Our Journey

On faith…

The Sunday School lesson this week on Luke 7: 1 – 10 and personal devotions on Mark 6: 53 – 56 have caused me pause. The faith of the centurion in the gospel of Luke and all those who are sick and healed in Mark astound me. I believe in God. I trust God. I love God. But this faith that is enough for healing, the fervor I hear in worship at Galilea – it is not in me.

Does my faith simply manifest in a different way? Is it a matter of spiritual gifts – a mystic versus servant type of thing? Or am I missing an amazing and deep aspect of the Christian life and discipleship?

I believe and seek and attempt faithfulness because of what I have witnessed – in the life of Jesus, the lives of saints both ancient and contemporary, and the real power of transforming love. I trust enough to act on that witness and to believe that the same transforming love is available to me and to everyone.

I am moved and touched and brought to tears by the hospitality, generosity and unconditional love that I see, but my heart is not “strangely warmed” and my hands do not lift in praise. I admire, respect and honor these experiences in others, but it is not my experience. I don’t know whether to doubt my own sincerity or accept that manifestations of faith can be, and are, different.

But tomorrow, I will awake giving thanks to God for another day. I will do my best to follow, to serve and to pray.

On life…

I assumed that when I arrived in Malawi, the lines of race and culture would be so much bolder and clearer than in the U.S. I assumed it would be easy to distinguish who is native and who is not. Standing at the airport in Johannesburg, it occurred to me that anyone I saw could be a fellow American. It was a moment of great appreciation for the diversity and beauty of my home country, but also a reminder of the complexities of race, culture and diversity at home.

I began to anticipate (and even look forward to) my new home in Malawi where black would be native and white would be foreign; where Indians would be from India and Chinese persons from China.

But almost immediately upon arriving, I met the African born (Zimbabwe) white man who ran the lodge with his British wife. At church on Sunday a young black boy informed me that he was not from Malawi and did not know any Chichewa. And that afternoon when our friend observed my ineptitude at doing laundry by hand, her comment about white people liking things simple, was really a comment on the developed world including my African American and Korean American friends. In this global village of ours, anyone can be from anywhere. So while the minorities and majorities may be different here, the complexities remain. I celebrate our differences and rejoice in our overlapping and our intersections. It’s amazing really!