an extrovert in the mission field

100.  That was my score.

Before our mission team moved to Tanzania, we did some relatively extensive psychological testing in attempts to explore both individual health and team dynamics.  [Someone once told me these tests are developed not to tell you if you're crazy, but rather to tell you what kind of crazy you are...]

There were a number of tests and just as many scores.  But only one score stood out to me; and it’s the only one I remember today.  On the test assessing extroversion (a scale of 0 – 100), I scored 100.  And that is not my score rounded to the nearest ’10.’  I don’t have even one introverted bone in my body.  All 206 of them are outgoing and sociable… to a fault, perhaps.

But I don’t want to talk about the dangers of extroversion — though there are many, to be sure.

**********

In 1997 I transferred from Auburn University (25,000 undergrads?) to Lipscomb University (2,500?).  I remember, a couple of months into school, glancing around the student center where I was sitting.  I said to myself, “Yep, this is all of us.  I’ve likely met everyone already.  Every friend I’ll have for the next two years is in this room.  I’ll never sit next to a stranger in class again.“

To some of you, that would be a dream come true — never sitting next to a stranger, I mean.  To me, though, it felt like the walls were closing in and I’d soon begin the slow process of death by suffocation.

Two years later, I graduated from Lipscomb University.  I made a lot of good friends during my time there.  I’m sure the “Class of 1999″ 20-year reunion will be awesome.  If all ten of us show, we’ll be able to divide up and play a game of basketball.

**********

Life in Geita seems compact.  I pass thousands of people on the street everyday, but my circle of friends (applying a western concept of friendship) is small.

But I’m not writing this blog post to complain.  Extreme extroversion notwithstanding, I am thankful.  I am so thankful that God has blessed me with:

• incredible relationships here in Tanzania.  If it weren’t for my teammates (and our nearby missionary neighbors in Mwanza), I’m sure I would actually go crazy.  [...scoring 100 on numerous psychological tests.]
• family and friends who are supportive of our work in Tanzania and keep in touch with us via email and Skype.
• a sending church who remains in contact, always offering conversation, encouragement, advice, and prayers.
• a blog that allows me to talk and talk (and talk some more) — but better yet, that has connected me to a community of people willing to offer discussion and friendship over the internet.  And a limitless possibility of new friends.
• Google Reader, which daily feeds me a mass of dialogue and conversations (from which I can at any time, without being rude, take my leave if I lose interest).

God is good. Even to this excessively extroverted missionary living in small town Africa.

 

repairer of broken walls

image courtesy of wvs.topleftpixel.com

A couple of days ago I wrote about the relationship between fasting and social justice (from Isaiah 58).  There were several comments on the post, ranging from agreement to disagreement with much in between.  I have not myself commented with a response on that post, preferring instead to do so here.  I want to clarify (because I was perhaps unclear in the original post) I was NOT attempting to suggest that:

• we must choose between fasting “for ourselves” or for others.
• we must give fasting greater meaning by adding to it.
• the immediate purpose of each fast must be to feed the poor.
• we should announce our fasts or always do them as groups.

I WAS, however, attempting to suggest that:

• my “personal” relationship with God cannot be divorced from the way in which I treat others.
• individual spiritual disciplines mean nothing to (and are despised by) God if not accompanied with love for, and service to, fellow man.
• fasting and other disciplines will equip me for service and ministry to others, and do not exist merely for my own personal benefit or enjoyment.
• we think far too much about Christianity as an activity by and for the individual — and far too little about its communal nature and our responsibilities toward one another and others.

One of our chiefest tasks as followers of Christ is to foster the reconciliation of the creation to its creator.  Isaiah explains in 58:9b-12 (my own words):

If you set free the oppressed from their oppressors, and if you devote yourselves to feeding the hungry and satisfying the needs of the poor, then you will be a light in the darkness, as if the sun itself were shining at midnight.  The Lord will guide you always, satisfying your needs and empowering you for service.  You will be in your community like a well-watered garden, like a river whose waters are never-ending.  Your family will rebuild those structures which have fallen and will once again make strong the foundations of the city; you will be called “Repairer of Broken Walls” and “Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.”

An individual who fasts and doesn’t feed the hungry is not pleasing to God.  A church who worships on Sundays but doesn’t clothe the naked is neither a church nor worshiping God in their Sunday meetings.  We cannot divorce worship from service to others.  There is no Christianity without social justice.  A faith which impacts only the individual is not indeed faith.  We cannot experience a restoration in our relationship with God and fail to offer that restoration to others.

As a missionary in Tanzania, I want to be called “Repairer of Broken Walls,” as God is given glory for the work he does in and through me.  May we not be a people who obsess with the strength and craftsmanship of our own walls.  And may we become a people who do more than pray for our communities’ walls to be repaired.

there’s no “i” in exorcism

I pulled Google up on the laptop this morning, and this graphic is what I saw.  For just a brief moment, I thought it was normal to be reading Swahili as I searched the internet.  And then I realized it is not indeed normal to find Swahili on Google’s homepage.

The phrase given is a popular Swahili proverb, which (it seems) is claimed to have originated in Kenya, Uganda, or Tanzania — depending on the nationality of the person whom you ask.  Considering the meaning of the proverb, it’s somewhat ironic that this is the case.  ”Umoja ni nguvu, utengano ni udhaifu,” translated, reads “Unity is strength, division is weakness.”

The East African Community’s common market officially began today, July 1st.  Because most of you would be bored to death with this issue — and because I know practically nothing about economics and the like — I’ll limit my thoughts on the subject to this paragraph.  I’m concerned the highly-educated and skilled Kenyans are going to take a lot of jobs from the citizens of Tanzania, Uganda, Rwanda, and Burundi; and those jobs are needed.  It’s not like the states, where people complain about jobs being taken by illegal immigrants — knowing full well they’d not be willing to work those jobs being taken.  No, I’m concerned that even many of the most skilled laborers here will be without work.  I say all of this while openly admitting I know nothing of economies and/or money.  But every man’s an expert on his own blog.  On the bright side, I might be able to get my Rwandan coffee cheaper now….

these are the 16 people currently living in africa

image courtesy of photobucket.com

Unity and working together are important concepts here in Tanzania.  I thought I’d share just a few other Swahili proverbs that speak to their significance:

Kinyozi hajinyoi.

A barber doesn’t shave himself. This one’s pretty self-explanatory.  Though it’s kind of funny, because most of the haircuts here (at least those of the male gender) could easily be done by one’s self.  I regularly cut my own hair.  I’m guessing there are many versions of this exact proverb (methali in Swahili), but I’ll give just one more:

Mganga hajigangui.

A witch doctor doesn’t cure himself. Or I think it could be translated, “A witch doctor doesn’t exorcise himself.”  I may cut my own hair, but I don’t exorcise myself.  Just so you know.  I always leave that to a big group of my closest friends and family.

Kidole kimoja hakivunji chawa.

One finger doesn’t crush a louse. It’s true; it does take two fingers to do that, as gross as it is to discuss in public or type on a blog.  Related is this methali:

Vidole vitano, kipi bora?

Five fingers, which is best? I’m guessing one could make a strong argument for the thumb, but the point is taken.  And while we’re on the subject of fingers…

Mikono mingi, kazi haba.

Many hands, short work. We even say this one in English — not that I’m claiming to have never heard the one about crushing lice in English.  My mom used to say it all the time growing up.  And lastly:

Afadhali kuwa wawili kuliko mmoja; maana wapata ijara njema kwa kazi yao:  Kwa maana wakianguka, mmoja wao atamwinua mwenzake; lakini ole wake aliye peke yake aangukapo, wala hana mwingine wa kumwinua!

“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work:  If one falls down, his friend can help him up.  But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!”

So that last one’s not a Swahili proverb.  It’s from Ecclesiastes 4:9-10.

I suppose every people group in the world recognizes the need for mankind to live and participate in community.  I mean, one of you is going to have to exorcise me.

* Did anyone actually count to see if there were 16 people in the photo?  Be honest.