June 8, 2013
Dear Friends and fellow workers, The time of planting is upon us. Early
each morning oxen are hitched to plows and under the commands of
whistles and whacks from the shepherd boys the thorny ground is made
ready for seeds. The plow makes rough scares across the hard packed
earth. Beautiful grass fields become jagged brown expanses, the uneven
ground difficult to walk on. Women can be seen bent over at the waist
digging with hoes. Determination to feed their families spurs them on. Survival is essential. Sweat runs down faces, pain runs down the spine. This is tough work. These are tough people.
The ground is hard, like brick beneath the hoe. A month ago the rains were here, loosening the soil, promising a great harvest. But the rains are fickle and the remnants of their promises evaporated under the equatorial sky. Clouds gather most afternoons yet they reserve the right to release their gift upon other lands.
The ground becomes harder, the work more difficult. Rain becomes the topic of every conversation. “Ekalip. Akuj Papa, abunare nakiru.” You pray. Father God, bring the rain. We arrived in Nabilatuk when the rains were here in April. The people named Carina “Nakiru” which means “rain”.
A few weeks ago a baby from our community died and we attended the second day of the three day mourning process. The wailing had ceased and the body was buried, the people sat and talked. They drank “nagwe” the local brew and rested beneath the shade of a tree. We joined them there. An old man who was learned and spoke English sat in the circle with us. As we passed the nagwe around the circle he spoke of the traditions of the Karamojong. Then he spoke of the meaning of names. He turned to Carina “Nakiru” he said, “this is a good name. Rain. Rain brings life. Without rain we do not eat and without food we cannot survive. So your name means life. You come to bring us life.” A prophetic message honoring the purposes that God has brought us here.
Last week we participated in a large community celebration. The celebration was to honor Dr Jean. She has spent the last couple months with us finishing up her time in Karamoja. Saying goodbye to what has been her life for the last fifteen years. Her adopted Karamojong clanwanted to express their gratitude to her by spearing a bull.
Spearing a bull is not a simple matter. It is surrounded by traditions and customs of which I am mostly oblivious. I have read about such ceremonies in books, but to experience them is a different thing altogether. As a woman I would normally be banned from such events, but as an outsider, a guest, I was given the privilege of attendance.
Sitting on the fringe of the circle, I watched the ceremonies play out with some fascination.
The bull is sacrificed so that his head is facing north-east, toward
Ethiopia, the origin of the Karamojong. The story is recounted of how
long ago they migrated from Ethiopia to here, and so they honor the
place of their birth. Facing the bull are three half-circles of men. The
initiated elders sit in the innermost circle they are called “the
mountains”. The second half-circle consists of the elders who are
waiting initiation they are called “the antelopes”. The final circle is
filled with the warriors and the guests they are called “the rats” (glad
to know which category I fit into!). These are the three age-set groups
of which every member of the community is a part of.
The members of the innermost circle get most of the attention for they
are the most important. They get to drink the blood (straight from the
carcass of the bull- but don’t worry, they added sugar to help clots
form faster), they get to eat the choice cuts of meat, they get to smear
the contents of the stomach on their bodies as a blessing, they get to
lead the prayers, and speak as they desire. The rest of the people wait
until the elders are finished before the meat is distributed to them. No
one piece of meat is consumed by a single person. Every piece of meat
is shared between people, it is said that if you eat with someone you
cannot be enemies. This is a peace treaty of shared meat.
As we sat there participating in this event, listening to the kind words spoken on behalf of Dr. Jean, watching culture play out in front of us, it was explained that they sacrificed a brown bull. Brown, the color of the earth. Brown, the color for calling on the rain.
Unknowingly we had participated in an animal sacrifice to call the rain.
The first missionary with the Catholic Church came to Karamoja eighty years ago. The New Testament has been in print for nearly twenty years, and the full Bible was printed two years ago. Karamoja has been riddled with Christian activities and services for years and yet it is still an “unreached” land. Still the Gospel has not penetrated to the heart of the culture, into the inner circle. It has remained on the fringe, a guest among the rats. Weeds grow among the seeds, creating a syncretism of beliefs that causes confusion and false hope. There is no indigenous church, one that worships in spirit and in truth.
Planting season is upon us. The ground is hard. Seeds have been scattered for more than eighty years and yet the enemy has snatched them away, has overpowered them by the lies of tradition and culture. The people are dry and thirsty, yet they do not know that their thirst can only be quenched by the mercy of God poured out through Jesus Christ.
How many times over this last year have I desired the greatness of harvest only to discover that God first has me do the mundane work of preparing the fields and planting the seeds? So much of this year has been weeding out that which is not of God-in my team, in my own life, in the culture of Karamoja- it is a painful process but necessary for the health of the harvest. As we do the hard work of learning language and culture, the plow blades cut into the soil.
As we do the hard work of building relationships, the plow blades cut into the soil. As we endure sickness and difficulties and the people watch our responses to these circumstances, the plow blades cut into the soil. As we link scripture to culture, the plow blades cut into the soil. As we care for the animals and serve the people, the plow blades cut into the soil.
And where the soil is prepared, we begin to plant seeds. We tell Bible
stories to shepherds under a tree. We have a Bible study in a village
hut. We pray with the sick and suffering who come to us. We hold
devotions with the KACHEP staff. We sow the seeds wherever we find the
opportunity. And we search for prepared hearts.
But we cannot send the rain. Rain, life, is the work of God. He is the God of the Harvest.
We must be faithful to do the work that He has called us to, and that work is hard, that work is long. Questions plague us, “how do we do this work?”, “where does God want us to dig?”, “how do we remove the weeds of syncretism?”… There are many questions. And steadily the answer comes: Micah 6:8 “He has shown you, O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly, to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” In this way, my life plows the soil and plants the seeds. I set my eyes on the God of the Harvest and walk humbly with Him.
Galatians 6:7-9 “Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps
what he sows. The one who sows to please his sinful nature, from that
nature will he reap destruction; the one who sows to please the Spirit,
from that Spirit will reap eternal life. Let us not become weary of
doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not
give up.”
Oh my friends, the time of planting and harvest are upon us. Sow according to the Spirit. Do not give up. The work is hard, but the reward is of eternal value.
Pray for me as I labor in Karamoja. Pray for wisdom to guide us in this work. Pray for perseverance when the soil is hard and difficult. Pray that the Lord will send more workers to work alongside us. Pray too for the rain to come and bring life to this land (both physically and spiritually).
Matthew 9:36 “When Jesus saw the crowds, He had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples ‘the harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field.’”
Thank you for your prayers, through your prayers, you till the ground. Through your support you enable the work.
With hope for a fruitful harvest,
Summer
digging with hoes. Determination to feed their families spurs them on. Survival is essential. Sweat runs down faces, pain runs down the spine. This is tough work. These are tough people.
The ground is hard, like brick beneath the hoe. A month ago the rains were here, loosening the soil, promising a great harvest. But the rains are fickle and the remnants of their promises evaporated under the equatorial sky. Clouds gather most afternoons yet they reserve the right to release their gift upon other lands.
The ground becomes harder, the work more difficult. Rain becomes the topic of every conversation. “Ekalip. Akuj Papa, abunare nakiru.” You pray. Father God, bring the rain. We arrived in Nabilatuk when the rains were here in April. The people named Carina “Nakiru” which means “rain”.
A few weeks ago a baby from our community died and we attended the second day of the three day mourning process. The wailing had ceased and the body was buried, the people sat and talked. They drank “nagwe” the local brew and rested beneath the shade of a tree. We joined them there. An old man who was learned and spoke English sat in the circle with us. As we passed the nagwe around the circle he spoke of the traditions of the Karamojong. Then he spoke of the meaning of names. He turned to Carina “Nakiru” he said, “this is a good name. Rain. Rain brings life. Without rain we do not eat and without food we cannot survive. So your name means life. You come to bring us life.” A prophetic message honoring the purposes that God has brought us here.
Last week we participated in a large community celebration. The celebration was to honor Dr Jean. She has spent the last couple months with us finishing up her time in Karamoja. Saying goodbye to what has been her life for the last fifteen years. Her adopted Karamojong clanwanted to express their gratitude to her by spearing a bull.
Spearing a bull is not a simple matter. It is surrounded by traditions and customs of which I am mostly oblivious. I have read about such ceremonies in books, but to experience them is a different thing altogether. As a woman I would normally be banned from such events, but as an outsider, a guest, I was given the privilege of attendance.
Sitting on the fringe of the circle, I watched the ceremonies play out with some fascination.
As we sat there participating in this event, listening to the kind words spoken on behalf of Dr. Jean, watching culture play out in front of us, it was explained that they sacrificed a brown bull. Brown, the color of the earth. Brown, the color for calling on the rain.
Unknowingly we had participated in an animal sacrifice to call the rain.
The first missionary with the Catholic Church came to Karamoja eighty years ago. The New Testament has been in print for nearly twenty years, and the full Bible was printed two years ago. Karamoja has been riddled with Christian activities and services for years and yet it is still an “unreached” land. Still the Gospel has not penetrated to the heart of the culture, into the inner circle. It has remained on the fringe, a guest among the rats. Weeds grow among the seeds, creating a syncretism of beliefs that causes confusion and false hope. There is no indigenous church, one that worships in spirit and in truth.
Planting season is upon us. The ground is hard. Seeds have been scattered for more than eighty years and yet the enemy has snatched them away, has overpowered them by the lies of tradition and culture. The people are dry and thirsty, yet they do not know that their thirst can only be quenched by the mercy of God poured out through Jesus Christ.
How many times over this last year have I desired the greatness of harvest only to discover that God first has me do the mundane work of preparing the fields and planting the seeds? So much of this year has been weeding out that which is not of God-in my team, in my own life, in the culture of Karamoja- it is a painful process but necessary for the health of the harvest. As we do the hard work of learning language and culture, the plow blades cut into the soil.
As we do the hard work of building relationships, the plow blades cut into the soil. As we endure sickness and difficulties and the people watch our responses to these circumstances, the plow blades cut into the soil. As we link scripture to culture, the plow blades cut into the soil. As we care for the animals and serve the people, the plow blades cut into the soil.
But we cannot send the rain. Rain, life, is the work of God. He is the God of the Harvest.
We must be faithful to do the work that He has called us to, and that work is hard, that work is long. Questions plague us, “how do we do this work?”, “where does God want us to dig?”, “how do we remove the weeds of syncretism?”… There are many questions. And steadily the answer comes: Micah 6:8 “He has shown you, O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly, to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” In this way, my life plows the soil and plants the seeds. I set my eyes on the God of the Harvest and walk humbly with Him.
give up.”
Oh my friends, the time of planting and harvest are upon us. Sow according to the Spirit. Do not give up. The work is hard, but the reward is of eternal value.
Pray for me as I labor in Karamoja. Pray for wisdom to guide us in this work. Pray for perseverance when the soil is hard and difficult. Pray that the Lord will send more workers to work alongside us. Pray too for the rain to come and bring life to this land (both physically and spiritually).
Matthew 9:36 “When Jesus saw the crowds, He had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples ‘the harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field.’”
Thank you for your prayers, through your prayers, you till the ground. Through your support you enable the work.
With hope for a fruitful harvest,
Summer
So good to read. Thank you for sharing with us. My prayers are with you.
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