Tuesday, December 24, 2013

A Tribute to the Poor




“Donnez-moi…”
I have no clue how many times I’ve heard those words here in Congo – maybe not quite as many times as poor old Saint Nick in his igloo workshop on the North Pole…

I remember driving past villages last time I was here: all the kids would rush out and say “donnez-moi biscuits”.  Some of them even said it from their tiny English vocabularies: “give me biscuits”.  Apparently the UN had handed out snacks a time or two, and now every person those little kids saw was surely a Biscuit-Santa.  Maybe some of us were even big enough to be…

When I walk past youth, I often here them practicing a favorite English phrase: “Give me ze money”.  Few of them actually say those words to me, but they sure want to. 

A group of men told me that I should give my water bottle to a friend of theirs – because he had graduated.  A cute old gentleman in the group then informed me that he needed my glasses.  As if my near-sighted prescription would do him any good.

I was walking with Nathan one Sabbath, and he was carrying a “Canadian Pure” (made in Kinshasa) water bottle.  A boy walked up and said “Give me the Canadian”.  I’m glad he didn’t comply…

That’s the one thing I was asked for more than anything else: my water bottle.  We were drilling wells for the people, but they wanted our water bottles.  Some would just ask for water, and when I could, I would get them to open wide, and then pour them a nice mouthful of water.  Everyone around would laugh – then more would become brave enough to jostle for position in front of me, mouths open like nestlings awaiting a worm.  But I would rarely give out water bottles.

I once decided to try giving away a water bottle.  I knew the kids asking for it only wanted it because they saw it in my hand, but I decided to try.  That little group of friends nearly tore each other apart to gain possession of that bottle, even when I told them to share it.  Wisdom told me not to give any more away.

But when I was walking here near the CFM campus, a lady asked me the familiar “Nipe chupa,” give me the water bottle.  As many of the ladies I see, she was walking with a palm frond, woven into a basket, balanced on her head.  She was obviously going to a little garden to work.  I see the ladies returning in the evenings, laden with heavy loads of sticks, greens, or kwanga (cassava bread).  I don’t know how those ladies, many of them old and frail, lift their nearly monstrous loads high enough to suspend from their foreheads, but they do – and then walk for miles, hunched over with the loads on their backs.

I wanted to give the lady my water bottle, but I needed it.  And how could I give to one without giving to all?  And would my giving train her to beg?  And hadn’t she gone to her garden many times before without a water bottle?  I chose not to give.  I won’t say that I made the right choice.

I hate facing choices like that.  Those choices make me want to emulate the world’s biggest bird, and bury my head in the sand.  But you can’t learn to fly if you’re and ostrich.

It hurts to see the poor here in Congo.  The little old lady who, day after day, walks and works the daylight away to put food on the table (if she has a table).  Worse yet, the little old lady in the big dirty city of Kinshasa, whose job is to sit by the road and chip big rocks into little ones – as trucks drive by with their generous gifts of semi-burned hydrocarbons, and big-shots race by in shiny cars, anxious to make the next business maneuver. 

And it’s not just the ladies here who work too hard for the meager benefits of their labours.  A man here may secure a good job, with the handsome wage of three to five dollars a day, maybe even more.  But as a man’s wage increases, so does his family.  Uncles and aunts, siblings and cousins – and their families – come and lay claim to his wealth.  And somehow he still has to secure money to send his kids to school in Kinshasa, so they can have a brighter future.  He’ll probably manage to buy himself a nice set of clothes, but he’ll likely eat only once a day to do so.

Okay, so many here aren’t stuck that badly on the hamster-wheel of hand-to-mouth living.  But many are.  And when they have medical expenses arise…

And sometimes I think I have it rough.

And what can I do for these precious people?  Give them handouts that train them to beg?

There was a mighty prince.  His subjects loved to serve him, using their talents and strength to build his kingdom into world too lovely to describe.  And he loved his subjects.  He trusted them, and let them freely enjoy the kingdom too.

But one little province at the edge of his territory rebelled.  Why should they work for the prince?  Why not work for themselves?  And why not take a little extra for themselves when they could?   

With this attitude, the citizens of this province soon found themselves in a degrading struggle to gain the things they wanted.  None of them could really trust another.  For the less fortunate, this struggle became a desperate fight for survival.

The prince loved all the citizens of his kingdom, including the rebels.  The rebels refused to listen to their prince, so he disguised himself as one of them, and went to live with them.  Life in the rebel province was hard on the prince: it became a luxury for him to even find a place of shelter at night.  The abundance of his royal table was replace by ill-prepared, yet overpriced, staple items.  Yet he spent years traveling the province of rebels.

The prince did all he could to make life better for the citizens rebelling against him.  They had lost much knowledge as they had tried to fight to the top of their proverbial dog-pile.  They didn’t know how to treat their wounds of illnesses.  He patiently treated them, and did his best to teach them practical treatments.  Many had never enjoyed real friendship until he befriended them.  Gradually, they learned to love his company, and even started to act and think like him.

After a while, the prince gained a large following of friends and supporters in the rebellious province.  Their faces seemed to shine with fresh hope.  They were learning new skills, and beginning to enjoy the fruit of their labours – which the prince encouraged them to share, of course. 

But not everyone liked the prince.  Those who had struggled to gain recognition and to amass wealth became more and more jealous of him.  They banded together in a desperate alliance to get rid of their common enemy, who would dare to uplift those they’d downtrodden.  When I tell you what they did to the prince, you’ll know exactly who he is: they caught him, tried him (I should say, mocked him) in a kangaroo court.  They beat him, and tried every tactic they could to force even one mean word or angry look from him.  When that failed, they crucified him.  He asked the king to forgive them.

This morning I reviewed a chapter in the Desire of Ages about Jesus’ childhood – what Christmas is supposed to be about.  The chapter brought to life the trials, toils, and opportunities that Jesus experienced as a poor kid in an irreputable village.  He experienced poverty (even homelessness during His ministry) to offer us true riches.  “You know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though He was rich, yet for your sakes He became poor, that you through His poverty might become rich. “  (2 Corinthians 8:9)  Actually, we know very little of this grace.

Jesus became poor to offer us riches.  Not like Santa Clause.  Not like a UN soldier with biscuits.  But often we treat Him like Santa.  We don’t care what He’s really like; we don’t want to hear His story.  We just want Him to slide down our chimneys with parcels topped in shimmering tinsel.

Of course, Jesus does have handouts to give us – which He loves to give us.  But He will only give them if He knows they’re best for us.  And because of His poverty and sacrifice, we do have the offer of “pie in the sky by and by”.  But that’s later (and more than just pie).

We’re the rebels in the rebellious province.  Jesus isn’t physically among us anymore, but He is still devoting His time, energy and resources to help us.  And through the Bible, with the help of the Holy Spirit, we too can learn to love His presence.  And we can even begin to act and think like Him.  That’s true riches.

Of many it may be said, “He may have become great, but instead he became rich.”  Jesus left His riches and proved that He’s truly great.  And He offers this greatness to us too.

I will try to post more about my experiences here in Congo over the last 4 months.  But first, I wanted to post something truly important, especially since it’s that time of year again (even though it doesn’t feel like it here).

May God bless more than just your Christmas,

Will

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