What does ministry look like?

At 10 a.m. on Mondays Wednesdays and Fridays, I climb to the third floor staff room of the “new building” at PIASS and have tea with the support staff – the secretaries, accountants, librarians, and IT techs – the ones who keep the campus functioning. We sit around the table, drink tea and chat about their families, their jobs, the projects they are working on, anything that comes up in the course of conversation. We laugh and tell stories. This is part of my ministry here. This is an English conversation opportunity. It is not an official class, certainly not as is understood in this highly academic atmosphere, but it is a class none the less for the staff. On these days their “break” is extended to half an hour, with the blessing of the top administration. In fact, it was the top administrator’s suggestion. He has a number of innovative programs of staff development. This is another one of them.

If you were to walk in on this gathering, you would not think that it looks like work and certainly would not think it looks like ministry, but it is both. It is one way of my teaching English at PIASS, what I have been called here to do, and it is ministry in the sense of building Christian relationships. As we talk, we share about our joys and concerns and build a sense of community, Christian community. In the process, those who participate are learning vocabulary, and working on grammar and pronunciation. It is just in an informal setting.

While I am teaching, I am also learn – learning about my new friends, learning Kinyarwanda vocabulary as we search for the right words to express their thoughts, learning about the culture as they explain customs and practices that they take as second nature but are new and enlightening for me. I am learning as much as they are and maybe learning more. It is a good exchange for all of us.

What constitutes ministry? I’m certain that every pastor has asked him or herself that question at one time or another.. The obvious answer is preaching or evangelizing, but what does that really look like. For me these days, it looks much different than it did in Malawi, which was different from the way it looked in Pittsburgh. Here, it looks like having tea with new friends. I like this way of ministry.

Language

I have just spent two days editing papers written in English by students for whom English is not their first language. In fact, most of them have only been speaking or writing in English for about four years. Now they are required to write academic research papers in this relative new language. The results are mixed, and challenging for the editor (me) to determine what they really meant to say.

Please understand, there is no lack of intellectual ability, just a lack of the knowledge of the language to communicate that intellect. That is where my powers of deduction come into play – to figure out what they meant, not what they actually said. The challenge here ranges from the simple to the perplexing. Sometimes it is just a matter of omitted articles, since most Bantu languages (Chichewa, Swahili, Kinyarwanda), do not have articles. Sometimes it is an issue of syntax – word order – since Bantu languages do not use a subject-verb-object word order, but begin with a root verb and then add prefixes, infixes and suffixes that indicate the subject, object and verb tense. (Birakomeye – This is difficult). Sometimes it is a matter of understanding the meanings and uses of the “little” words of the language – the prepositions and conjunctions. That involves making sense of the difference in meaning between of and at or through and for, or when to use and and when to use but. All of these are small things, but when all are put together a number of times in one single paragraph, the meaning can get lost in the midst of the words.

So I have had the challenge of playing word games for the past few days. I like crossword puzzles and word searches, but this has been more challenging than a crossword or a simple word search. This has been searching for the meaning and the syntax while keeping in mind the intent of the writer. It has been trying to get into the mind of the writer to grab the ideas and then put them in standard English. Tomorrow I get to explain my interpretation to the authors and see if I won or lost this round of this word game. The consolation is that there will be many more rounds for all of us. We are all learning in the process. That is one of the reasons I am hear – to teach English. And I know that I have job security for a while.

Umuganda

Umuganda is the Kinyarwanda for Community Service. It is a cultural practice that began well before the Westerners ever came to Africa where in the community would regularly come together to care for the common needs of the village or for the needs of individuals within the village. They would make roads in and out of the village or help build houses for the elderly or orphans. It was a way of building community pride and unity. As individuals worked together, they grew together. Everyone in the village participated.

 After Genocide, the government believed that Umuganda was a way of recovery. Instead of it being voluntary as the community saw the need, it became a program of the government to enable rebuilding of the society. The last Saturday of every month has been declared Umuganda. Projects include rebuilding roads and school building as well as houses for survivors of the Genocide. The difference is that the government decides when which projects will be done, on a national level. Every family in the village is expected to participate. If they do not, they can be fined by the government. Usually one family member attends, while the others remain at home, attending to the family’s issues.

Dr. Uwimbabazi of PISAA making
presentation on Umuganda

 Umuganda was a topic of discussion at the recent Scientific Week at PIASS. The Faculty of Development conducted a scientific study in the local area to determine participation in Umuganda and attitudes toward it. The findings were most revealing. It seems that no one objects to the practice at all, but there is a deep desire for it to return to a community organized activity, so that the local folks have ownership in the decisions of what projects will be done. Many of those interviewed felt that this would increase participation and reduce the need for fines. A healthy debate resulted at the PIASS conference around this topic. There was a conscientious that Umuganda is and should be a part of the cultural fabric of Rwandan culture. It is part of who Rwandans are. No one questioned the need for it. The question was about the organization of it. There was strong support on both sides – government oversight verses community direction. Those in favor of the government oversight championed the comprehensive nature of the projects, the unity these gave to the whole country and the reconciliation that the present system builds. Those for community direction lifted up the sense of ownership in the community and the increased participation that would bring as well as the local knowledge of the community needs.

As I sat listening, I was struck by the obvious differences between American and Rwandan cultures. In America, we struggle to get people to work for community projects. When they happen, the projects are written up in the local news papers as striking examples of charitable spirits of citizenship – local groups that picked up litter or helped to plant trees or community gardens. In Rwanda, community service is a given. The discussion is on what projects to do and who should organize them, not if they should be done. Here it is a part of life. In America, it is a sacrifice of time and energy. Cultures and cultural expectations are different. The senses of community and individuality are different. It is not an issue of right or wrong, but of cultural differences. I am always struck by those cultural differences.

On the Move

I have this sense that God is on the move this weekend all around the world. I feel this because of some of the events that I know are happening, and I’m certain there are hundreds of others about which I know nothings, but God does. It is humbling to look around and realize what God is doing.

The big event here at PIASS is the third annual “Scientific Week,” an academic symposium presented by the faculties of the college. The local community around Butare is invited to participate. This year’s theme is Gender, Family and Community Development. Papers will be presented, dramas enacted, discussions entertained, all for the purpose of challenging us to look at the issues of gender and family in the culture of Rwanda. Sunday will see the conclusion of this long-planned program, but will hopefully see the beginning of further investigation into the culture and cultural values that shape the country, in light of our Christian faith.



At the same time, just an hour’s drive north of Butare, a group from First Presbyterian Church in Nashville, TN is here in Rwanda to complete the construction of a church building and to dedicate it. The group arrived on Thursday and the dedication will be on Sunday, the culmination of months of working together to provide a safe, comfortable worship space for a rural congregation of the Presbyterian Church of Rwanda. This seals a partnership that has been building for the past four years. It holds the promise of the future of that partnership.

About 1,300 miles to the south of Rwanda, a group from Pittsburgh Presbytery arrives on Saturday in Blantyre Malawi for the 22^nd missionary exchange visit. This team of 11 is in route now. What makes this trip so significant is that they will be joined by a team of three from South Sudan to formalize a three way partnership among Pittsburgh, Blantyre and South Sudan Presbyterians. The signing of that agreement will be on Sunday as well. This will be followed by 10 days of working together and furthering the bonds of partnership, some deep rooted in the history between Blantyre and Pittsburgh and some just being formed with South Sudan.



Flags at Anderson Auditorium, NWMC

Then some 7,400 miles, across the Atlantic Ocean, the New Wilmington Mission Conference is about to begin at Westminster College. Today is a day of prayer for the staff and the conferees arrive tomorrow for the 107^th conference. Missionaries from more than 30 countries will share with youth and adults gathered from across the United States to learn about what God is doing around the world. This has been a part of my summer program every year I have been in the States, since I was in high school. It is a time to share about symposiums like the one at PIASS, mission trips like First Nashville’s or Pittsburgh Presbyteries and to encourage others to get involved in what God is doing in the world. New missionaries for the PC(USA) will be commissioned on Wednesday evening Two of those to be commissioned are good friends from the conference who will be going to serve in the Middle East and one is a woman I have yet to meet, but who will be coming to Rwanda to join me in teaching English to members of the Presbyterian Church here. On Friday evening, conferees will have the opportunity to commit their lives to Christ or to deepen their commitment to God’s mission around the world or in their own congregations, to join in God’s moving in his world.

The humbling thing is to realize that these four events are just a fraction of what God is doing this weekend, this day, in his world. He is on the move in large and small ways, building his kingdom. What a thrill to be a small part of it.

Memorials

This week marks a convergence of historical celebrations both in the States and in Rwanda, marked every year, but with varying degrees of fanfare. There is a great deal of fanfare for the 150^th anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg, a turning point of the American Civil War, fought July 1-3, 1863. The details of the celebration are on the Internet, so even in Rwanda, we can be up to date. I have been rereading Killer Angles, one account of that battle, as my small way of remembering. That battlefield has always held an eerie fascination for me, as I know is has for so many others in the States. July 1^st is Independence Day in Rwanda, the day that the country gained its independence from Belgium in 1962, a far different story from the independence that America declared on July 4, 1776 and fought for from Great Britain. Rwanda’s was peacefully granted by Belgium, so it is not a big celebration here. Ironically, July 4^th is Liberation Day in Rwanda, the day that marks the end of Genocide in 1994, the 100 days in which over 800,000 Tutsi were killed. In the States, July 4^th will be the usual day of families and flags and fireworks. Here in Rwanda, it will be a quiet time of prayer and remembering.

New Memorial at Kirinda

As I think about these celebrations, I easily recognize the differences, but I also realize some similarities. All are designed to help us remember. One of the ways that is the same is in the memorials that have been dedicated to the events. More than anything, that is what Gettysburg is about. Within the approximately 4 square miles of the battlefield are over 1,300 monuments to brigades and to individual soldiers on both sides of the fighting, from the touching Irish wolfhound at the base of the Irish Brigade Monument to the sculpted horse that seems to be running with General Longstreet atop.. Washington DC is itself a monument to the independence of the United States and the memorials that grace the mall, especially the Washington and the Jefferson, bear testimony to that. In the same way, memorials dot the countryside of Rwanda, marking places of mass murder or of mass graves, reminding all who pass by of those who died during the Genocide.. Just last Saturday, I attended a dedication of a new memorial to over 200 Tutsi who were driven into a river and executed. Prior to the erection of the monument, family members came and stood at the riverbank to remember. Now there is a stone monument, with names, to remind all who pass there of what happened. As I sat listening to speeches by surviving family members, telling of their loved ones and horror of that day, I thought of President Lincoln’s remarks at dedication of the National Cemetery at Gettysburg, the we would little note nor long remember what was said their but we would never forget what was done there. That’s the point – to remember.

Survivors at the river, remembering

So we remember – Gettysburg, Independence Day,  Liberation Day –  each with its own meaning, each inviting us to celebrate in very different ways what happened in different places and at different times in history, but to remember the people and events that shaped the different countries. Each time we see the  memorials, we are invited to remember.

The Puppy Caper

I decided when I left Malawi that I would not get involved with dogs again, especially not in Africa, where there are such mixed feelings about dogs. I didn’t bank on a stray mother dog picking my bamboo grove as a home for her puppies. But that is exactly what happened.

This stray was an emaciated thing, with her ribs showing and her skin hanging low. She wandered into my yard about 6 weeks ago. I resisted the temptation of feed her and actually chased her from the property a few times. Then one evening, I heard the whining and crying of puppies. I couldn’t see them, so I foolishly ignored them. I thought, I hoped, they might be in the neighbor’s yard. One afternoon three weeks ago, as I sat in my study, I saw the mother saunter past the picture window with five brown balls of fur following her. I pretended I didn’t see them and went back to my reading. That night, I heard them whimpering and crying. They have grown from scampering around the yard after their mother to romping on their own, exploring the grounds at will. One Friday morning there was no welcome mat when I stepped out the front door for chapel. My gardener/watchman, Jean Baptist, found it under one of the scrubs. One edge was frayed, where it had been dragged and chewed. I trimmed it, cleaned it and repositioned it. Monday it was missing again. I did the same thing. I am too passive about many things. Jean Baptist informed me that the puppies had taken up residence in the bamboo grove at the corner of my yard, where they had been born. The mother came and went. He complained about the puppy droppings all over the yard, and the tender planets that had been uprooted in their playing.

 About 4 a.m. last Tuesday, the lot of them got into a wrestling match, growling and barking so loudly they awakened me. They were playing under my bedroom window. When I left for Chapel, the mat was missing again. Jean Baptist approached me, pointing to the bamboo grove and insisting that we needed to do something about the puppies. In his limited English, he suggested taking them out to a grove of trees outside of town. I tried to explain that the mother dog would be the problem. I emphasized that I did not want any of the dogs hurt. I thought he understood. After lunch, I heard the gate open and saw Jean Baptist come in with an older gentleman with him. He had a plastic dish in his hand. I asked Jean Baptist what was going on. He showed me 2 packets of rat poisoning. I went ballistic. There was no way that I was going to allow those puppies to be hurt – transported, yes, but not hurt! Finally he understood. The older gentleman smiled and gave me a “thumbs up.” He clearly understood my position if not my language. He put the plate down and moved into the bamboo, to locate the puppies and bring them out. Jean Baptist got a box and a rope to tie the box, for the transportation. After an hour of moving in and out of the bamboo, they had two of the puppies in the box. The others had disappeared. The older gentleman left with the box to relocate the puppies. A short time later, the mother roamed the yard, sniffing, searching for her missing puppies. My heart sank. What had I done or allowed to be done? That night there was whining and barking under my window again.

Empty bamboo grove



The next day, the older gentleman approached the house just as I was leaving for chapel. He waved and smiled and went to the gate, greeted by Jean Baptist. I just kept walking. When I returned at lunch time, there was no sign of the remaining puppies. The mother dog came sniffing around the yard for the next few days but has since disappeared herself. Each time I leave the house, I look in the direction of the bamboo grove, but I know there is nothing to see. My hope is that the puppies are safely roaming somewhere out in the hills near Butare. I know that we could not have had six dogs tearing up the yard, dogs I would eventually give in to and would feed, dogs I would become responsible for. But all the same, I feel guilty and I wonder if I did the right thing in letting Jean Baptist have his way.