From Nzara: “Living in a good place far, far away”

The Zande term for heaven is literally the good place far, far away. It may hint of pre-“Honest to God” theology, in which Bishop John Robinson sought to dismantle the up and down dimension of heaven and hell; but that would be to underestimate the Christians of the Diocese of Nzara. Yet when you think of this phrase as it impacts us psychologically and spiritually, and consider that this is a place where faith teaches us to live, then you find meaning in the words “Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done; on earth as it is in heaven.”

The Zande people have other interesting phrases. If they can’t quite grasp your name, they may say that “they haven’t found room for it in their head as yet.” A literal translation of the question—how did you sleep last night? – comes across with the much livelier inquiry – “what is the news of your sleeping?” And so heaven is a compound word that translates “the good place far, far away.” It is linked of course in the Lord’s Prayer with earth—or this extensive surface of land on which we stand.

Living in a good place far, far away is not escapism. Therapy in our culture might invite someone to “find their good place.” We want youth groups to bond over highs and lows. And maybe we should just concentrate on the highs as I am told by my Improv coach and player daughter that playing out of one’s negative side is always the cheaper laugh. Learning spontaneity and creative reactivity from what is positive is much more difficult and requires more discipline. “Rejoice in the Lord, always,” says the Apostle Paul, “and again I say rejoice.” He writes that after he has called us to the discipline of thinking on those things that are good, true, honorable and worthy of praise.

In other words—think and live into that good place far, far away. Thy will be done, Thy kingdom come  on this surface on which we stand as it is already experienced in that good place far, far away. Jesus adds that the Kingdom of heaven is come near, and the response of entry is to turn around your life, its direction and presumably its frames of reference. This good place far, far away is among you. We are invited to head there; and are reminded that faith is that certainty of things yet unseen.

I realize that I am experiencing life in the Cathedral compound of All Saints in Nzara, South Sudan, during a rather special week when the Diocese comes together, to live, counsel and worship together. At any moment you see people sitting around enjoying each other, cooking and then gathering for their Synod meetings. Clergy Conference has been going for two days during the week, and we have just concluded the week with a five hour ordination service, at which I came on to preach in the fourth hour! And they wanted a sermon no shorter than twenty minutes.

“They feel safe here,” said Aida Peni, the Bishop’s wife. Not everyone can live in the compound, but those who do, including the Diocesan and Cathedral staff, have a growing community around them. The reality on this earth is that the peace that opened up a crack in the war clouds afflicting the country is fragile, even as talks go on. Opposing forces remain in their camps and are far from ready to dismantle. Our gathering was a three hour walk away from such a camp. The strife has created untold suffering and misery, deprivation and frustrated plans to harness creative and imaginary capable minds with material possibility and progress in daily life.

Yet the Diocese of Nzara celebrated—ten years of war and conflict-interrupted development as a parish, and yet still achieving most of its goals for five years in two. People’s health, children’s education and the spiritual goals of the Gospel are their foci, and the Diocese of Iowa has walked alongside the entire time. It was right to use this window of peace to share in their ten year celebration.

“We are oppressed,” said the Apostle Paul, “but never crushed.” Paul set his citizenship in heaven—that good place far, far away—not to pursue pie in the sky, but because he had access to heaven on earth through his profound faith in Jesus Christ. When he declared to the Romans that nothing could separate us from the love of God, it was because “such is the Kingdom of heaven.” The fruits of the Spirit of joy, peace, hope, patience, love etc. are heavenly fruits; as is the potential for justice, peace and reconciliation. It’s how we live in heaven; and it finds its expression through living committed faith on earth. Paul set his citizenship in that good place far, far away, and he was able to bring it very close to the lives of the men and women he met. And he so committed to such a life that he would tell the Corinthians that if Christ is not risen he was the most pitiable of humans. No one wants that reputation. Yet who is the fool when you can connect and live now in that good place far, far away? Death or that moment when “your visa expires”—another new contemporary Zande phrase—then becomes the “coming home” of which we so often speak.

Christian faith is bound up in the rhythm of death and resurrection. As Lent approaches we are reminded that it is the way of Jesus. Baptism also starts us down such a path of understanding. Are children simply made a deeper part of the family of faith, or are they brought to that good place far, far away which begins with those first steps of faith? Living as in heaven is our Lord’s Prayer.
It's an incredibly hard life in South Sudan, and in Nzara, our companion diocese. Faith however creates exuberant joy in worship, fervor in prayer, and a commitment to live each day for the health and education and transformation of others and society. It’s what they claim God expects in God’s loving way.

As guests here I know that we are skillfully and lovingly kept away from their deepest and even common pains. For after all, we might not have found the room yet in our minds to access that good place far, far away that Jesus opens to us for this very life we live, and to which our orientation as people of faith following Jesus seeks to direct us. We may still be thinking how the will and kingdom of God starts on earth, and heaven is something we build. It’s a wonderful eye opener to contemplate that the good place far, far away is what we by faith now live, and our mission is to bring it on earth as we do so.

The inauguration of 6 classrooms and two offices for St. Timothy Nursery and Primary School in the Diocese of Nzara. Photo: Victor Mangu Elisama

the inauguration of 6 classrooms and two offices for St. Timothy Nursery and Primary School in the Diocese of Nzara. Photo: Victor Mangu Elisama

From Nzara

You awake to drums, and are summoned by drums to tea breaks during your workshops or to prayer in the Cathedral in the morning. Rosters crow incessantly in the morning, just in case you didn’t get the message that a new day has dawned. Days are not taken for granted here and so with genuine gratefulness, you greet God’s blessing of the new day. Life is God’s ongoing gift, and it is offered in the age long refrain “And it was morning and evening—(another) day.”

As jet lag from the thirty-hour journey wanes, you find a new rhythm to life. It is life in community, where the bishop’s house is home not only to his own children but to any number of others whom he has taken under his wing—some from early childhood to becoming adults. All of this is in a life uncompensated by the artificial notion of salary.

Somehow travel expenses are met in a busy global ministry; schools are expanded to accommodate increasing number of students; and solar panels are the building blocks of their own electrical grid. The great gift of water—clean though not yet “running” except to its five points of distribution around and outside the Cathedral compound. This is a Cathedral and Diocesan staff that lives together in community, in a growing village of “tukols,” or huts fashioning an intergenerational homestead.

Is this a way of life that commercialized urbanization has never reached or has left behind? Or is it an ongoing, ancient choice of how to live that we have forgotten and lost to our sorrow? Certainly it is a choice seeking best of all worlds as modern technology increases its reach. Laughter rings out from morning to night. Children lead prayers, and people know how to welcome strangers and how to open their lives to say thank you for being with us.

I have just enjoyed two days of workshops with the clergy of the Diocese, tackling the thorny question of blending Hebrew and Christian scriptures on the first day, and going deeply into the Lord’s Prayer on the second day, showing how to use it as a faith telling course for baptism and confirmation preparation. And now we have begun to experience the open and honest accountability sessions which make up the Nzara Diocese in Synod.

In the meantime it has been a joy to see the Iowa team absorbed in their specific work here – helping the Mother’s Union find the confidence to make their own uniforms (Abigail and Marci from St Timothy’s West Des Moines) or exploring the set up of creating their own diocesan pineapple wine for communion (Mel Schlachter). This is about capacity building—and saving the expense of Ugandan imports for both entities. And yet everything is done around prayer and singing, laughter and joy. And if we wonder how is all this possible even as the clouds of civil war have barely broken open to let in sun rays of peace, well I think the clergy group know the answer—for do we not pray in the Lord’s Prayer, “Your kingdom come, Your will be done—on earth as it is in heaven?” Live as in heaven, and seek to bring its reality to this land surface of ours. That is the secret of this place. We might almost say “Is this heaven? No it’s Nzara!” But they live as if it is so!

+Alan

Photo Credit: M. Mordecai

Photo Credit: M. Mordecai

Photo Credit: M. Mordecai

Photo Credit: M. Mordecai

Photo Credit: M. Mordecai

Photo Credit: M. Mordecai

February 2019

“I have done what was mine to do. May God show you what is yours.” This quote from St. Francis was offered to the Iowa diocesan delegation in a response to the case study we presented at the Living Stones annual conference on the ministry of all the baptized. Our case study shared the story of four new ministry initiatives that have popped up in Iowa—Breaking Bread, The Way Station in Spencer, the Beloved Community Initiative, and Wild Church in Dubuque. We realized, as we presented, that we could have included so many more—Messy Church, Laundry Love, the Faith and Prairie Gardens, or even the shaping of a tree stump in Glenwood into “Praying Hands.” In fact, the people reflecting on our study wondered whether these new ministry initiatives, and the enthusiasm and support for them, were seen as a source of envy or threat or was the source of some dispiritedness among congregations that were struggling. It’s a worthy warning not to get overly excited by new and shiny things that we lose focus of everyone else. Again, we could have also referred them to the Revival, Growing Iowa Leaders or Engaging All Disciples consults and to the small church gatherings being planned for this Spring and Summer.

Part of the process of Living Stones is that the case study presenters get thirty minutes to speak, and then have to be silent for an hour and forty minutes while their reflectors enter into conversation about what they have heard. The reflectors obviously get only a slice of the whole picture but often their insights and wisdom prove invaluably for our movement forward. “Are these singular initiatives or can they be replicated in other places in the diocese?” was another insightful question.

“I have done what was mine to do. May God show you what is yours.” This is what engaging all disciples is all about. The assumption is that God is at work in everyone, and seeks for us to discover and engage what that work is. Most of it is found in the routine course of living our lives—of being in the Way of God’s Love for us and for everyone we encounter.

As I am never ashamed to repeat, I had the blessing of a pastor who asked, in prayer, “What will God do with this one?” for every one of his church members, and especially the younger ones. He threw us into preaching ministry in our late teens, encouraged us when we wanted to set up summer camp for children living in poverty and who had never been outside the city. And he prayed and discerned with us for God to show us what was ours to do. Ministry is a way of life; it is not a profession. It’s a call on our lives, and it takes as many forms as human beings vary from one another. There are so many gifts in ministry that I see manifest across the diocese: people who respond to need and hurt that is so obvious to them, and yet to which others of us might be oblivious. It’s through this ability to learn what is ours to do that God manages to bring about the Kingdom.

Near the end of the interaction in our Living Stones group, it was suggested that what we had presented were not really new initiatives; they were continuing initiatives—for God is always setting the whole ongoing work of Christ in new contexts. In that sense they seem new. If, however, through our new initiatives, Jesus is proclaiming forgiveness to sinners, purity to the unclean, hope to the joyless and oppressed, and life to the lost and despairing, then His work simply continues in our time and place as it did when St. Francis first heard in his time and place the Gospel call to sell all he had and give it to the poor.

God simply repeats this pattern, and invites us to engage. May God show you what is yours to do.