Scripture Union

Throughout my week at the Church of Uganda diocese in Kotido I have the privilege of entering four different primary schools to give leadership to their Scripture Unions. Scripture Unions are like Bible clubs for children; typically the union has a teacher who leads them (patron) and various students who take other responsibilities such as organizing the desks and cleaning off the chalk board. However, here in Kotido these clubs have very little structure, and at times are completely nonexistent.

As a part of the Education Office I have been able to help these Scripture Unions get started; giving them a model of what a good meeting could potentially look like, and teach them some new songs and Bible lessons in the process. Most of the schools I visit are within walking distance to the Church of Uganda diocese where I serve; so, at the end of my work day I grab my MCC guitar, songs written on large sheets of paper that I sticky tack to the chalk boards, and a short Bible lesson with an illustration.

I enjoy every aspect of Scripture Union, but one particular highlight of each meeting is setting up for the program. As I begin tacking up my songs, or enter the school compounds, and even as I am walking down the road; the kids see me and begin singing the songs I have taught them. One afternoon some kids actually started doing cartwheels and flips when I entered the compound, I try not to let the admiration go to my head.

Scripture Union always begins with about fifteen minutes of singing. I attempt to have a good mix of songs; songs they have grown up singing, and songs that I grew up singing in the States. Then we move into a short time of Bible study; throughout this year we have discussed the story of Daniel in the lion’s den, the parable of the prodigal son, Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus, the feeding of the 5,000, and many others. We conclude our time with more singing and a short prayer.

What amazes me the most about these meetings are the number of kids who are interested in participating. The four schools I am attending differ in their size, but my average scripture union has over 100 participants (the largest being 300+ students.) I have never seen so many smiles, heard such enthusiastic singing, and felt such inspiration from the Lord.

Before I plan the week’s lesson plan for my Scripture Unions I always pray that God will direct my words and thoughts so the message will be untainted by my own agenda. God has never failed me. What an honor to serve the Church in this way, what an honor to be a small part of these student’s lives, what a blessing to serve our God.

Abraham Heschel once said, “Just to be is a blessing. Just to live is holy.” Every time I enter a school for Scripture Union I grasp this statement a little more. Living in Kotido has included a lot of “be-ing”. But, this observation period has been a blessing, a blessing I will never fully comprehend the impact of. Finally, I am realizing more fully than ever, my day to day life is “holy”--drawing me closer to the person God has intended for me to become from the beginning. 

Photos from two of the Scripture Unions I help with:

Scripture Union at Kotido Mix

Scripture Union at Kotido Army Primary

Scripture Union at Kotido Army Primary 

Vacation Bible School

Holiday Bible School:

A few weeks ago the Church of Uganda hosted their first Holiday Bible School. It was exciting for me to watch this process take shape; seeing different congregation members become involved, working toward funding, and ultimately watching the children participating in the Bible lessons, songs, and activities.

I believe one of the most effective teaching tools is story telling. At the Holiday Bible School one of our goals was to make the stories of the Bible practical for the youth; our other goals were to have enough snacks for everyone, and not to have pure chaos during the group activities. It was hard to know if we really accomplished any of these goals, but one day I saw a more than a glimpse of understanding.

Each day of the Bible School we focused on a different Bible story. My favorite story of the week was the parable of the Good Samaritan. Our skit that day adapted the Samaritan and the Jewish man to a Jie and a Dodoth man. The Jie and Dodoth tribes have been enemies for a long time, and recently many shootings have occurred between these tribes causing animosity between both groups.  It was interesting to watch the kids responses to the re-told parable of Jesus; although they laughed when the “Bishop walked by” and the “Vicar passed on the other side of the road”, they become suddenly quiet when the Dodoth man came. The skit ended with the Narrator asking, “Who was the neighbor to the Jie man? What do you think?” A young boy sitting close the front shouted, “The Dodoth man.”

Helping one of the kids with a beading project

Tug-of-Peace

Group worship session

Transportation

One of the most fascinating, and simultaneously infuriating, aspects of Uganda is the public transportation.

Throughout the country this system is somewhat limited, and sometimes in Kotido it becomes completely nonexistent. With the recent heavy rains of the wet season the roads leaving Kotido became impassable, making it impossible to leave on the public bus. The air strip just outside the town of Kotido flooded and the small missionary bush plane which flies in every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday could not even land. Even private cars were not driving on the roads for fear of becoming stuck in the deep mud or becoming wedged in the wash outs. I suppose in the States we have our snow storms which leave us house bound, here in Kotido there is rain.

 However, during the dry season it is relatively easy to travel from Kotido to Kampala, or anywhere else in the country.

 The 104 Km trip to Kampala begins at 2:00 am in Kotido and concludes around 4:00 pm. Most of the journey is on dusty, pot-hole filled road but around six hours into the trip magical pavement appears and the feeling in your bottom slowly replaces the numbness of the previous bumpy hours. The passengers include both people and animals, typically chickens stuffed under the seats squawking in irritation, but somehow there is always room for everyone. Many of my trips have also included a “guest speaker” (a pastor who happens to be traveling and feels the Spirit leading.) I attempt to tune out most of these sermons and watch the landscape slid past me; however, one morning as I was traveling to Kampala the speaker caught my attention.

 The minister was speaking about how Jesus rejected the temple and church structures of his time. Jesus overturned the tables in the temple courtyard, refusing to support the oppressive practice sacrifice had become in the Jewish tradition. The pastor said, “Jesus rejected the temple in Jerusalem, but there are many temples he has not rejected; those are the temples of our bodies.”

 In a country where transportation is not always reliable, education is sometimes lacking, church denominations rarely function efficiently, and the government is sometime unjust; Uganda is doing some things very well. Why not allow pastors to “feel the Sprit move” on public transportation? Why not challenge passengers to live their lives in a way that glorifies God? After all, aren’t we are all passengers on this journey called life who need to be guided and convicted, regardless of the venue?

A preacher on one of my bus trips

Kotido S.S.

Every Tuesday and Thursday my boda (motor bike taxi) driver arrives at my house at 8:30 to take me 5 km through town to a suburb of Kotido called Kanawat where the public secondary school is located. When I began this part of my SALT assignment in February I was a terrible passenger; there is a limited amount of space on bodas so you have to maneuver your own body, as well as any items you may be carrying to fit on the seat with your driver, furthermore especially on the dirt roads of Kotido you have to hold on or risk getting thrown off and most likely landing on sheep or goats grazing on the side of the road, and wearing skirts on a boda runs the risks of allowing the whole town to know what color underwear you chose for that day. It is an adventure every week but I always enjoy the feeling of holding on for my life as the boda bumps and speeds through the bush or along the side of the road.  

When I arrive at Kotido S.S. Rose, the teacher I am assisting in the Christian Religious Education (CRE) department, is always waiting at the administration building with a huge smile on her face. Rose is delightful to work with; she has been a mentor to me as I have begun teaching “Uganda” style, she watches my classes and gives me constructive criticism, and in observing her class I have learned much about teaching as well as also Ugandan culture and ethics.

I am teaching Old Testament this term to Secondary 5 (equivalent to our juniors in high school.) My classroom has ranged from 12 to over 100 students (disciplined attendance is not observed in the same way as it is in the States) but regardless how many students decide to show up there have been a core group of 5 who I can count on for being present in class and coming prepared and ready to learn. I realize the variation in attendance is hard to believe but somehow the students squeeze and push to find a space. The day I had 100 attend was a government “head count” day so attendance was mandatory.

Sometimes I feel like the class is moving “slower than slugs”, I have to speak with clear articulation, and slow enough for every word to pass through my mouth individually. But, when I get excited it is hard to talk slow and when I look up I realize my students have only picked up about half of what I said. Then we start over, I use the chalk board, and by the second time we are ready to move on.

Students here are trained to accept information the teacher is lecturing on as infallible truth. They accept it without question, and when it is time for the exams they regurgitate it without any variation. At the conclusion of my classes I try to have a time where we reflect on the lesson for the day; our lesson about Abraham reflected on God’s faithfulness, Joseph’s story was forgiveness, and Moses’s theme was trust. During these times I attempt to help my students understand how these stories can enlighten our own lives, I try to illustrate how to think creatively about the tensions and conclusions presented in the stories, and in every story I challenge my students to notice God’s plan being sustained through all these stories right up to the time of our own lives.

It is hard being a student at Kotido S.S.; the classrooms are over-crowded and the desks and chairs are falling apart, each gender shares two large dormitories full of hundreds of bunk beds leaving no place for privacy during the term, occasionally food runs out and some students do not get one of the meals served during the day, and sometimes the staff is unmotivated leaving students alone in the classrooms for hours at a time. As an outsider I am both frustrated by these injustices, but simultaneously completely incapable of changing the system. Instead when I go to Kotido S.S. I attempt to mimic my favorite teachers throughout my high school and college experience and attempt to engage my students with the lesson, I treat my students with respect—allowing them to use their minds instead of solely pour my own “wisdom” into them, and most of all I strive to show my students how God is also a part of their life.

The Sunday before I left for SALT orientation I shared with my church family about my service assignment in Kotido. I remember reflecting on the fact that I was mostly going to learn and that any change I might accomplish would be insignificant. Not only has this idea been proved but it has been strengthened, however, despite the discouraging situations I am confronted with I find myself extremely energized after my days at Kotido S.S. The students have illustrated to me repeatedly what it means to be truly resilient in difficult situations, the staff has welcomed me as a part of their community, and of course there is my new talent of riding a boda through the dusty roads of Kotido.   

One of my students in the library

Rose and I

My classroom

Calling

Abraham Joshua Heschel once said, “It is not enough for me to ask the question; I want to know how to answer the one question that seems to encompass everything I face: What am I here for?”  Like Heschel I also long to discern the answer to the “one question.” I suppose these thoughts are triggered by my realization that any qualification I thought I had to live and work in Kotido were idealistic. However, when I look at my faith community both in North America, and here in Uganda I wonder if “calling” is actually much simpler than I originally thought. None of my friends or family has been called though a burning bush, or given a covenant promise of children outnumbering the stars, but I don’t believe that makes them any less called to do the work they are passionately pursuing.

My observations about “calling” were further shaped a few weekends ago when my host family invited me to attend an ordination service at their church. I was curious about what a Catholic ordination might look like so I readily agreed to attend with them. The service did not disappoint me; there was a huge processional with many groups accompanying the Catholic priests from all over Uganda to the front podium, three choirs were present and performed many selections, and the cathedral had been decorated with yellow flags to symbolize the Holy Spirit coming down.

My favorite part of the service occurred when the facilitating priest announced that it was time for the candidate to come forward; he asked, “Is the man there? Or perhaps he has become frightened and run away.” People laughed; but, from somewhere in the back, the nominee jumped out of his seat and shouted, “I am here.” With his family beside him, they all danced forward joyfully. The congregation was delighted; people burst into song and the ululations were deafening.

The purpose of the ordination was to publicly recognize the new priest; but, the occasion held additional meanings for me. First, it reminded me that our calling from God should be joyfully received; and second, we are surrounded by our faith community for encouragement and support as we pursue that call. Perhaps calling is merely being enthusiastic about the passions God has given us; and using these gift to live with acute awareness that the Kingdom is coming, and every day we are the builders in that Kingdom.

Doubting Thomas

Every day as I walk from my home to the Church of Uganda and back again, I am confronted by the community of Kotido: I pass children hauling water to their homes because the dry season has been severe and many taps across the town have dried up. I can be assured of at least one encounter with a beggar—typically an older woman who looks like she has not eaten in days. And, I will see groups of men gathered around gourds of local brew; spending their money and time on an oppressive addiction which abuses not only themselves, but also their families.

Initially these people surprised me. As a middle class North American it was hard for me to see children surrendering to housework instead of being educated (in the past months I have come to understand education is quite expensive, even though the government insists the service is free. Somehow the money is being swallowed, perhaps by the government workers themselves or perhaps by school leadership, regardless, education is not free.) I struggled to know how to respond to the mama’s asking for food when both my wallet and stomach have always been full and never experienced what it is like to be hungry or wanting. And, when I saw various men in town simply drinking their lives and finances away, I became angry; not only with their disregard for their families, but also their lack of discipline and motivation.

On a recent visit to Kotido from the States my dad commented, “I don’t know how you take it all in Annali, I’m not sure how to process all this.” His words convicted me; I had actually not been “processing” at all. It had become easier to merely accept life as it is rather than to recognize how abysmal the situations actually are and to grapple with how I fit into it all.

My dad has always been consciences; attempting to leave a light carbon footprint and being mindful about his global citizenship to the Church. He walks or rides his bike to work, he always reminds the family to turn off lights we are not using, and stop the water from running while we are brushing our teeth. He is constantly picking up trash and sorting out recyclables, and his sensitivity to the church is evident through his daily Bible study, and discipleship to the Church. It was bizarre to hear him say he “did not know how to take it all in.” It seemed to me he had been “taking it all in” his entire life. Without needing to see the inequality he was already sensitive to it, and was certainly doing what he could to alleviate the disparities.

And my dad is not alone; every year thousands of people gather to volunteer and participate in MCC relief sales, work at MCC thrift shops, and help with MCC meat canning. Mennonite churches all over the USA gather change to donate to penny power, an offering project to work at water development all over the world. Some of these folks have never seen the injustices they are working to improve; they just know that Jesus has called us to love our neighbor as ourselves.

In reflecting upon the conversation with my dad the story of Thomas from John 20:24-30 came to mind. The disciples tell Thomas they have seen Jesus alive; but, Thomas says, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my fingers where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.” (vs. 25b) A week later the disciples are gathered together and Jesus stands among them again. He says to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.” (vs. 27) Thomas believes after that encounter but Jesus tells him, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” (vs. 29)

The church is the new manifestation of Christ’s body in the world, and I am grateful for a rich denominational heritage that has always put an emphasis on being aware of the global church. MCC was initially started to help Mennonite brothers and sisters struggling in Russia, and the history of the growth of the Mennonite church has largely been told from this European perspective. In the February edition of The Mennonite professor at Goshen College, John D. Roth , wrote about a new way to understand Mennonite church history and discern where the Mennonite church is going. In his article entitled, “1948 Meeting Reoriented our Thinking” he writes, “What if what God had in mind from the beginning of the movement, with the first baptism on January 21, 1521, was not Mennonite Church USA but 1.7 million Anabaptist Mennonite’s around the globe? How would we need to tell our history different if this was where God’s narrative was heading all along?” Furthermore, Roth writes that out of the entire Anabaptist church only 6% are worshipping in North America, the other 94% is spread throughout the world. The church is growing, alive and extremely active!

I am a doubting Thomas. I must see the children struggling under their loads of water, listen to the mama’s asking for food, and watch the men drink their local brew. I need to see, hear, and touch the inequalities in the global church to truly understand the wounds it is carrying. And, like Thomas I am confronted with the living, growing Jesus, but a body that needs healing and support. “….blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.”

Amboseli National Park

Amboseli National Park, located in south-west Kenya just across the border from Tanzania, is home to over 56 mammals, and more than 378 species of birds. The park has a beautiful view of Mount Kilimanjaro and although it is small by game park standards (only 390 Km²) it contains one of the largest populations of elephants in all of East Africa.

I have seen elephants in Uganda but at Amboseli they were terrifyingly close to our vehicle, and the strength and wisdom of the animal became increasingly evident. It is said that elephant herds have the same family migration paths that are followed every year, their memory is meticulous, and their lifestyle of eating, bathing, and walking is deeply engrained in their being. Seeing the elephants so close at Amboseli reminded me of the well-known parable about a group of blind men (or men in the dark) touching an elephant. In the parable each man feels a different part of the elephant and then shares his perspective of what an elephant is like. To the surprise of each man, they completely disagree about the physical characteristics of an elephant.  

A Jain version of the story tells the experience of six blind men asked to determine what an elephant looked like by feeling different parts of the elephant's body. The blind man who feels a leg says the elephant is like a pillar; the one who feels the tail says the elephant is like a rope; the one who feels the trunk says the elephant is like a tree branch; the one who feels the ear says the elephant is like a hand fan; the one who feels the belly says the elephant is like a wall; and the one who feels the tusk says the elephant is like a solid pipe.

A king explains to them:"All of you are right. The reason every one of you is telling it differently is because each one of you touched the different part of the elephant. So, actually the elephant has all the features you mentioned.” (Wikipedia, Blind men and an elephant)

Living in Kotido has given me one perspective of Uganda, an even smaller perspective of East Africa, and a minute understanding of Africa. Even with this knowledge, I often find myself oversimplifying my experience and applying it to all of East Africa. Thankfully, I am not alone, many of my Ugandan friends lump me into the TV show and movie portrayals of North American culture they are exposed to. However, this does not mean that either culture should find solace in the equal unawareness of the other culture. Instead we should all be working toward a greater understanding of one another, and actively seeking to discover the intricacies of each other’s realities.

The parable about the elephant energizes me to embrace the conflict of differing perspectives because, in the argument of each perspective, a bit of truth is revealed. Runi, the 13^th century Persian poet and teacher of Sufism once said in response to the parable, "If each had a candle and they went in together the differences would disappear."

 

Tultul and Lopoko

Having grown up in the Midwest, I have been completely deprived of mountains; at the sight of them now I am always captivated. From an atheistic perspective, they are majestic, sometimes exhibiting unique rock formations and other times simply the mere size is amazing. Scientifically, it can be fascinating to watch the variety of plant and animal life, from the base of a mountain to the top can yield completely different species (Keeping the amateur hiker, like myself, distracted from her tiring muscles.) These were the thoughts circulating though my head on a recent visit I made with Bishop James and other church leaders from the Church of Uganda to an Ik village called Tultul.

Every year the dioceses staff decides on a region where churches are not regularly supported by church leadership and travel there for a few days to worship and spend time with the congregations in the area. Near the village of Tultul is a small church under the authority of the Church of Uganda, Kotido Dioceses. This year the Dioceses staff decided to make Tultul the focal point for their annual mission trip. Tultul is located in the mountains at the edge of the Ugandan escarpment dropping into Kenya and South Sudan. Astonishingly the Ik people find enough water and semi flat areas for agriculture to sustain their village. As I mentioned in a previous blog entitled “MCC Ik Project” they have been exploited of their cattle because of raiding between two other tribes, the Dodoth, and Turkana. However, the majority of Ik income is generated through their honey production; all over Uganda the Ik are famous for their honey production and bee-keeping methods. I have heard people say in mystical tones that Ik honey is the best in the world because of the species of flowers that grow on the mountains where the Ik live.

I had been dozing in the car until we arrived at the village, for a moment I was extremely confused; the only structure I could see was a circle of tree limbs standing on end with a small entrance on one side. Bishop James announced we had arrived at our “accommodations”, simultaneously I felt very strong the “accommodations” were not going to accommodate me. Everyone piled out of the vehicle, a few Ik children, and  a strong wind were the only greetings we received, with our stiff legs rebelling against us we began to explore our new home for the next two days.

A woman in our group led me down a sudden drop off from the tree limb fence onto a rocky path that led out along a ridge to a small cluster of huts. The view from the huts was inconceivable. The Rift Valley was literally spread before me as far as I could see. From where I stood the ground dropped off suddenly and the valley began; long, tree filled, and then where it opened from the mountains; sandy desert, rock formations, and hawks circling high above on updrafts. Suddenly the “accommodations” seemed more than adequate. I returned back up the ridge to Tultul and began unpacking; five women, and I shared a hut for the two day stay. Other team members used two other huts, and the vehicles we came in. Our supper that evening was cold greasy spaghetti while the wind stung our cheeks. But as the stars came out, and the villagers gathered for their evening worship of songs and prayer, I was reminded of the Karamoja legend teaching that the belt in the constellation of Orion is the gate of heaven; on a starlit night in Kaabong you can nearly touch Orion’s belt.  

In the morning Mama Rose, the wife of Bishop James, had warm chai and mandazees (a variation of doughnuts) for our group. We sat around smoky fires and chatted about the night; most of us had slept on dirt floors and some of the older group members were complaining about their achy joints. Around 10:00 am Calvin, the leader of outreach and ministry, told us it was time to go.

When we had arrived at Tultul the previous day, I assumed it was the “remote village” everyone had been referencing. But, Bishop James, and Calvin had other plans. According to the pastor of the congregation in Tultul there was another village, about three hours hike from Tultul called Lopok. The Ik people have become very skilled at moving through the narrow mountain paths, trips that take them three hours take others at least double that. Three hours after our group left we were at the top of the second mountain we had climbed that morning looking at another beautiful perspective of the Rift Valley, but only half way to Lopoko. Our Ik guides teased us mercilessly but our clumsy legs rebelled against any rapid movement on the narrow steep paths. Another two hours of pulling ourselves up the mountains with grass growing on either side of the path, and sliding down the steep slopes finally brought us to the last rocky ascent to Lopoko.

When the villagers saw us coming they began running down the opposite side of the ridge we were climbing. They hid half way down the slope where we could not reach them and remained there until a few brave youth came to investigate who we were. Later we found out soldiers periodically pass through and bully the villagers into giving them food and a place to stay for as long as they demand it. It took them a few minutes to reorganize, but when the Ik discovered the Bishop of the Kotido Church of Uganda had come to visit them they scrambled up the slope as quickly as they could.

For the next hour the Ik village and our group met on a narrow ridge, perhaps 50 feet long and ten feet across. We sang a few songs, had a short devotional, and prayed together. It took much longer to travel to the village than the actual service took at Lopoko, but there was something very meaningful about putting so much effort into arriving at a place simply to worship.

On the way back my flip flops broke so I had to walk the remaining five hours barefoot through the mountains but the hike seemed to pass by more quickly. I had also made a friend with one of the Ik children; she became very amused by moving quickly ahead of me and hiding in the tall grass that grew on either side of the path. As I would walk past her hiding spot she would jump out, she succeeded in scaring me every time, which got a bit tiresome for me but kept her immensely entertained.

As we made our way back into Tultul, Mama Rose had hot bathing water, tea and rice and beans ready for us. I bathed in a roughly constructed open roofed structure on the edge of the village with the darkening sky above me. It was by far the best shower of my life, and the hot tea, and rice and beans were the best supper I could have asked for after the day.

The following morning, we all made our way to the small church for a confirmation service being held for some Ik youth. As I looked out from my church bench, into the mountains I had crossed the previous day, I realized a third perspective mountains offer: the reminder of my true size; when I look at mountains I remember that I am one person from a population of seven billion. “Accommodations”, “best shower”, and “best supper” are all comparative to a context. This year I have been blessed to have my context challenged; I have learned with heaviness, my normal is not normal for most people.

Now when I see mountains I am still amazed at their beauty, I still find value in the diversity of wildlife; but, I am also reminded of people who embrace a different normal. People who fear visitors because they may be violent soldiers, people who mysteriously produce the best honey in the world, and people who have discovered the gate to heaven in Orion’s belt.

An Ik child beside the escarpment outside the church

A small Ik boy trying to fight the wind at Tultul

...only half way! My hiking buddy is the girl to my right.

Baptism

Each year before Christmas Sunday families gather on Saturday morning at the Church of Uganda to have their children dedicated and baptized. Although my convictions lay with believers’ baptism, I find the timing of this event impeccable: what better way to celebrate the dedication of God’s only son, than to dedicate our own children back to the Lord?

Following the baptism of nearly 40 children there was a time for sharing. Many parents and grandparents shared about the joy of children and the gift they are from God. However, one grandparent shared a reflection which has stuck with me since that day. He said, “When families create a mark for their cows everyone knows those cows belong to those people. When we baptize our children we pour water on them and put the sign of the cross on their forehead. The mark is there and it shows that the child belongs to the family of God.”

In a community that values cows as the highest form of wealth I believe this statement spoke above what I can understand, but the basic message is obvious for all of us. Personally, I find it immensely important to remember my own baby dedication, believers’ baptism, and place in the family of God. This week Kotido is celebrating a week of Christian unity; there have been services held at the Church of Uganda, the Catholic Cathedral, and the Orthodox Church. At these services the similarities of each denomination are drawn out, leadership is shared, and prayers and songs are raised to the same God. This is the family of God and I find great encouragement in the vast, global network, it encompasses. 

Christmas Day

 While we were eating Christmas Eve supper my host father, Romano, warned me, “Tomorrow there will be a lot of people around here looking for a meal and something to drink.” I looked at him curiously and cautiously answered, “Wow, okay!”

Christmas morning came quickly and I rapidly prepared for worship at the Church of Uganda. When I arrived the church had been specially decorated with red, white, and purple flags fluttering back and forth over the congregation. A special drama, and a number of Christmas songs had been prepared by the youth, and Bishop James preached about seeing Jesus in everyone we meet. Even though it was a special service I was anxious to return back home to see the preparations my host family was making, and to see for myself what Romano had informed me of the prior evening.

When I returned home I was not disappointed; the front compound had been prepared with four mats under shade trees, many guests had already seated themselves in the shade, and they were all enjoying home brew from large plastic pitchers and plates of food. I greeted a few and hurriedly entered the house to see what my host family was doing. Almost everyone was preparing food so I watched, helped a bit, and tasted a bit too. Everyone who came to the compound was given something; and my Christmas dinner was a feast of rice, beans, chicken, potatoes and eggplant, cabbage, and steamed greens.

While our Christmas dinner was digesting two visitors, Karamjong women, dressed from head to toe in beads, and traditional goat skin skirts came to the compound. They sang and danced about the miracle of Christmas, it was only after they left that I realized Karamoja also has Christmas carolers.

Later that afternoon, my host sister, Catherine, proudly brought out a Banana Cake she had baked for Christmas. As Romano cut the cake everyone else sang Happy Birthday to Jesus; singing always leads to dancing at my house, and dancing always leads to more singing. When the singing and dancing had subsided and we were all enjoying Jesus’ birthday cake, Peter, one of my host brothers, asked me a question; “How old is Jesus?”

“A little over 2,000 years old”, I replied.

Peter looked at me with a look of confusion, but having been satisfied with receiving my answer he did not press with further questions. In that moment I cherished the understanding of child-like-faith, of cultures celebrating with goat skins and beads, and most of all, I celebrated the 2012 year of Jesus’ birth. 

Singing Happy Birthday to Jesus

Christmas Eve

On Christmas Eve day when I returned home from work for lunch my host mother, Maria, invited me to attend Christmas Eve mass with her and a few of the kids. While we were filling our plates with posho and beans, I readily agreed to attend worship, we exchanged excited smiles but our priorities quickly moved to our stomachs rather than events of the evening.

I have always admired the Catholic Church tradition of celebrating Christmas Eve mass late in the night; I think it adds an element of mystery and excitement while simultaneously focusing worshipers on the purpose for all the celebrations of Christmas day. The service at the Catholic Church in Kotido began with a large processional to the front of the church made up of a priest, the bishop, and a number of altar boys. At the beginning of the entourage were six girls between the ages of ten and fifteen years. With partially shuffling and somewhat bouncing footsteps, and rhythmic hands gesturing from hearts upward the girls moved toward the front. They remained around the front podium for the entire service and had slightly different dances for every song the congregation sang. The girl’s dancing did not distract from worship; rather, their deliberate movements not only reinforced the message of the Christmas songs, but also displayed a sincerity of joyful heart for the incarnation of God’s only Son.

Portions of the Christmas narrative were read throughout the service and when the bishop announced that Jesus had been born a deafening shout erupted from the congregation and could not be controlled by the service leaders. The choir began joyfully singing, the girls began dancing, and the congregation divided between more shouts, ululations, and singing. The church leaders looked on helplessly with big smiles on their faces.

As my host family and I walked home we could hear shouts of people calling Christmas greetings to everyone they passed long after we had left the main road. When we had turned onto a more quiet stretch of road I happened to look up and once again notice the shocking clarity of stars in the sky. It made me wonder what the star of the Christmas story looked like so many years before.

During my time in Kotido I have been stretched to trust God in a significantly different way than I am accustomed to in the States. I find myself praying my life to God much more frequently, oddly at times I become weary of this constant reliance and I suddenly desire to reclaim my independence. However, as I looked up at the starry Christmas Eve sky in Kotido I realized there is a rich biblical heritage of trust especially celebrated at that time: the trust of Mary and Joseph. I am still floundering through some of the most basic questions of Christianity. I wonder if this phase of infancy will end, and yet, that is the very way Jesus humbled himself for us, and because of the trust of his earthly parents, all of humanity can receive salvation. My trust may be meager but all around me; girls dancing in Kotido, the night stars, and throughout scripture, I am reminded and encouraged to whole heartedly embrace this uncertain journey.   

My six siblings (Catherine, Joseph, Monica, Peter, Anna, and Margret) dressed in their smartest Christmas attire