Going Through to the Next Round

by Doug Roland

A couple of days ago, I was in a conversation about lemon cake, a long-time favorite of the family. Problem was that I couldn't remember the name for those little shavings from the lemon rind. As well I find it hard to recall the names of people I know back home. In addition to recipes and people, common words fall out of our vocabulary and new ones have taken their place. For example, "yuk" is replaced with "eish", and "too bad" with "ach shame". There is a shift in the way we live and relate to others. It has played with our memories and pushed us off our personal center of gravity. There's a word for this - acculturation.

Before coming to South Africa, we read several books by Peace Corps volunteers who agreed that it took a year before you could begin to make a difference. For us, it has taken 15 months, but, as you know, we are old and things happen slowly. The signs that this was happening began popping up over the last 2-3 weeks. As we finish the year, we are getting some direct and indirect messages from seminarians that, despite their initial perception that we are Americans who have no clue but have an agenda, we are ok. While we could give many examples, one is that Cheri's consultations as nurse have gone from 2-3 per week to 2-3 per day - all this in a culture that looks at modern medicine with suspicion.

This respect has been earned and it wasn't easy. It has come from from the fact that we treat everyone the same. We are demanding and consistent in evaluating the work the seminarians do in our program. We don't accept many excuses. Yet, we are quick to affirm when their work is good, or when they are working their way out of bad habits. Without knowing it, we began speaking to them in a language that could be understood and trusted. In this or any country, state or province, it is the predicate to making a positive difference in the lives of others.

Trust is a hallowed word. It is an intangible that lies at the basis of any society, whether it is China or an African village. Making a difference in someone's life comes via trust. It doesn't always happen, but through God's grace, the opportunity is now for real.

First a long Christmas break in Tampa, then back to South Africa for the second round.

At this season of giving, we invite you to participate in this effort. We promise that this will be done only one more year. Ideally, we want you to come here, visit and gain understanding. If that is not feasible, you can help through your prayers, e-mails to either of us at dcroland@gmail.com, or by making a tax-deductible contribution as follows:

Hyde Park United Methodist Church

500 W. Platt St.

Tampa, FL 33606

Designate for Seth Mokitimi Methodist Seminary/Roland

Be sure to include your address for a letter from the church confirming receipt of a donation.

INVITATION

by Doug Roland

Last Tuesday morning, I saw her negotiating the doorway into the reception area. With a metal crutch on each arm, she fought through the opening as if it were a life and death matter. It was obvious that she was badly crippled. Who was she, I wondered? But, I had work to do and couldn't be bothered. We have visitors all the time.

There is a communion service on Tuesday evenings open to anyone who would like to come. As we walked the path to the chapel, there was a young boy, about 11 or 12, sitting at the top of the long slope, wearing a big smile of welcome. He greeted us and we replied. It wasn't one of the seminary children but we assumed he was there for some reason.

Each chapel service begins with singing, then some prayers and other readings. After that, the speaker or minister for the evening is asked to come up to the pulpit, usually a non-event. This time there was a buzz.

Looking through the rows of chairs in front of me I could see that the crippled woman was being helped up the two steps to the chancel. The chapel congregation quieted. Now alone, she carefully placed herself behind the pulpit, properly aligned with the microphone, and once she achieved the balance she wanted, faced the congregation and smiled. Her face was bright, warm and radiant in a way that could be felt throughout the chapel. Applause broke out before a word was uttered, so impressive was her journey up the steps. In many ways words were unnecessary.

There is a famous photograph of Tenzing Norgay, a common sherpa from Nepal, hired by Sir Edmund Hillary. The photo captures the moment they reached the summit of Mt. Everest, the first people to do so. Norgay's smile is as bright as the snow, a single gesture that reflected the completion of a task never done before in the face of unbelievable odds. The lady's smile reminded me of that photo.

She was here as a friend of one of our staff members, an African from Zambia, and was asked to deliver the message - her unique and compelling story, a living testimony of a person who is using her disability to throw a bright light into a dark corner.

For her sermon she selected Luke Ch. 19:37-40. It tells of Jesus' entry into Jerusalem as the disciples shouted out praises to God. Some Pharisees said to Jesus, "Teacher, rebuke your disciples." "I tell you," he replied, "if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out."

Born in and a citizen of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Micheline Kamba contracted polio at a very young age. The people in her village named her "Unlucky". Her mother would have none of it, and changed her name to "Lucky". Any notion that her daughter would be an outcast, condemned to a life of immobile solitude, was not acceptable to her.

When Micheline was old enough to understand her limitations, she asked her mother how she would ever get along in this world. The response was, "the stones will cry out". No disability would silence her daughter.

Bolstered by the prayers of her father and mother, Micheline started school, slinging her crippled legs into the classrooms. She loved learning and dreamed of finishing school. She hoped against all odds that she would be married. She was told that she would never have children. Her parents remained undeterred. "The stones will cry out."

She finished high school. The right man entered her life and they married. Four years later, she gave birth to the boy who greeted us outside as we were coming in. She entered the ministry and was ordained in the Presbyterian church. At each juncture, he parents proclaimed, "the stones will cry out."

Micheline's church did not permit her to serve communion, saying that it was awkward and people would be uncomfortable. She had no use of her right arm so would have to serve with her left hand, something that has negative connotations in many cultures. And they (the "church") did not like the idea of using a wheelchair.

Her "sermon" was her story and her mother's. One could barely listen to it without tears, so affirming and positive was her message. Surely if she can bear her own cross with such grace and enthusiasm, then we are left with empty excuses. When she finished, she faced her twisted body to the left, heaved herself up, and step by step willed herself to a chair at the side of the chancel. There she sat and rested.

The communion service was led by the Dean, but before he started, he was so moved by the sermon that he picked up the microphone and shouted several times in true African style, "The rocks will cry out!!" "The rocks will cry out!!" as if to sear it on our eardrums and our hearts. He returned to the communion table and began the liturgy. Soon he paused, looked to his left and invited Micheline to join him at the table to assist in serving communion. This simple invitation opened a door long locked for her. She rose up out of her chair with renewed strength and indomitable determination and made her path to the table. A tray full of communion elements was handed to her. She served communion for the first time in her life. Those near her said she was speechless, her eyes filled with tears. And so too were the eyes of the congregation. We had witnessed the transformation of Jesus' reply to the Pharisees when bold words became a tangible reality. It began with an easy gesture, a simple invitation.