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.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Up From South Africa...
Rev. Michael Lapsley, from the Institute of the Healing of Memories in Cape Town, is here in Gulu for three days of sessions with victims of the LRA war who've, like him, been maimed by the violence of others.
He spoke at the TEAM (Towards Effective Anglican Mission) conference in Boksburg, South Africa in March of this year. And if you subscribe to the Episcopal Life podcast, you'll find his speech appears right after that of Rt. Rev. Nelson Onono-Onweng, my bishop and host (I live in his compound). As this conference was going on in Africa, in North Carolina the possibility of spending a year in Northern Uganda, and under Bishop Onono-Onweng, became real. These two podcasts framed in my mind what I wanted my mission to be.
Rev. Michael Lapsley: I highly commend to you his words and story.
He spoke at the TEAM (Towards Effective Anglican Mission) conference in Boksburg, South Africa in March of this year. And if you subscribe to the Episcopal Life podcast, you'll find his speech appears right after that of Rt. Rev. Nelson Onono-Onweng, my bishop and host (I live in his compound). As this conference was going on in Africa, in North Carolina the possibility of spending a year in Northern Uganda, and under Bishop Onono-Onweng, became real. These two podcasts framed in my mind what I wanted my mission to be.
Rev. Michael Lapsley: I highly commend to you his words and story.
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Monday, November 05, 2007
At Least It's Not Y2K
In a conversation recently with some extension staff at the diocesan office, the subject of cell phones came up, and the quick rise of such in Northern Uganda. In the year 2000, not a cell phone was to be found here in Gulu, save maybe some exhorbitantly expensive satellite phones. And this made me think about how different my missionary experience would be if I'd been here back then instead of today. Here are a few observations:
- Cell phones these days are as cheap as $30 and no contracts. A line, in the form of a SIM card, is as cheap as $2, and minutes are pay-as-you-go. This means within a day or two of arriving here, I was able to get a line, text home, and receive calls. Now I get at least 2 calls a day from home with no pressure to keep it short. What an outlet...
- As I type this I'm streaming radio from home, CarTalk actually, using an internet phone on loan from a friend. It costs about $50 a month, and allows me to get news, email friends, and search for resources helpful to my work. And I can do this from home or office.
- It's about a 20-minute walk to anywhere I need to be in town, to reach any friends from work. The cell phone let's me holler at other 'muzungus' in the area (and let's them spread the word about new people here), and keeps me in touch with diocesan staff who are often less than part-time and quite scattered at any point during the day.
These are just a few things that, if now was then, would dramatically change my missionary experience.
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