This morning was truly inspirational and rejuvenating. I went with my colleague Sam���I really like Sam and all of his jubilant story telling, animated by high-pitched squeals and slapping hands and laughter, always laughter���to Unity Church.
I was deeply moved at Unity Church. It was a collection of 26 people of different faiths in the shade of a big tree on the grounds of the local health clinic. Attendees were mostly African aid workers from other parts of Sudan and some other countries, I assume. A couple of local families also joined the group and a few people who are being treated at the clinic.
The example of faith and joy was powerful. You have to understand the toll this place takes on people. I���m told most people can���t work here for more than a year. It���s exhausting and defeating. Success is measured in tiny increments (I���ve measured mine in solid bowel movements) and is even still susceptible to destruction and a blank slate. Last night we had a couple beers in another NGO���s compound with colleagues who have been here for a while. They spoke of how they used to be���optimistic, patient, joyful. Some have no problem saying this is the worst place in the world. I���m not so sure they���re right but you cannot deny the weight and inevitable periodic defeat inherent in working here.
So it is after a couple weeks of these stories of disillusionment and discomfort that I accompany Sam to Unity Church, the shaded area under the clinic���s big tree. It was a powerful experience. They sang wonderful hymns in familiar upbeat African melodies. They sang improvised harmonies and clapped at different beats to a cheerful rhythm. We sang powerful words like ���Things are already better��� and ���We are so grateful for this day.��� The faith and gratitude was profound and honest and rich. And also, I had never heard such an urgent and convincing prayer for peace. The intensity of gratitude and hope was one of the most beautiful things I���ve seen here���like the children���s smiles, the brightness of the green grass, and the lizards���only better. I don���t see how anyone can forge into this work without the nourishment of faith. And for those born into this conflict and vulgar poverty, well, it seems faith may often be the only nourishment.
Sometimes you can���t see hope here, rather just blank, grey eyes. But in the shade of the tree this morning, and in the eyes of the neighboring spectators peering around the trees, faith and hope and gratitude were brilliant. Faith is beautiful.
3 comments:
i am glad you are not in your mother's couch and watching the 'globe trekker' but actually savoring this opportunity and privilege that you've been granted.
thank you for posting them; i'm learning so much about sudan, hedgehogs, creativity, gratitude, faith, but most importantly about Buck.
I loved this post. I have been fascinated by the amount of faith and religion I have seen - and heard - here. Granted, conflict isn't as much a part of the picture, so there contrast might not be quite as stark, but it is all still amazing to me. It sort of makes me wish I believed so strongly in something - anything, really.
I always fear that after years in this kind of work, we'll end up like our good friend (you know, the one who confuses us asians - well I guess I should be more specific - the one who doesn't like the church, any ngo, the pope, etc). Faith might be the only thing that changes our outlook. But i think faith is essential to our work. Faith really is "the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." Our time this summer is short and regardless of outcome, hopefully we leave with the assurance that our work isn't in vain.
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