From Centurion, South Africa

South Africa has been full of wonderful opportunities, namely: ministry in the local community, preaching in numerous churches, and fun with friends.  God is good.

My wife, Amanda, and I spend lots of time at Ditshego House of Laughter,
a children's home.  Here we are on an overnight retreat with the kids.
It's cold down here!

About to preach at Elim Methodist Church, in a formal settlement.
Vuzumuzi was an incredible translator,
especially when I talked about South African soccer.

We had a great time at the Springboks rugby game,
when South Africa beat England, 36-27!
They played at Ellis Park, site of the 1995 Rugby World Cup title game
(see Invictus).

Hello Duke family!
Finally feeling ready to blog. I haven't been able to think of something to write about... or maybe I've had too many thoughts in my head to get any of them straight. The latter sounds more correct.
For those of you who know me, you know I really don't like the pop singer Taylor Swift. I've always said that she needs to "get a real problem" as she sings about breaking up with her boyfriend of one-week. I feel like now I'm saying that same phrase to myself after having lived in Kenya for this month's time.
I am going to make a conscious effort not to complain unless truly appropriate. Here, for example, are some things I would complain about in the States:

• I don't want to do laundry
• Ugh, I have to empty the dishwasher
• There's too much traffic
• The Duke University bus system gets me to class late
• There's nothing on TV
  

As I reflect on my lifestyle in the US, I think, "was I really complaining about these things?" Did I complain because I haven't known a different life? Living in the village really puts a lot of things into perspective and I realize that the things that I was once complaining about are things of luxury and not of sufficiency. I feel like I complain about things not being easy and accessible instead of focusing on the fact that I even have running water and electricity! Even in my time in Latin America, I don't think these flaws surfaced before. We, in the US, don't have to spend the whole day scrubbing our laundry in the yards, as our backs ache. Many, if not all, have their own cars so they don't have to cram into a matatu or walk on dirt roads for an hour to get to school/work, and we're lucky to have electricity (something I'm living without now).
I've always known that I am privileged but as I bucket bathe in the mornings and eat dinner by latern-light, I realize just how lucky I am.
It's hard for me not to feel angry when I think about how America lives in excess. People here give ALL the can; they feel that they have given/tithed/etc because of the amount given. In the US, I feel that I give from excess. Do we give until it hurts? Do we open our homes to people or go out of our way to serve others? I can tell you that the people in Kenya do. Even if they can only afford a soda, they will serve you and even if they don't have any shillings to give to the church, they will give a chicken as a donation. This isn't to say that I think we all should live in poverty, but I think some mentalities (mine) should change. The next time you're internet goes out, just be glad you have access to it and your own computer! When you're stuck in traffic, thank God that you have the means to afford car payments, gas, and insurance. When you go to the doctor, don't complain about the wait but be blessed that you're going to get great care (believe me.... you don't want to go to the Chulaimbo Health Center). Again, this is not to say that we should sell all of our things... or that everyone should be called to African missions. I am going to thank God for the blessings and opportunities that I have and give back 'til it hurts. I will be more mindful of this when I return to the States and share my experience with others. To be honest, I'm not sure how to do this. Do I just encourage people with my own personal actions/changes I'll make to my life? Do I share my stories and reflections? Can anyone understand what I've been here? Will I get sucked back in quickly to an American lifestyle of consumerism? Will I grow bitter towards the US, my friends and family?
I don't know how my life will change upon returning to the States in a mere 2.75 weeks but I pray that I (and my team mates) are forever moved and changed for the better.

Visitations

originally posted on http://pilartimpane.tumblr.com/ - June 8 2012

We're on a long road. 

The past few weeks have been filled with visitations. We celebrated the Sunday when Mary, fully pregnant, dashes over hill and rock and whatever else to visit her cousin Elizabeth, to tell her good news. The stomach of Elizabeth leaps with joy, the world shakes and welcomes its visitor.

We made pilgrimage to Namugongo. A throng of pilgrims coming from far and wide arrived to celebrate the Saint's Day of the Uganda Martyrs on June 3rd , who included some of the very first Ugandan converts to Catholicism. One of the most famous names is Charles Nwanga; a man who became a convert to the French missionaries and then converted others to the new faith.

The whole event was sponsored by the parish where we were staying, so it was a very big year to be attending indeed. We arrived at 5am and sat chilly and nodding off while the sun rose. We sat next to Nigerians, who came stocked with yams as big and muscled as arms and in front of South Africans who all wore baseball caps with their country's name and flag. Kenya was also represented, Rwanda, America, Tanzania, Germany, and more. Pilgrimage to Namugongo is a huge deal here in Uganda - many of the kids in the schools where we have been teaching could not attend, and asked us especially to pray for them. When we

got back, they wanted to know if we had collected "holy water" from the murky lake surrounding the altar on an island in the center. We hadn't, but we had watched hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of pilgrims reach into the greenish-yellow water and fill bottles, jugs, gallons with the stuff to bring home. Many believe in its healing properties. 

Namugongo has been the talk on everyone's lips. But after the quiet retreat home, I got the chance to visit a new mother in the parish. Prisca had just given birth when she was planning to head to Namugongo! Luckily she lives around the corner from the health center so she just waddled over. Her new baby, Charles, sat in a mosquito netted basinet and slept quietly. Prisca and I are the same age and she works here at the church. This is her second baby. She was telling me how she didn't know for sure what the child's name is, and she asked our opinion. "Should he be named Charles? He will be a martyr!" I looked at his face. Charles would be a good name, but I didn't know how much I wanted this 4 day old baby to be a martyr - not any time soon I hoped. 

Besides this baby I held tightly in a swaddle of blankets, I had several other visitations from new and budding creatures. Walking up to Prisca's, I came across a family of ducks. The father duck was guarding his lady duck and their 4 ducklings, scrambling over the dirt road and poking their mini-bills around for food. While walking my goat that same morning (yes I have a goat here - her name's PeeWee!) 

we came into a clearing where I thought we could find her some ferns that she likes but we stopped short - an orange tabby leapt and dove under an empty boxcar sitting in our lawn. But two little kittens, orange and white like creamsicles, sat frozen, staring at PeeWee and not moving even an inch. PeeWee on the other hand was busy relieving herself and did not notice the kittens for even a second. 

The final visitation, I have to say is one that has meant the most so far. I went to visit our housekeeper Daisy's family on Friday Evening. Daisy and I had been planning this trip for about a week, and I truly had no idea where she lived or how we would get there. We eventually decided on boda-boda, transport of champions in Uganda. The motorcycles hold up to three passengers besides the driver, and no one is wearing a helmet (don't tell Duke.)

When we got to Daisy's village, passing over a long red dirt road to arrive there, we were greeted by children from every direction - muddy kids with tattered shirts and barefeet and super big grins. They were very happy to see us and ushered us under banana tree after banana tree, Daisy suddenly had lost her shoes and was leading me down narrow red paths through the thick green foliage. When we arrived at her family's home, we bent down on our knees before her grandmother - the typical greeting for an elder. I hadn't yet kneeled down for any one person here; it's all felt rather strange and unusual. But as Daisy got down on her knees before this grinning, grey haired woman in a huge green taffeta dress, I felt the instinct rise up in me and I also hit the ground.

And welcomed we were! The grandmother talked to me most, kids kept appearing from every door and direction - each belonged to another woman, one was Daisy's son who I knew we would meet that night. They danced, wanted pictures, told me their names one by one, asked about my parents (also typical), and asked me lots of questions about America (do you swim there? how is it? can I go? How is your mom?) 

I then found myself marched out again onto winding, narrow trails through corn and kasava plants, under banana leaves, each new plant we passed was announced to me. "Those are Irish potatoes" they said about 5 times. The sun was dipping on the horizon, and coating the world with the golden red rays of evening. 

I watched Daisy's family members slash leaves and take down jackfruit and mangoes from high limbs on trees; her grandmother was leading the pack and telling them to gather things all along the path. I was lost in the present moment; I would look to the gold sun and then back on this lovely family showing me around their property, using whatever English they could. We greeted another neighbor on the way who was "digging" as the proper term goes here - hoeing her field. 

The light was dying and I knew we had to get back soon, so the group requested a few more pictures and then we went out on the road. As we waited in the near darkness for our seminarian friend to come pick us up on another motorcycle, the family dropped a huge package filled with corn, greens, and banana leaves on the ground next to us. This whole time they had been gathering food from their gardens for me to take home. I felt tearful and was glad the sun was mostly gone so they wouldn't misunderstand my emotion! They also had two gigantic jackfruits which alone were individually too large for my arms to carry. I thanked them profusely, embraced the matriarchs and promised to return. We ended up having to bring back two motorcycles - one for our bodies and the other for our cargo. 

The ride home was the stuff of dreams. Maybe all people have experienced this while visiting the hidden worlds of rural Africa, but at some point you must essentially let go. You could die, fall off the rushing motorcycle that is moving swiftly over bumps and swerves on the red dirt road, narrowly avoiding oncoming headlights of other boda-bodas on the route. You could run the risk of offending someone culturally, saying or doing the wrong thing, not accepting grace or gift as a sign of your own stoic desire to be just. You also run the risk of losing your rules, while the bike is passing houses with wood fire smoke entering and exiting the lane, and the bugs sounding off and dark brown arms and legs suddenly lit up on the side of the road and then wide eyes and a man on a bike and then gone behind you, you could let go of all that is in you and melt into the seat without a care to hold onto. You could learn how in all the world there are some few people whose lives are kept still like secrets, secrets that the earth is holding onto in places where the footstool of heaven still resides. Places like this one, where the sky meets the earth in every direction. 

As we rode on, the faintest scent would rush across our paths and fill my nose with the sweetest perfume I have ever experienced in nature. I sensed purple, I drew in the cool evening air each time the scent rose up on the way. Little lights appeared in the deep blue sky, and suddenly as quickly as we had been in the village surrounded by sloping banana leaves and palms, we returned to the town, our cargo arriving soon after us. I walked up to my room elated and fell into tears. Our cooks unloaded the greens and corn gleefully and carefully dissected the giant jackfruits, splitting open the bulbous prickly casing to reveal a gluey pod filled with intricate yellow fruits that are smooth the the touch and peeled away to reveal a large pit within. 

A night to remember to say the least.

And all these, the gifts for the visiting guest within the house, the restless stranger who knocks and asks, and receives. 

The Church

Yesterday we visited Marera Primary School in the villages outside of Kisumu, Kenya to see the Umoja school lunch program. From there Elizabeth and I joined Linda and Madame Cipress (the LINK teacher at Huma Primary School). Together we did home visits. We visited three guardians, all widows, and the children that they raised. The experience was a beautiful and challenging. It was such a gift to see the homes of the orphans, vulnerable children, widows, and guardians. I felt beyond welcomed into their homes – their hospitality and openness was astounding. But it was so challenging to walk into a home and see the faces of the children – sometimes numbering seven or more in one home. Listening to an elderly woman who attempts to feed and pay school fees for that many children stirred emotions that can’t really be described. But to see her trust in God to provide is a quality I can only hope that I can learn while here. 

The home visits that we did yesterday filled me with joy and apprehension. Looking at these lives that are so different from my own, all I can ask is what is my role here? Why did God want me here? What do I have to offer the Kenyans? From my brief stay here I can tell you many things that the people of Kenyans have to offer me and teach me about life. But I’m still wondering what my gifts are and where they factor in here. 

But I was reminded of our first Sunday in Indianapolis; we attended the early service at North UMC. It was youth Sunday, so I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. However, service was beautiful and provided me with a great introduction to North. We heard one girl, a graduating senior, speak of North as a place that allowed her to meet people from different walks of life. How North taught her, not just about justice, but about the realities of injustice. North challenged her to think and accepted her for her personal thoughts, beliefs, and convictions. How North cherished and supported her despite her unconventional approaches to faith. Her story was beautiful, eloquent, and honest. It was not only a wonderful introduction to the church that I am briefly interning at, it was a timely reminder of what the church is called to be. 

The church is called to educate – not just on the words of scripture but on the action, passion, and drive behind the gospel. We are called to accept all people – regardless of age, sex, race, ethnicity, belief, sexual-identity, cultural practice, or any other matter. We are called to serve. What a powerful message to receive from an eighteen year old. What a way to start this journey. 

Perhaps my role here is to learn from the Kenyans what a hospitable church looks like. Perhaps it is to see the Umoja Project taking up the call of the church – putting scripture into action and service. Perhaps I am here to listen and to simply live among other Christians. But maybe my call here is the same that it is in the US. Maybe I am called to be the church – the church that truly educates its congregation and the world, the church that accepts all people because they are the children of God, a church that engages in service. I pray that through my time here I learn to better be the church. I’m pretty optimistic about that.

¨Poco a Poco¨

I learned a very important phrase my first week in Guatemala: "poco a poco" or "little by little." It seems that's how I'm doing everything here, adjusting to the differences in food and climate, getting the lay of the city, learning the language, working up the courage to try to use what I'm learning with my host family and people I meet around Xela... It has required much more patience than I expected to only creep forward in my goals each day. I had grand visions of what I'd be able to say and understand after my time at the language school, but after almost 100 hours of instruction I still only catch segments of the conversation when people speak to me. I still keep my Spanish- English dictionary close by to look up the seemingly endless supply of words I don't know and search my notebook trying to remember when to use which tense and which verbs are irregular. Some days I'm amazed and encouraged by how well I'm doing-- who knew I'd be able to hold a coherent conversation with my host father about race relations in the US?-- but others I can't seem to formulate a decent Spanish sentence to save my life. 

 

However, I've been mercifully reminded lately that this slow, sometimes faltering pace is how Christ transforms us too. Both as individual Christians and as the communal church we are all being made into a new creations "poco a poco". Just as in Spanish, in prayer, ministry, and studying Scripture, sometimes the words simply will not come, neither from me or to me. One day I wake up thirsting for Scripture and enjoy a refreshing and fulfilling time of prayer or a meaningful conversation articulating or recieving some truth about God, and another the weight of my failures keeps me awake late into the night trying to figure out how to begin a prayer that I'm never able to form. It isn't always (or even often) a consistent forward motion towards spiritual growth, but I AM being shaped into the woman God has created and called me to be, "poco a poco."  I am far from her today, just as the church is far from the bride she is intended to be, but we are in the process, inching our way "poco a poco" towards a God who is always faithfully reaching out to us to guide us to Godself, a God who knows our frame and remembers that we are but dust (Psalm 103:14), a God with incredibly realistic expectations about both our successes and our failures. And there is great hope in that. 

"Now may the God of peace himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and souls and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. He who calls you is faithful; he will surely do it." 1 Thessalonians 5:12

Hello from Hillcrest!

Hello fellow Duke Div international voyagers! I cannot believe I've already been in South Africa for two and a half weeks! Time flies when you're having fun, that's for sure. There's SO much I can share, but I'll try to keep it to a short overview. Last week I visited a creche (kind of like a day care or a preschool) out in the really rural areas (which are only like 15 minutes from my church). The Women's Auxiliary (what we Methodists would call United Methodist Women) at my church saved up money to buy bulks of fabric to make track suits for kids in these rural areas. They made like 300 or so track suits for the kids in these areas so that they will have some warm clothes this winter. Last week they had a track-a-thon to sew all of the outfits, and I have to say delivering them was one of the best things I've done recently. Even though I couldn't even communicate with the kids other than saying hi and how are you (Zulu is tough to learn!), I would help them get dressed in the track suits and you could just see the gratitude on their faces. Many of them would give me a huge hug afterwards--it was so sweet! It was an absolutely wonderful day! I've spent a lot of my time working at the Hillcrest AIDS Center, which is a non-profit founded by a former pastor of Hillcrest Methodist Church, where I'm working. Working at the AIDS Center is both heartbreaking and beautiful. On Friday, I walked in to see a woman sobbing next to her niece, who looked like she couldn't have been older than 15. She was incredibly emaciated, and unfortunately I wouldn't be surprised if she passes away before I go back later this week. I've learned that KwaZulu-Natal is the only province in SA that has had a negative birth rate over the past few years due to AIDS, so it's definitely a bit difficult here. I prayed with some patients and changed everybody's water pitchers in the respite unit, which is where all of the terminal patients are. I'm really enjoying being in ministry there, but it certainly takes a lot out of me emotionally. Our district of churches (also called a circuit) has partnered with the United Methodist Church of the Resurrection in Kansas (Adam Hamilton's church) and COR has helped plant 7 churches in our circuit. I got to visit to one of them as we prayed over it and now officially be worshipping there. The one lady who is the head of the Manyana (the name for the Women's Auxiliary in the black Methodist churches) couldn't get over the fact that I was a unfondise (meaning minister in Zulu). She was just so excited--it was so sweet. I'm going to go worship with them in a few weeks. Additionally, I'm helping plan a conference that will take place with our circuit and members from Church of the Resurrection in July, right before I leave. There have been a bunch of conference calls and organizing going on for that--it's been super busy! But thankfully I've had a lot of experience planning conferences with my job at Winthrop (back in the day before I was a seminary student), and everyone is super happy that I'm helping out with this because I'm helping tie a lot of loose ends that they have overlooked. So everything is superb so far! Can't wait to read all of the updates from y'all!!! grace&pace, Megan

Week 1 of my South African Experience

After 44 hours, 5 airports, and 4 flights, I arrived! As of Monday, the 21st I am in Port Elizabeth (PE), South Africa and have received the warmest welcome by the staff and parishioners of Newton Park Methodist Church. In fact hospitality seems to be the theme of my trip thus far, perhaps God is trying to elucidate something about the spiritual discipline for me.

I had an eight hour layover in London. I had never been to Europe even, so I knew I must take advantage of this opportunity. I have always wanted to visit London, yet when the opportunity arose I was overwhelmed. There are so many must-sees and dos, what could I really do in my few hours? Posing the question only a local could solve, a friend put me in contact with one of her friends who lives in London. I thought he might tell me where to go and what was reasonable to do in my timeframe, I never expected the reception I received. My new friend, Lyall, could not have provided a better day. He wanted to make sure I got a true taste of London. When I travel I seek a local’s experience, rather than that of a tourist. My day in Greater London consisted of visiting Hampton Court Palace where Henry VIII lived, touring Surrey (with commentary, so I got to soak in what living there would really be like), and lunch in a classic English Pub of their signature dish–Yorkshire Pudding. Hampton Court Palace was beautiful and so pertinent to my discipline. We toured the gardens, the palace, and of course we had to take on the maze. Our accomplishment is pictured below, and I am proud to say we beat our 10 year old fellow visitors in the race to the center.

The day in London was a great break in my long commute, and Lyall’s hospitable spirit was just what I needed to be readied for the reception that awaited me in South Africa. Rowan, my supervisor and Senior Pastor of the Church in which I am interning (Newton Park Methodist), and Lisa, the Youth Pastor, were waiting for me at the PE airport when I arrived. I was greeted with hugs and excitement, and was taken to the church to see the facilities, meet my host, and to be greeted by more warm welcomes. I cannot imagine a more empowering and gifted staff. I was greeted with familiarity; just as I have been preparing for months to venture here they have been awaiting me. I have been showered with gifts of welcome. Everyone here is so thoughtful, and is striving to make sure that I am comfortable and have what I need.

There’s also been an effort to make sure I’m getting a fair taste of South African cuisine. In fact on Tuesday (my first full day here) a welcome dinner was held for me in Rowan’s home so I could meet several of the church’s leaders. I loved hearing each person’s connection and dedication to the church. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that numerous persons of the church community are PE born and raised and lifelong members of Newton Park Methodist Church. They are proud of their community and so eager to share it with me. I am excited to learn from them, yet they are excited and open to learning from me.

Can you imagine such a welcoming community? I am not sure I fully grasped the spiritual discipline of hospitality until meeting such dear, new friends as Lyall and those of Newton Park Methodist Church. Yet, they are so naturally inclined to being so. For instance, I was told that when the church heard they had a Southerner coming they thought they better up “their game” to compete with Southern Hospitality. I laughed with appreciation at the familiarity of our ideal, but truly we’ve got nothing on them.

I had a crash course in the Methodist Church of South Africa this week at Synod. It is similar to Annual Conferences of the United Methodist Church in the US. I got to meet numerous pastors in the area, participate in worship and observe voting sessions at Synod. Held in a township, members of that community led us in worship. A choir of beautiful voices with South African dialects led us in worship in several common languages of the area, including English, Afrikaans, and Xhosa. Xhosa you will recognize as the African tribal language with “clicks”–I’ve been practicing.

I was also able to help with youth on Friday evening and with leading worship Sunday morning. This was a good taste of the duties that await me for the duration of my time here. Youth is a very exciting time. The younger children play games alongside an interactive Bible lesson. Whereas, the older youth meet in their youth room that they have transformed into a coffee shop. Everyone hangs out, sips coffee, and then a short interactive lesson is taught. Each of these formats are familiar, but so enticing. The youth are passionate about the lessons and so active in growing their ministry. They own their ministry in an empowering way. A person’s age does not reflect their ministerial ability; we must remember to trust in them, for they will lead the Church universal.

Being from music country I was quickly put on the Worship team, so Sunday morning I lead worship in song (with two other vocal leaders), led prayer, and read the Pentecost story, Acts 2:1-21. It was a great way to get my feet wet, without total immersion. You may remember, Pentecost is the event when the Spirit overcame apostles and gave them the ability to speak many tongues. After I read the Scripture, Rowan jokingly said how nice it was for the congregation to hear the Pentecost story in a different tongue. Meant to be a joke, because my primary language is the same as the majority of the congregants. Yet, my accent is quite different from that of the congregation. Therefore, it served as a good reminder to the fluid nature of the Spirit and the significance for persons of different tongues (and even dialects) to be able to communicate and find common ground through our belief and reverence for God. It was significant for me to hear dialects different from my own throughout the worship service, as well.

I’ll close this week’s post with the most humorous event of the week–yesterday’s driving lesson. Let me begin with saying that my host, Janet, is a saint. She has welcomed me into her home wholeheartedly–even refers to it as ‘our’ home. I have my own bedroom and bath for the duration of my stay, and am quite comfortable. She is so hospitable that she let me borrow her car yesterday to get acquainted with the roads. With her sweet and calm spirit, she directed me in the best tactics for taking on PE’s roads. Believe it or not I am driving a manual transmission car, on the opposite side of the car, on the opposite side of the road, while turning on my indicator (rather than blinker) to turn, and reading my kilometer speedometer (miles are never mentioned).

This first week has been a whirlwind. Yet, with driving under my belt and such a great reception I could not be feeling more at home. I am truly blessed to be here. I know it is God’s intention for me, yet I do not know yet if this calling is for what I will learn from this community or for what I will bring to it. Pray it is a combination of the two. God works in wonderful and mysterious ways. I am living one of the most significant seasons of my life thus far, and could not be more excited about how it is educating my ministry. I am a sponge, soaking up so much everyday. I learn from each conversation and each new custom I am exposed to. God’s people are constant though. My newfound community is familiar, because, like me, they are striving to live enslaved to righteousness (Acts 6). My engaging in this community is growing my ability to do so; I can only hope it is doing the same for those surrounding me.