Indeed

"April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dully roots with spring rain"
T.S. Eliot

Inevitably, this quote becomes my facebook status sometime during the month of April since it reflects so well the longing in my heart as winter wakes up, yawns, and stretches into spring.  But not this year. It’s autumn right now in South Africa, and the spring rain line doesn’t quite ring true down here.

It's the oddest feeling to be celebrating Easter in fall. My body keeps expecting that “summer's coming” feeling and instead gets that “bundle up because winter’s on its way” feeling.  (Celebrating Thanksgiving in spring will be another interesting one…)  Is there anything more seemingly predictable and unchanging than the flow of the seasons? And yet, after 22 years of April=Spring...the world is turned topsy-turvy and, what do you know, April=Autumn.  God’s ability to turn my expectations upside down never ceases to amaze me.

Celebrating Easter in fall looks different.  All those spring/new life symbols, such as baby farm animals and flower buds, are still present in South Africa but not as relevant as in America.  Instead, I'm in the middle of the season where everything dies.  But, come to think of it, that’s rather appropriate. Doesn’t it seem fitting to remember Christ’s sacrifice and death during the dying season? So below the equator is a perfect place to remember Good Friday.  But what about celebrating Easter? 

Fall has always been my favorite season. I’ve often wondered what’s so appealing to me about a season that’s full of dying things.  I’ve discovered the reason: with every coming of fall and winter it’s implied that spring is soon to follow.  That’s why fall is so beautiful: Things must die in order to come back to life.

This past Tuesday, our team celebrated Passover together.  Being my first Passover meal, the symbolism as it relates to Christianity did not escape me. Passover is all about pairing opposites.  Greens which represent new life are dipped in salt water which stands for the tears under slavery. Bitter herbs, like the bitterness of slavery, oppose the sweetness of the charset.  Half of the meal is to remind you of past pain, years of enslavement, and a place you never want to return to; and the other half is to reassure you of a reliable promise, joy, and hope. The hope that you will never be enslaved again.  We cannot forget where we come from, the binding slavery that once held us, or the death that brought us freedom over it. And yet, we cannot stop there, knowing that Christ’s resurrection is the only thing that can keep our past slavery just that…past.  Like holding the taste of salt water and celery simultaneously in your mouth; like living paradoxically in summer and autumn at the same time; Christ died, was buried, and rose again.  It is this that gives me the conviction not just to say, “He is risen,” but “He is risen indeed.”

Across Oceans

 “There’s something about touching an ocean for the first time.”- Pastor Kenny

Kenny, a pastor here in PE, was absolutely giddy when he heard that my team and I had touched the Indian Ocean for the first time.  I grinned alongside him as he reminisced about touching various bodies of water.  Is it an odd life goal to want to jump in all the oceans?  Because it’s definitely on my bucket list…I’m almost there minus the Southern Ocean.  There’s something addicting about the exhilaration of approaching an overwhelming force like an ocean and thrusting yourself against the waves as if to say, ‘Hi. I’m perfectly aware that your power and size is beyond my comprehension, but I’m still going to challenge you.”

 

Way back when, freshman year, I took an African History class. (Even though at the time I had no interest in Africa and constantly wondered why I was in the class. That’s irony for you.)  I vividly recall one class where we discussed the concept of regional gods within traditional African religion.  (I know I’m grossly over-simplifying a complex topic by summing up an entire continent full of diverse religions…but stay with me and my elementary knowledge from an introductory class five years ago.) Traditionally, in some parts of Africa gods are believed to have power within a certain area, but their supremacy doesn’t extend outside of their domain.  So you have protection from your deity if you stay close to home, but if you leave the physical region of your god…well, you’re up a creek without a paddle.

It was mentioned off-handedly in class that areas where this belief is common corresponds with areas that were heavily affected by the slave trade to the New World.  So basically, captured slaves were torn away, not only from their home and family, but also from their god.  They crossed an ocean stripped of all sense of comfort and hope.

During this class discussion it hit me: no wonder Christianity thrived among early African slaves!  Can you imagine what it would have been like to watch your god disappear along with the shores of your homeland?  Even if the message came hypocritically through your captors, it would have blown your mind to hear of a god that could be by your side, no matter what side of the Atlantic you’re standing on.

It’s a crazy notion, really. Take a second to realize what a ridiculous claim this is: Christianity boasts in a god that transcends place, culture, and time.  Traditionally, religions revolve around areas, around people groups, around people of like minds.  Christianity isn’t that.   Christianity has never claimed to be that.  We cannot make Christianity that, no matter how much we associate Christianity with a certain country or type of people. The only thing Christians need to have in common is Christ. Evidence of this: last night I, an American girl stood alongside a roomful of South Africans and worshiped a Middle-Eastern god.  Not only is Jesus a god who subjected water as a material to be walked on, but he crossed entire oceans. 

That must be the difference between fear and the excitement that Kenny and I felt at touching oceans for the first time.  Fear and excitement are strangely similar emotions.  Both have anticipation, but only one has the reassurance of hope.  Coming from someone who crossed an ocean two weeks ago, one of those emotions has a cold sense of loneliness.  The other allows you to approach the magnitude of an ocean, with the knowledge that your God is right beside you, and dare to touch it...or even, dare I say, jump in it.

Intro

I am stunned, honestly stunned, to look back at the Rachel Kaufman that existed a year ago. I barely recognize her.  Crazy things happen when you dare ask the question "What would happen if I firmly believed that Jesus completely changes lives?  Like actually completely changes, not just somewhat."  Asking this dangerous question has seriously screwed up my plans for the year 2011. At various times throughout the year I was convinced that right now I'd be in Latvia...then the plans changed to India, then Berlin, then LA.  The nagging question finally led me to do mission work in Zambia.

Then two weeks before our departure date, our team to Zambia was cancelled.  When one member of our already-small-team was unable to raise sufficient support, the team leaders felt a confirmation that God did not want this project to go forward.  It was hard to take.  But not as hard as the next question: what's next?  Literally, there was a week where the possibilities of teams I could join spanned every continent…but Antarctica. 

I think the most marvelous part of that process was learning more about ministries all around the globe. Every time I talked to someone on the other side of the world I hung up the phone thinking, "Well, even if that's not where I'm supposed to be right now...I am genuinely excited for what is happening in this country."  There was one night where I couldn't sleep and I spent the night staring at a map and walking my fingers from Indiana to various locations...excited by all the possibilities and overwhelmed by all the need. This must be a taste of how God feels as he looks at all the brokenness as well as the array of beauty across the globe.

After contemplating for a few weeks, I decided to join the team going for a year to Port Elizabeth, South Africa.  We'll be working with students at Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University and also some humanitarian aid.  A few things factored in to my decision: First, I just can't shake this passion for sub-Saharan Africa that's been slowly growing in me the past few months. And although I'm realizing more and more fully that there's need everywhere, and I personally can't quench all that need, something about the pain in South Africa really gets to me. The more I learn about South Africa, AIDS, and the residual hurting from aparteid, my fervor has grown to see things be whole and healed. 

Also, Port Elizabeth is a very international city where people from all over Africa and Asia come to study.  Wouldn't it be wonderful if these future leaders returned to their home countries changed?  I'm so excited to be in the midst of a complex hubbub of worldviews and cultures!  Another thing: I still love the idea of pioneering a ministry.  This is the first time there has been a STINT team in Port Elizabeth, so everything will be brand new. This makes me so excited! And so scared...

Seriously, I'm terrified.  I'm leaving home tomorrow, meeting my team for the first time the day after, and arriving in Port Elizabeth on Thursday, Jan 20th.  I have never been so aware of how many faults I have and how unprepared I am for ministry.  But I'm pretty sure that's the best way to enter a year like this...in a state of downright panic.  As I look back on a year of fear, anger, confusion, and struggle, I've decided that the growth it's produced in me has been worth it. Hands down. I guess another year of exceptional growth won't kill me.  And that's what I expect: exceptional, life-changing growth. 

Rachel