed Christ Church in town; or pull out my prayer book for Morning Prayer on my porch, read the lectionary for today, and get an online sermon from St. Martin's back home.
For my spirtual money, option three is hard to beat. Much less stress and anxiety, no one stares at me, I get a sense of staying current with the church calendar (especially now in Advent), and a sermon that challenges and enlightens. But who ever heard of a missionary who didn't go to church with his host people? What missionary worth his (or her) salt doesn't come home singing the songs of worship of the people he's with?
The bigger problem is that I know where the answer takes me. I have a hunch that if I invested time going regularly to one church that the stares would subside and the songs would become familiar. With a little help in interpretation I'd become familiar with what the church is trying to do, and be able to offer what I bring, just like everyone else.
But, so far, the porch looks awfully friendly.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Death of Otti
Otti, then second-in-command of LRA, and major asset in hope for peace, was apparently killed in October. A story in government-leaning New Vision newspaper, here.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Murchison Falls
I present to you Murchison Falls, in the National Park of the same name, a three hour drive from Gulu. This is the Nile River, about 150 miles or so from its source, Lake Victoria. No still picture or video will substitute being there beside it, but you'll get both soon on the website.
The crew you see here are from Invisible Children except myself. Some IC friends I've made graciously invited me, and I'm very glad they did. Aside from the boat safari and optional 1-hour hike to the top of the falls, we took a sunrise safari through the park grounds (I riding atop the Land Cruiser) and saw giraffes, warthogs, impala, hippos, elephants, crested cranes (national bird) and....(drumroll) not one, but two prides of lions, at a range of about 15 feet. An amazing two days. I might throw in some stories about it soon.
Lastly, congratulations to my sister, Molly, who was confirmed today at St. Martin's, Charlotte.
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