DON'T SETTLE FOR INCOMPLETE LOVE

Both English and the vernaculars of my earthly home (Africa’s Great Lakes) don’t adequately communicate the depth of possibilities and meaning for what in English we call “Love.”    Maybe, even our linguistic shortcoming is actually an indictment of the failings of our humanity.    We many times say “I love ____” when our real meaning is “I want ___,”   “I need ____,” and “I desire _____.”    This is the toddler view of love.   In the toddler view love is a means of acquisition for selfish gain.    

                A few years ago, my older children were quarreling over “fault.”   According to each one’s perspective the problem of the day was not “their fault,” but “the fault of the competing sibling.”    My youngest at the time was a toddler beginning his language acquisition.    When he heard an argument over possession he ran to the middle of the argument pushed his siblings aside, and proclaimed, “No.  It is my fault.”   His toddler view of love required him to acquire all he could.   Siblings get out of the way.

                We giggle at toddler view of love as acquisition.   Yet, maturity only brings sophistication in love as acquisition.    

                I’ve spent most of my adult life pastoring.    Much of that has been in places of the world with less financial resources than the United States.    I’ve seen many moments of both heart break and triumph.   All stir our emotions.   When our emotions stir we use the language of love to convey what is happening.    In these moments we often settle for incomplete love.    Our incomplete love sees humans as tools for acquisition.    Humanity becomes photo opportunities, blogs, marketing material, and laborers in an acquisition race for more resources and influence.

                Sovereign God created language.   Humanity is always recreating.   At certain moments in time we get it right.    During the season that Jesus walked the earth one word to describe love was the Greek word “phileo,” the love of brothers and friends.

Ballet Rwanda December 2011

                We can’t survive without the love of siblings and friends.     Little girls on the playground become friends and share their feelings.  Little boys quickly find playmates for the games and competitions of life.   As time goes on we thrive in a community of camaraderie no matter our age.   We know it is the glue of life.   It creates a community that plays and laughs together.    Our experiences are shared.   Even the painful experiences become internal jokes in phileo.   High success teams are high phileo teams.    

Yet phileo is an incomplete love.   It is a love of inclusion based upon common joy in pursuit.    What happens when our community must include another who does not share the common past?    What happens when jokes aren’t funny?   What happens when another’s fashion is awkward?   Even what happens when someone on the team smells bad?    If our love is only phileo it is incomplete.    This is particularly true for those of us called to shepherd.   Maybe it is even more so for those of us shepherding far from our shared joy in pursuit?

CCR's Covenant Handover of Gabriel Mugisha Jacobs

                Before Jesus began walking the earth his Hebrew predecessors used the word, “hessed” to describe love.   English has no single word to describe this love.    Many translate it as “steadfast loving kindness.”    When our colleague doesn’t share our past, tells bad jokes, wears awkward fashion, and smells bad; we must make a choice.   We choose to practice hessed.    We remember we live in covenant.   We’ve made a commitment to this relationship and this endeavor.     The commitment is one we cannot leave.    In fact, the Old Testament uses hessed to describe this hessed love of God in its fullness.   God keeps His covenants even when we humans abandon ours.   He is always there for us.    Also, His care is the gentle nurture of kindness.   Hessed makes our love more complete.    Typically, we see it in matters like enduring marriages and business partnerships.    Local churches thrive when they have a consistent pastoral presence.    Hessed is seen when you watch couples at 50 year anniversaries giggling and flirting with one another.    It also is seen when business partners retire as friends.    Pastors who practice hessed answer late night phone calls.    They come to be with their people when the easiest thing to do is to hide behind professionalism.   Hessed is one of the reasons I am such an advocate for marriage when a society is recovering from internal turmoil.   Hessed brings unity.   It broadens and strengthens extended families.   Over generations hessed builds national unity.    Yet, hessed is an incomplete love.    

                Hessed is about kindness in covenant.   What happens when covenants are not formed?   What happens when our covenant community has conflict with another covenant community?  Feuds and civil wars come with such fury because our internal hessed desire has gone astray.    In fact, humanity’s greatest tragedies of depravity were ones when covenant became exclusive.   What united was the destruction of another community.   Hessed can be an incomplete love.

                One of the pitfalls of hessed is that we do not “feel” with all other humanity.    In conflict we tend to dehumanize our opponents.   We strip them of humanity and portray them as demons.   Conversely, we tend to make our leaders such human demi-gods that we forget God is the hero of humanity’s stories.    

                I am an American evangelical who has lived most of my adult life in Africa’s Great Lakes.    My hessed community is a very broad and at times a contradictory one.    

Kampala Kids League Simba Team

                One of my favorite memories from our Uganda season was volunteering with Kampala Kid’s League (KKL.)    It once pushed my hessed to the very edge of my humanity.   I was once assigned to coach the Libyan ambassador’s daughter.    My American evangelical clan would have wanted for me to consider this child an enemy.   During our first practice she called me, “Sir.”  She was a good athlete.   She was a born leader.    She cheered for all the other kids on our team.   She won me over rapidly.   For her, race, nationality, and religion were irrelevant to both our humanity and our shared team goals.   I found myself deeply regretting the hatred my American evangelical clan had taught me towards Libya.   I never met her dad.   The bodyguards quickly ushered her away from practices and games.   Yet, she was one of those young people that as time matured I hoped would no longer call me, “Coach and Sir,” but “friend.”

                The Arab Spring struck a small terror in my heart.   I had not seen this delightful young woman in years.   I guessed her family could be in danger.    I searched for her on Facebook.    I asked old coaches if they knew how she was doing.    I even asked friends in media and government who may have known the family’s whereabouts.   The ones who may have known giggled.   Only a pastor could ask these questions and be taken serious.   If they knew the answer they had to be quiet.

                I know many in our Great Lakes of Africa region have Libyan friends.   I chose to pray for this girl publicly at Christ’s Church in Rwanda.   I watched heads nod among my African brothers and sisters when I said, “I have Libyan friends.   I don’t know if they are safe.   I don’t care that much about the politics, but I do care about my friends.   Can you pray with me?”   CCR is a multi-national church.   An American Embassy employee told me he felt the same way.   Yet, another couple of Americans were offended and left.   

                As my concern increased, and I could find no news through relationship networks I turned to Google.   I created a bunch of different searches.   I found my old friend.   She was safe.   She had signed a petition about the environment at a university function.   My guess is her family had decided to keep her almost untraceable, and I stumbled upon her last voice.   It was classic for her.   She was rallying others to a cause that was good.   In the Google search I also came across a list of Colonel Muammar Gaddafi mistresses.  One suspected mistress was the grandmother of my friend.   The internet is a strange source of news and information.   It thrives on rumors.   Sometimes it whispers what we all intuitively know is true, but cannot say or document.   Sometimes it just spreads untruthful mythology.   Was my friend, Gaddafi’s granddaughter?  I do not know, but the story has elements of consistency with what I know of her body guards, connections, and inherited athleticism and charisma.

                When much of the world cheered at Gaddafi’s death I grieved.   I remembered a little girl who called me, “Sir,” and brought out the best in our team.   Phileo and hessed had taken me to a new place of love called compassion.    The thought of a little girl as a young woman crying over the loss of her grandfather caused me to cry in pain.

               

After weeping with Mary and Martha Jesus brought Lazarus to life

                The Greek language of Jesus’ day used the word splaxna to describe this love of compassion.   Splaxna is the word from which English creates spleen.   Jesus’ compassion was the love that causes us to literally have “shaky guts” for others.     It is humanity in our created glory.    When one in our community is in trouble we feel their pain.    Our bodies and spirits feel inconsolable pain with another.   The shortest verse in the Bible is, “Jesus wept (John 11:35.)”   We memorize it as children.   As adults we remember it when we cry for joy at weddings and weep with grief at funerals.    Compassion is the point where our human dignity in the flesh meets the divine.   We feel the emotions that God himself feels.   These emotions are passionate.   They strengthen all the parts of our incomplete loves of phileo and hessed.    Compassion makes us both better friends and better covenant keepers.  Compassion reminds the old married couple of who was holding their hand when they woke up from surgery.   Compassion causes middle class families to adopt orphans and give them full legal and relationship rights.    Compassion causes us to sacrifice for another with joy.    Compassion requires for us to move beyond feelings to action.

                Yet, compassion is an incomplete love.    Compassion requires for us to be present.   It is neither a distant love nor a fantasy world.    The Aid industry thrives on incomplete compassion.   In fact, during December as year-end gifts are sought pseudo compassion becomes a thriving marketing tool.    The west is bombarded by images of poor children in developing nations.     A missionary friend of mine called this marketing tool, “vicarious grief.”   The emotion is truly felt.   Yet presence is not given.   Vicarious grief makes it easy to “like” on Facebook and re-tweet on Twitter.   Vicarious grief makes it easy to stop for a moment in channel surfing.   Vicarious grief allows one to feel they are a participant when they are not.     It actually leads to a dulling of humanity.   It strips the suffering of their dignity.   It creates an emotion, but it is not an authentic emotion of presence.   Vicarious grief becomes an addictive cycle of seeking a more shocking photo or story to stir emotions and raise resources.   It is no wonder why so many thought leaders outside of the United States emotions quickly turn to anger at marketing that promotes vicarious grief.

                Phileo, hessed, and splaxna are love.   They are real.   They are part of being human.   They bring us to a place of behaving like God.   Yet, each in a certain way is a love with a reward.   Phileo creates friendship.   Hessed creates trust.    Splaxna creates passion.    Life requires all.

                Yet, these loves are completed in another word in which both English and Great Lakes’ vernaculars cannot express in a single word.    The Greeks called this word agape.    This is the love of relinquishment.   It is the love of sacrifice.   It is the love where there is no personal return.   It is the love that endures over time.    It is supremely seen in Jesus, the Son of God giving up all the glories of heaven to dwell with men.   He laughed with us.   He made water to wine to keep the party going.   He called us friends.    He covenanted and promised to always dwell with us.   When he saw our pain he wept.   He used his full authority to remove our pain.    Yet, his authority could not remove the eternal pain of suffering our sin created.    Thus in the love of agape sacrifice he laid down his life.   His surrender was brutal.    His agape bought our freedom.

                Today, agape completes our incomplete love.   We rarely truly see agape, because it is the love of relinquishment.   It brings little glory.   It returns little in the immediate.    Yet, it is the love that endures.    Maybe, we see agape best when one after a long struggle relinquishes all the rewards of the struggle?   Maybe, we see it best when a leader steps aside in his prime of leadership so that another generation can lead?   Maybe, we see it best when a leader chooses to make his institution stronger than his charisma?

                Agape completes our hopes of human love.   It takes us beyond the love of toddlers for acquisition.  Our words can barely express this sacrificial love of relinquishment.    May we instead live it.

RWANDA: THE NATION OF 1,000 NARRATIVES, 4 DEFINING EVENTS, AND 1 GENERATIONAL TIPPING POINT

Catching up with missionary peer, Sam Gonzalez at ACU's Summit

                I have now been out of Rwanda for four months.   I don’t need to be tempered, moderate, nor politically correct.   This season will likely be short.   It is a season of prayer with the opportunity to be prophetically candid.   

                The twitter banter about Rwanda is almost a daily event.   About every two weeks some new expert weighs in.   It seems now is a season for me to speak.    What do I think of contemporary Rwanda?   Let me tell a story.

                During my last few days in Rwanda I had dinner with a member of the foreign diplomatic corp.   Both of us loved Rwanda dearly.   Both of us were nearing the end of our posting.   What did we think?    My friend used a phrase that resonated deeply.   He said, “Rwanda is a nation with 1,000 narratives.   You can assemble many narratives.   All can be true.   Many are contradictory.   Then you can draw the conclusion you want.”

                If we live in the world of shadows and rumors contradictory narratives are abundant.    Shadows are dangerous places and easy to manipulate.   Few of us can accurately know what happens in the world of shadows.    Yet, most of us get a moment where in our area of expertise light shines and we see full truth.

                An area I have seen up close and personal is university education and scholarship programs.   Allow me to construct two contradictory yet true narratives.   

Saying good bye to Presidential Scholar, Pie Fabio Ntagwabira

 I can document exceptional Rwandan university students.   Some come from privileged backgrounds yet many come from the poorest village.    They have succeeded under the most difficult of circumstances.     They come to school tired from poor sleeping conditions, hungry from lack of food, study long hours, volunteer any place they are needed, create ideas beyond their youth, start new businesses, and inspire me at every turn.  They refuse to see the world through the lens of race and ethnicity.   Words such as scholar and entrepreneur are fitting descriptions.   This is a true narrative that I can document.

I can also document rampant plagiarism and forged attendance lists.   I’ve caught students cheating on exams.     I’ve failed many (or at least told them to start over.)    When confronted I’ve been accused of prejudice due to race, ethnicity, heritage, and language preference.   I’ve heard rumors frequently of sexual favors and bribery schemes to get high marks.   A couple times I thought someone was trying to see what I’d trade for marks.   In problems they will choose the easiest possible route without considering the ethical implications.   Words such as conman and prostitute are fitting descriptions of some of these Rwandan students.   This is a true narrative that I can largely document, but you would need to trust me on matters where I did not have a witness.

One thousand true narratives exist in Rwanda.   The choice we face is which narratives are defining.   In every area of life in Rwanda you can find contradictory narratives.   Education, church, business, and government will all provide abundant contradictory narratives.   We can label individuals charlatans or shepherds; crooks or businesspeople; and leaders or thugs.   

Yet, I believe there are four defining narratives.

The first is Creation.    (I’ll avoid debates on science and evolution, and confine my discussion to the nature of man.)    We humans were created in the image of God.   We are full of agaciro not because of a government policy, but because of God’s proclamation.    We are all worthy of respect.   We are intelligent, gifted, creative, and compassionate.   We innately are born with a sense of justice, peace, and grace.   We can overcome any difficulty and forgive any wrong.    Dignity is our destiny.

The second defining narrative is the Fall.    Our dignity was sacrificed by our own choice.    We are totally depraved.     We are full of lust, greed, jealousy, and hate.    We destroy one another, ourselves, and creation.    We have all done things that we keep hidden from others.   Still, we are full of pride.     We are ashamed at who we are, what we have done, and what our future deserves.

The only way I can make sense of the contradiction of Rwandan university students who I can both describe as entrepreneurial scholars on one hand; and prostitutes and conmen on the other is through the defining events of the Creation and the Fall.   In fact, on any university (even Balokole ones) in North America and Europe I can find students with such contradictory narratives.    The contradictory Rwandan narratives are just part of the broad human story of history.   All humanity is full of both dignity and depravity.

The third defining narrative is the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth.    The only way to deal with our human depravity was for someone to be punished.   In fact, the punishment for such grave offense had to be death.    The UN and human rights watchers could not restore dignity without one being brutalized.    Yet three days after Jesus’ brutal death, He overcame death.   His body came back to life.   He went to heaven to be with our Father, and sent His Holy Spirit to live in our hearts.   Only when we accept how depraved we are, but hunger for dignity, put our hope in Jesus’ resurrection, and have the Spirit of God living in us can we become full of the full human dignity God intends.

Yet, we don’t live in Utopia.   Followers of Jesus are still screw ups.    We wrestle every day with our contradictory dignity and depravity.    

Another day is coming that will make everything right.    The fourth defining narrative is Jesus’ return.    All will be judged.   We’ll be found guilty as charged, but then be totally forgiven.     All will be returned to God’s intent.   All will be right at that day.   There will be no sickness or death.   We will be filled with love and peace.

But, what about today?   We are still waiting for that final day.   We have yet to experience the fourth defining narrative.    Historians and pragmatists note that sometimes dignity overshadows depravity, and vice versa.

Maybe, the reason twitter is so busy debating Rwanda’s contemporary predicament is we live in a generational tipping point?    Intuitively, we all seem to know the actions of today’s generations in Rwanda will resonate for many generations that follow.    What will life be like for generations in Rwanda until Jesus returns?   The answer lies in how the scales are tipped from depravity to dignity.    

Two generations of Rwanda are essential.   There is a group that a few jokingly call, “Mzee kijana.”  We landed well.   We may have excelled academically, worked hard, and gone through exceptional difficulties.  Yet, we know in the deepest places of our hearts others could do a better job.    We were able to lead because of grace.    We’re younger than our peers in neighboring nations who carry such prestige.   We’re in over our heads.    We work long hours.    The work never ends.    The institution has to be stronger than our charisma.   The temptation is to out of fear stake out our territory and defend it to the end.  

Instead, the mzee kijana has two tasks.   First, he must mentor.   Second, he must relinquish.    He must ask other to follow.   He must teach and model everything he knows.   He must correct with grace yet never leave a task undone.   He can tolerate no ethical compromises.   Then before it seems it is the appropriate time, he must relinquish.   He cannot build a personal kingdom.   

The twitter banter about Rwanda’s leaders until 2017 is just conjecture.   In 2017 we will know the character of Rwanda and her leaders.    Until then those of us labeled bzee must practice the paradoxical virtues of mentoring and relinquishing.    Coming generations of Rwandans leave us no other choice.   As bzee choose to embrace human dignity they mentor and relinquish.

Celebrating KIST 2012 Graduation with Ntabgoba Jovani  

The second generation of essential Rwandans can now be found in schools throughout Rwanda, universities in other nations, and are just now beginning their professional career.     Their task in the generational tipping point is to prepare themselves for leadership.     

There will be several temptations they will face.   For a fortunate few it is “spoiled brat syndrome.”   Their parents have landed well and are quite busy.   The spoiled brats squander their opportunities in academia by spending their evenings and weekends chasing the hottest party.    On the opposite economic spectrum are the “woe is me” syndrome kids.    Their parents have not economically landed well therefore the “woe is me” kids spend their time complaining and nurturing their “victim status.”  If they land well enough to get a twitter account they spend their creative energy complaining instead of building.   However, they share common pastimes with their peers on the other economic spectrum.    Both overdose on self absorbed leisure that does not build their bodies, minds, or spirits.   Both the “spoiled brat” and “woe is me” kids are incredibly dangerous for Rwanda’s future.   They represent the triumph of human depravity.

However, the Rwanda youth who I choose to make my defining narrative pursue human dignity with all the passion of youth.   They read everything they can find.    They get the most of each academic experience.   They come to class early and stay late to pick their professor’s brain.   They master several languages.   They make many friends.   They give of themselves at Umuganda, church, and every other situation they can find that offers them an opportunity to serve their community.    They work when they can find a job.   If they can’t find a job they start creating ones.   The really good ones take the role of mentor when they are still being mentored.   They teach at schools on their vacation, tutor younger siblings and neighbors, and treat knowledge as a treasure to be shared.   Their day to provide leadership is quickly coming.   Their time is spent in preparation.

So what do I think of contemporary Rwanda?   My diplomatic friend is right.   There are 1,000 narratives.    We choose the narrative that best fits our agenda.    My agenda is the dignity of man was part of God’s intention from Creation.   Our depravity at times triumphs.    However, Jesus’ resurrection restores us to God’s intention of dignity.   Now we’re at a generational tipping point.   The commentaries and twitter banter is premature.   The time now is for the bzee to mentor and relinquish.   The time now for the youth is to prepare.

Let’s leave today’s judgment to God’s future.

THE NECESSITY OF OUTSIDE IN VOICES

On 27 February I wrote a column entitled, “The polarizing perceptions of Rwanda.” In the column I compared Rwanda’s leaders to historical figures that Jewish and Christian theologians call, “post-exilic prophets.” Approximately 2,600 years ago, the nation of Judah was in exile. While in exile her brightest youth became masters of foreign thought, language, and culture while never giving up their national identity. After exile they returned, and built systematic institutions of security, education, business, and religion. In the process their voices polarized the known world. They spoke as outsiders with inside understanding. The term prophet refers not so much to their mystical ability to predict the future as it does to their gifts of profound moral insight and exceptional powers of expression.

Allow me to use another term to describe why Rwanda is so polarizing – missionary. I am not writing purely about odd foreigners with romantic ideals, colorful personalities, and strong convictions. I am writing about a much older definition. One of my favorite seminary professors, Dr. Ed Mathews defined missionaries as “one sent by the Holy Spirit for the purposes of communication that creates followers of Jesus.” Let me make the definition more pragmatic. A missionary is one sent in God’s perfect timing with message. He is an outside in voice.

Though few dare use the term missionary to describe when Rwanda’s leaders speak to world powers who consider themselves gods, I think it is quite appropriate to use the term missionary to describe Rwanda’s role as an outside in voice. As can be expected those who consider themselves gods respond in polarizing ways when their godhood is threatened.

The catch about missionaries is that every culture needs them. Without an outside in voice not only does a culture slip morally it slips economically. Even the great economic power, the United States of America needs outside in voices to economically thrive. Some of America’s brightest economic minds are now arguing one way to restore America’s economy is through immigration reform. When economics meets good religious reasoning the term becomes economic missionaries. All cultures need an outside in voice to see a new possibility and launch entrepreneurial endeavors. The ethnicity, nationality, and race of these outside in voices is irrelevant. What is relevant is that they come sent with a message that is transformational.

From Rwanda’s current government, business, and religious leaders to her brightest youth scattered in the world’s top universities many Banyarwanda meet the definition of missionary. Conversely, there are many in Rwanda who look like traditional missionaries and are missionaries.

My best atheist and agnostic friends in the Great Lakes have whispered to me, “What is the deal with these missionary characters? Do they really hear God’s voice? Do they have some hidden agenda? How do they benefit from being here?” I am thankful for friends willing to be candid.

Jenkins' family Sent by CCR to North America

Please allow me to be candid. My mzee professor got it right. Is there evidence they have been sent? If no one from their country of origin is willing to raise their hand, and say, “We sent them,” they are not a missionary. Instead they are delusional. If they don’t have a message that inspires with its hope and goodness they are not missionaries. If their actions do not lead to transformation of a culture in all its many facets – education, business, and leadership – they are not missionaries. Some who claim to be missionaries are not missionaries. They and Rwanda are best served with a gentle conversation that leads to a quiet departure.

Yet, the vast majority of those who claim to be missionaries are speaking gentle transformational messages and building generational endurance. I am very thankful to have been considered such honor as mine, and to have served in the Great Lakes for so many years with so many inspirational comrades. They heard God’s call to leave all comforts of home. They came with no personal agenda. Their reward has been many earthly friendships and the hope of heaven.

Lunch with Clarisse Irabagiza in Cyikago (Chicago)

Many have asked our family as we transition back to our passport country, “Do you need to go?” We leave called. We would much rather stay in Rwanda. Yet, our community needs us in another location. Our parents have not had us consistently near them for 19 years, are getting old, and we need to be near. Our children are reaching university age in cultural transition, and need us near. The institutions we have built must be stronger than us. In order to become God’s intent we must relinquish the institution’s leadership. Lastly, we sense God wants us near the many Banyarwanda youth we have been fortunate to facilitate studying in the USA. We leave our home of Rwanda as missionaries to the USA because of our hope in our heavenly home.

My boss once spoke about this odd relationship as the ones who receive a missionary become missionaries themselves and inherit missionary rewards. He said, “Anyone who receives you receives me, and anyone who receives me receives the Father who sent me. If you receive a prophet as one who speaks for God, you will be given the same reward as a prophet. And if you receive righteous people because of their righteousness, you will be given a reward like theirs. And if you give even a cup of cold water to one of the least of my followers, you will surely be rewarded (Matthew 10:40-42, New Living Translation.)”

Seven years ago, our family entered Rwanda with an idea of beginning an English based church with a good children’s program. All we had was a few friends who sent us and a few Banyarwanda friends who received us. The results have been more honor than a single man is due. If honor must be given to humanity it should be given to the community who accepted us as friends, nurtured our lives, dreamed, and labored with us. We are immensely grateful.

This is the last column I will write for Focus as a Rwanda resident for this season of life. Thank you for such a thrilling journey. I will go as your missionary to the USA. I will seek to be near your youth and give them my best pastoral care. I trust you will continue to share your abundant grace and kindness to my fellow missionaries. I also trust that the Lord will continue to use you as missionaries to our world’s powers. May God bless all.