Poetic Justice

There is a noticeable lack of poetic justice in the world.

It seems more often than not, bad things happen to good people, and even worse things happen to very good people. It mystifies me that the very best people I know have been through some of the most terrible tragedies. While on the other hand, very bad people, those who seem completely bankrupt of any sort of responsibility, love, or human decency, often are rewarded with financial success and good health. 

Rarely it seems, do people get what they deserve. 

I was reading an article in a Malawian newspaper today and the story was describing how foreign investors here are taking advantage of local workers by underpaying them and overworking them. The Labor Minister was interviewed in the article, and he mentioned that some workers are made to work in cold conditions (presumably food storage freezers). He said with apparent concern, “They can get a disease known as cold frost.” 

Ok, so maybe his terminologies leave something to be desired. But, nonetheless, it was refreshing to see the government standing up for the downtrodden. That so seldom happens in Africa.

What is far more common in Africa, and elsewhere, is what the article was describing: unscrupulous and unsavory people becoming wealthy by exploiting hard working and honest people. 

Some would say this type of thing points to the absence of God. If there was a God, they argue, then the tables would be turned and people would get what they deserve.

But, perhaps, people really do get what they deserve.

Psalm 73 describes a journey – a journey in which the Psalmist goes from anguish over the apparent prosperity of the wicked, to rejoicing over the reality of his own less tangible, but far more genuine and lasting prosperity. Psalm 73 is a poem that addresses an issue which most people who try to serve God probably struggle with at some point: that the righteous seem to suffer, while the unrighteous seem to prosper in everything. In the opening lines, the Psalmist says:

Surely God is good to Israel,

to those who are pure in heart.

But as for me, my feet had almost slipped;

I had nearly lost my foothold.

For I envied the arrogant

when I saw the prosperity of the wicked.

And later, he writes:

Surely in vain have I kept my heart pure;

in vain have I washed my hands in innocence.

All day long I have been plagued;

I have been punished every morning.

If I had said, “I will speak thus,”

I would have betrayed your children.

When I tried to understand all this,

it was oppressive to me.

We feel the heart anguish of the writer as he honestly struggles with his emotions, while simultaneously being uncomfortable with what he feels. He faces a conundrum. He feels what he feels, and yet what he feels does not feel quite right. Most of us can relate. He sees the evil perpetrated by the wicked, and yet the wicked seem to get everything, except what they deserve.

At some point in his wrestling, the writer finds his way into God’s presence, His sanctuary. In verse seventeen the writer says:

till I entered the sanctuary of God;

then I understood their final destiny.

It is here, in God’s presence, that clarity comes. The writer begins to realize that what we see is not always the greatest measure of reality, that there are other truths which we don’t so readily see – at least not on our own. That’s why Paul admonishes “we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal” (2 Cor. 4:18).

There is just something about the presence of God. And the point of Psalm 73 is that only there, in God’s presence, can we attain a proper perspective on the world we live in, and a proper understanding of our own reality. When we are  near to God, when we focus our attention and affection on Him, His divine Presence has a way of scattering the illusions that often plague our thoughts, and illuminating the truth about our existence. And we realize that the prosperity of the wicked is instead a prison; those things which seem to be sources of delight for those who reject God, are ultimately the source of their own destruction. 

In God’s presence we discover the infinite value of an intimate God. We discover our own immeasurable prosperity in Emmanuel – God with us. And then, we begin to appreciate the fact that maybe the wicked really do get what they deserve, and that we have gotten far more than we deserve. 

The wicked want a life free from God, and to paraphrase C.S. Lewis, God gives it to them. But for the righteous, our infinite and ultimate reward is God Himself.  

And in wrestling with his frustrations over the wicked, perhaps, the writer of the Psalm is reminded that

Truth is best found, with our faces to the ground.

The words of this Psalm then are for all of us who struggle with the reality of an unjust world. It reminds us to focus not on the seeming pleasures and ease of life for those who do not know God, but rather on the genuine joy that we have, because we do.

A Little Faith

This week we have been reminded on a few occasions how much we take certain things for granted.

A few days ago, I woke up and turned on the shower, only to discover that there was no hot water. The problem, as it turned out, was our water heater, which is a home-made version, fashioned from a fifty gallon oil drum. The element and thermostat had gone bad, as it does about every 4-5 months because parts here are made in China, and apparently China doesn’t put quite as much effort into their elements and thermostats as they do into their Olympics.

And so, the morning had me scurrying around town (and smelling a bit ripe as temps in Lusaka are hovering around the mid 90’s lately), looking for the spare parts. The first place I went to had the element, but not the thermostat. So, they sent me to a place down the road that they assured me would have what I needed. When I arrived at that place, I was told they never carried that type stuff. Never had. Never will.

Then, in a moment of desperation, I contemplated breaking “Jerry’s Golden Rule of Driving in Lusaka,” which states NEVER EVER EVER, Under Any Circumstances, Go Downtown at Lunchtime On a Weekday! But, I was desperate though, and the thought of taking cold showers for the next few days (weeks?) was enough to cause me to seriously contemplate taking these very insane measures.

In a moment of clarity, I changed my mind and headed home to see if there might not be another solution. Luckily, one of our landlord’s workers was able to pilfer what I needed from some old parts in the garage.

The whole incident though made me realize how much I take showers for granted. I mean, most mornings, I wake up, stumble toward the bathroom and turn on the water, and then, while still standing, take a short nap while I wait for the water to reach a nice, even temperature. Most mornings, I don’t even think about being thankful for the ability to take a shower. I just take one, and go on about my day. But when something is just there almost every day of your life, and then suddenly it’s not there, it has a way of making you take notice.

In Zambia, there are often shortages of one thing or another. During droughts, there are shortages of maize and many become malnourished and susceptible to illness. Today, there is a shortage of petrol, and cars are lined up at local filling stations, reminiscent of the 70’s in America.

People who have mused over the recent and phenomenal growth of the church in Africa (in 1990 about 9% of the population in Africa was Christian; today about 45% are Christian!), have pointed to a variety of reasons. Some have said that Africans are inherently religious, and that Christianity provides a framework for relating to the increasing presence of Western influence on the continent. Of course, those who would say that, forget that Christianity was African long before it was Western.

Personally, I think that the reason for the rapid growth of Christianity in Africa, is because the nature of life in Africa lends itself to understanding biblical truths, far more so than the nature of life in America. Africa understands that we live in a broken down world.

In America, I think we have a very hard time living out the mandate to “fix our eyes, not on what is seen, but on what is unseen,” and understanding that “what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal,” (2 Cor. 4:18). We think that by trusting in what we can see, feel and touch, that we are demonstrating our superior intellect. We tell ourselves that to do otherwise, is to believe in magic or fairy tales.

And yet, the world around us is constantly reminding us of its temporal tendencies. Tsunamis wipe entire villages off the map in an instant. Automobile accidents claim the lives of those we love without warning. Our trusted homes, in which we invest so much time and care, are easily reduced to ruble by a tornado, hurricane, fire, or two year old. And, we have all recently been made aware that our financial security is far less secure than we would like.

A casual glance at the evening news reminds us that the world is a fragile place. Or, as Paul says, “We know that the whole creation has been groaning, as in the pains of childbirth, right up to the present time,” (Rom. 8:22). And so, is it really a demonstration of our superior cognitive abilities that we would trust in what is clearly untrustworthy? Is it really that smart to put stock in things that “moth and rust destroy” rather than storing up for ourselves “treasures in heaven,” (Matt. 6:19-20)?

It seems that we have a hard time grasping that until some unfortunate circumstance forces us to take a cold shower, or wait hours in line for gasoline, something that just a few days we accomplished on our lunch hour, along with forty thousand other things. Until those things that we have taken for granted have suddenly and unexpectedly vanished, we seldom consider their truly fleeting nature. But when our trusted comforts and assumptions suddenly get swept away, we usually become quite willing to go running from place to place, searching for the solution to our problems, and willing to break our golden rules in the process, whatever they might be.

Remember how churches, synagogues, and mosques, were packed on the days immediately following 9/11? And, how as soon as it became clear that the threat had passed, those places of worship returned to their former state of less than overflowing?

Maybe the best thing that can happen to us, is for things to begin to break down every now and then, for the wheels to come off the cart, so that we can be reminded that there are destinations that can’t be reached with cash or credit card, that reality extends beyond the tangible, that the vast majority of the iceberg will always be hidden to those who refuse to venture from the surface.

No, there is nothing foolish about faith. In fact, most of us have more faith than we realize.

We just have it things that don’t merit it.

Listen

Recently, as I was driving to the Bible school where I was teaching, I had to drop Paula off at another Bible school where she was teaching, and we drove past a large, dirt football (soccer) field and a large dumpster that sits next to it. The area around the dumpster was strewn with litter and debris, and almost every day a half dozen children could be seen digging through the waste, looking for, who knows exactly what; possibly the makings of their next toy, or used plastic bags that can be wound together for a football, or maybe nothing at all. Maybe they were just looking because its what they see everyday, and their curiosity got the best of them.

These days, a good five months since the last rain, the ground in Zambia is as hard as concrete, and the winds are blowing up dust to almost blinding degrees.

Being in the shanty compounds of Lusaka always leaves me with an odd mixture of emotions. On the one hand, I can’t help but think how glad I am that I grew up in America, in a neighborhood that had clean sidewalks, and where all the houses had lawns that, if not pristine, were at least fairly well kept and quite usable for a game of tag, or hide–and–seek. Yet, at the same time, as soon as I think that thought, I find myself feeling guilty that things were so easy for us growing up, compared to what life is like here.

I try to imagine what it would be like to have lived in a neighborhood like these shanty compounds, my whole life; and yet, honestly, I find myself unable to do so. I find it hard to really imagine what its like to have always only ever known dusty, dirt roads, never paved ones, to have only ever had makeshift toys, never the store bought variety, to have pushed around old tires, rather than being able to ride bicycles. It seems that I just completely lack any common point of reference. There is no framework within my own experiences for such an existence.

And I’ve come to think that even though we can get in our 4x4’s and go where people are here, we can seldom, by ourselves, really be where they are at. We can drive the same roads they drive, we can walk across the same trash strewn streets, we can go to their churches, and we can teach in their schools, but it takes much more than being where people are, to understand who they are.

That, only happens when we pause long enough to listen.

Listening, has not always been my greatest strength. Maybe it’s ADD. I don’t know. And the thing is, I really do try to listen (most of the time), but somewhere between a person opening their mouth to speak, and those words actually reaching my ears, there are roughly 40,000 other things that are equally vying for my attention.

Now, in all honesty, I don’t think I am entirely to blame for that. Yes, its partly my fault, in that I have an attention span about as long as this sentence. But, that aside, many people seem to think that the point of a conversation is to win, and that one wins by saying the most consecutive words without pausing. Sort of the machine gun approach. What I can’t quite figure out, is why those of us who struggle to pay attention are often put on medication, while our rambling counterparts are left alone. But, that’s getting off the subject.

Truthfully, I think the ability to really listen is genuinely a human malady, something that few of us are really good at. I mean, think about your friends who are good listeners. Those that are, stand out! And the reason that person stands out, is because that quality is so rare!

I mean let’s be honest. The question, “How are you doing?” is most often simply a launching pad for “Let me tell you how I’m doing.”

And yet, listening is a crucial part of the Christian life. Our ability to know God, and to be transformed by him, begins with our ability to listen to Him. And our ability to serve God, is directly related to our ability to listen to others. John’s Gospel quotes Jesus as saying, “ It is written in the Prophets: ‘They will all be taught by God.’ Everyone who listens to the Father and learns from him comes to me.” (John 6:45). And one of the first things we see in the life of Jesus, is him, sitting at the feet of others, and listening (Luke 2:46).

The degree to which we have listened to God, will directly determine the degree to which we become like him. Unless the word of God penetrates our hearts, unless we allow ourselves to believe it, not because we like it, or because it sounds nice, but because it flows from Eternal Truth, then we can never participate in a relationship with God. And unless we have begun to know God, then our own listening will always be filtered through our own agenda. We will listen, in order to have a chance to speak. Our objective will be to display our wit, or wisdom, to gun down the other person with our vast amount of knowledge and expertise.

But when we have listened to God, when we have, like Mary, sat at the feet of Jesus because we’ve understood the inherent value in doing so, then we become empowered to truly listen to others. Because then, and only then, are we able to hear, not with our own ears, or even our own heart, but with the heart of God, whose Spirit has come to reside within us (Rom. 8:9).

And even if we can’t fully relate to growing up in a shanty compound, we can hear the cry of those who have grown up there, a cry that longs to be heard, because we ourselves have heard from the One who really has something worthwhile to say.

Lost in the Shuffle

I have come to the conclusion that in Africa, the purpose of an immigration office is to force you to consider how much you really want to be in that particular country. In fact, I’m pretty sure that some immigration offices sincerely hope that if they make things difficult enough for you, you will eventually just give up and go home and save them a lot of paperwork.

Yesterday I had to make a trip to the immigration office in downtown Lusaka, for what should have been a simple thing: picking up our work permits.

As it turned out, that “simple thing” turned into three hours of the most agonizingly painful test of endurance I’ve ever encountered. It was as though I was Lance Armstrong, and the immigration office was the French Alps, except that (thankfully) I wasn’t wearing bike shorts, and the immigration office was only breathtaking in the way that a canister of tear gas is breathtaking.

The problem, was that they couldn’t find my file. After standing in line for an hour, I finally was able to hand the guy my receipt, and he began looking through stack of folders piled behind him. When he couldn’t come up with my file, he put my receipt on the bottom of the stack. This is completely in keeping with standard government operating procedures in Zambia, which states that, “a problem is a problem only so long as you are aware of it being a problem, and you are only required to be aware of it, if you are looking directly at thing which is potentially problematic. Otherwise, it may or may not be a problem at all.”

After watching my receipt get shuffled to the bottom of the stack several times, I finally approached the guy to find out what the problem was. He said my file was not there, and then asked me a very important question.

“Is it in the book?”

You see, before you can pick up your work permit, you have to verify that it is indeed ready, and you do that by checking a log book that is kept near the front door of the office. I had done all of this (or, at least some friends had done it for me) and so I knew that our permits were logged in on August 25. Nevertheless, the immigration official was skeptical and escorted me over to the book to have a look for himself. When we found my name entered, the immigration official looked genuinely surprised, and immediately returned to the stack of files and began searching with a renewed commitment. Within minutes the file had been found, and I was on my way home, work permits in hand.

Looking back, I find it intriguing that nothing I could say to the official would convince him that my work permit must be there. Not until he saw for himself that it was “written in the book,” was he even remotely open to a possibility which he had not really considered before – namely, that it actually was there somewhere!

What amazed me about the whole incident, was the immigration official’s inherent trust in the integrity of the book! If it’s in the book, he clearly believed, then the work permit must be there!

Reflecting on this incident has made me think about my own devotional life, which lately has sort of been on a lull, and about my own views of the Book we Christians hold so dear. It seems I go through seasons regarding my time with the Lord, and some of those seasons are more often characterized, in all honesty, by a sort of going through the motions than by a wholehearted effort to hear and receive from the Lord. At times, I think this happens when my Bible reading has me at places in scripture that are more laborious to read – such as the lists of names in the opening chapters of Chronicles, or when the immediate connection between my life and that which the text is describing is not plainly obvious. But sometimes, I think this happens simply because I begin to lose a sense of the Bible’s inherent authority and ultimate importance. Not that I do this intentionally (or admit to it easily), but if I honestly evaluate the time I spend reading the Bible as compared to the time I spend reading other things, well, my actions speak for themselves.

But if the Bible is anything at all, it is inherently authoritative! And yet, I can only discover that authority if I approach it believing that to be so. The famous theologian Karl Barth once said that the printed pages of the Bible do not constitute the word of God by themselves, but that they become the Word of God when they are preached and believed. And I think what Barth was getting at was that when it comes to the Word of God, it all starts with our approach. Approach it as a collection of ancient writings ordered and arranged by men of antiquity, and you will find it to be little more than a fantastic collection of poetry, history and sagely advice. But approach it as it truly is, as the word of God, and you will be changed, broken, and empowered by it as the Spirit of God from whom those words originated, leads you into all truth. It’s very much like my friend at the immigration office. He would have never searched again through the mountainous stacks of folders, had he not had confidence in the authority of the book!

In fact, this is similar to the point Jesus was making when he was talking to those who refused to listen to him. He said, “And the Father who sent me has himself testified concerning me. You have never heard his voice nor seen his form, nor does his word dwell in you, for you do not believe the one he sent. You diligently study the Scriptures because you think that by them you possess eternal life. These are the Scriptures that testify about me, yet you refuse to come to me to have life,” (John 5:37–40). And, “He who belongs to God hears what God says. The reason you do not hear is that you do not belong to God,” (John 8:47).

In this present age (which, is probably not unlike most every other age that preceded it), the truth often seems obscured by political agendas and personal interests. For instance, I am often amazed at how my friends on different sides of the political fence can see a particular current event in such vastly different ways. What is disastrous to one, is glorious to another, (in fact, I’m fairly certain that if all my Facebook friends ever ended up in the same room, WWIII would ensue).

But in this time of wearying banter in which the genuine truth seems lost in the shuffle more often than not, I am reminded of what a wonderful thing it is to have a source for truth that is never flavored by partisanship, or selfish ambitions, but rather flows from the One who himself is “the way, the truth, and the life,” and whose only agenda is my wholeness.

And when my devotional time is at a lull, what I need to be reminded of, is that I sit down, not with a book, but with the Truth, that what I read are not words, but a Way, and that what I receive is not information, but Life!

When He Comes

This week Jerry and I celebrated 4 years in marriage – four precious years of zero regrets and immeasurable love and gratefulness for each other. This week also marks one year since we committed our son Josiah into the arms of Jesus. It has been the longest year of our lives. We know we are in the process of being redefined and resurrected by God. The journey is far from over, but we’re on the road.

Although we thought we already knew such things, what we’re really learning is this: “Trust Him at all times, O people, pour out your hearts to Him, for God is our refuge” (Ps. 62:5). We’ve poured out a lot of things – pain, tears, anger, disappointment, and questions, but also, our faith, love, and worship. That faith and worship is of a different sort than it was a year ago, but not less sincere. Quite the contrary. We are more real, more weak, more broken and more alive all at the same time.

God in His goodness has both Jerry and I doing something we love this month – teaching at the Bible Schools. Jerry is presently at the Extension Training Center, and I’m at the Assemblies of God school. One of my favorite things about coming here to teach is the chapel services. There’s just an indescribable fullness and depth in worshipping and interceding with our Zambian brothers and sisters. Thursday morning there were just seven of us present, in that big church, and Pastor Mwanza led in worship. We sang the good old “Alleluia” song. And to the same tune we started singing “He is mighty,” a capella, in simple harmonies. We must have sung “He is mighty” through at least seven times. And in that big church, with a handful of people, singing that simple old song, the presence of the Lord came, and we began to truly worship.

How does one describe the presence of the Lord? He comes and lifts us out of our smallness, our heaviness, our weakness – and gives us a glimpse of His incomparable glory, a taste of His infinite love. And suddenly we find ourselves no longer mindful of “prayer requests” – but of the greatness of God.

And I couldn’t help but feel amazed at the wonder of it all. A small, struggling Bible College. Seven needy people (teacher included). And the glory of God.

His presence changes everything – our standards, our self-importance, our interests, our perspective.

Sure wish ya’ll could join us for chapel.

Healthcare Reform

This past week I have been teaching a class on church history in one of the Bible schools we work with in Lusaka. And I love church history, because it reminds me that for every person who has ever represented a gross corruption of the Gospel, for every big–haired, dollar–eyed, televangelist who has confused “take up your cross” with “take out your wallet,” there have been thousands over the centuries who did indeed do the former, and gave everything for the sake of proclaiming Christ.

Yes, there have been the horrible chapters in Christian history of the Crusades and the Inquisitions, but there have also been many, many glorious chapters of transforming hope, and selfless sacrifice.

On the last regular day of class, after we had reviewed for the final, we decided that we needed to go to the home of two of the students and pray for them and their wives. Both of their wives have been very sick, one since February, the other, since 1987!

I had mixed feelings about the outing, because, my experience has been that God doesn’t always heal those we pray for. Now, some claim that that is due to a lack of faith in the person being prayed for, that If only they believed a little more, then God would heal them. Others say that God only heals through medical doctors nowadays. That healing in the New Testament was a mere sign, pointing to the arrival of God’s kingdom. And, they would say, since that kingdom has come (at least in part), then healing miracles are no longer necessary.

The problem with these two positions is that the first seems to make God a servant of faith. And if a miracle is dependent on my faith, then God hardly seems sovereign. The second position likewise, denies God’s character. It says that God only healed in order to make a point. Not because he loved people, not because he had compassion on them, not because he hated their suffering even more than they did.

But Jesus said that if we had faith the size of a mustard seed...that is, really small faith...then we could do, or rather, he would do through us, rather amazing things. We could metaphorically move mountains, he said. And any arguments based on the New Testament text that miracles were for a limited time only, are desperately thin. One might achieve some (limited) success arguing philosophically or scientifically that miracles are a thing of the past, but to make such a claim based on the New Testament is a hard sell indeed.

At any rate, I had mixed feelings. I wanted to see God help these people, who unlike most Americans, have few other options. And yet, I was afraid of the outcome if nothing came of it. What if they weren’t healed? What would be the effect on the students? On those we prayed for? On me?

At the first house we went to, we prayed for a lady who for the last 22 years has suffered varying degrees of mental illness. In America, of course, we would promptly load such a person up on Prozac and whatever else is the anti–depressant du jour. And occasionally, we would do so with good cause. But in Zambia medical care for the mentally ill is virtually non–existent.

At the second house, we prayed for a lady who had been sick since February with fevers, headaches, coughing, bloodshot eyes and itchy skin.

As we gathered at the second house, which was in a busy compound just off the main market, in earshot of noisy bars and foot traffic, my fears about our prayers not being answered were quickly swallowed up in the reality of being there. In that tiny house, with its bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling, and its tin roof and chipped plaster walls, it occurred to me that we pray for healing, not only because God can and does heal the sick, but also because when we pray we become what we could never be otherwise.

By that, I mean that in praying for those who are hurting, we lose something of our earthly and fatal perspective – a perspective that fears prayer because of what might not be, and enter into God’s divine perspective – one that embraces prayer because of who God is. We turn from a temporal, results-centered living, to an eternal, Person-centered loving. And in that, we find that prayer for healing is never about us, and it is even only partly about the person being prayed for.

And this is what both of those positions I mentioned above get right. It is ultimately about faith, and it is ultimately about the Kingdom. But neither of those, biblically speaking, is ever about us. Faith comes not from our will power, but from God’s all power. And the Kingdom of God that has burst in upon the kingdoms of men with the coming of Christ, is not about God making a statement, but about God making us whole. It is in the Kingdom that we are healed because it is in the King that we “live and move and have our being,” (Acts 17:28).

This last year, it seems there has been an abundance of opportunities to pray for a number of our friends who have faced, and some who still are facing, major health issues. And at times, I have found myself wearied by the news of yet another beloved friend in desperate need of a touch from God. Because the truth is, to care, to really care, is exhausting and dangerous. It’s exhausting because it shatters all notions of a world in which things are just fine, and in which every malady is solvable with a Band–Aid or Ritalin. And its dangerous because it violently reminds us that despite our memberships at the gym, and our IRAs and 401Ks and all the degrees and placards hanging on our walls commemorating our accomplishments, that we ultimately are as dependent and helpless as little children.

And when we pray for the sick, I think somehow, we too find healing that we never even knew we needed. We might, I suppose, think of it as holy healthcare reform. When we come to God in faith and in recognition of our complete dependence on Him, we finally are able to, not only understand what Jesus meant when he said, “Unless you change (reform), and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven,” but more importantly, we are actually enabled to do it!

So maybe we need to be praying for the sick more often because, 1) God can and does heal, and 2) because it is in doing so that we ourselves are cured of our greatest ailment, the disease of self–sufficiency.

July The Fourth

America is far from being perfect. We have our problems, no matter what political lens you chose to view the action from.

On the Republican side, we have the Governor of South Carolina, who seems to have borrowed his present political strategy from Forest Gump: stupid is as stupid does. The Democrats, of course, have their share of gubernatorial goofballs too, starting with Rod Blagojevich.

Now some among us have drawn some rather astonishing conclusions from these wayward politicians. The non–logic goes something like this:

Sanford had an extramarital affair and ran off to Argentina to hook up with a woman he claimed to be his ‘soul mate.” Sanford is a republican. Therefore all republicans, who claim to adhere to “family values” are really adulterers who secretly lust after Antonio Banderas and Charo. And this is why Hugo Chavez is so angry.

On the Dem side:

Blagojevich tried to sell Obama’s senate seat to the highest bidder. Blago is a democrat. Therefore, all democrats, who claim to be champions of the poor, are in reality greedy elitists who want the rest of us to be driving around on riding lawnmowers while they’re busy joyriding in a 747 doing photo ops over New York city, on their way home from a weekend at Martha’s Vineyard.

Of course, this is all nonsense.

We all know that Hugo Chavez is angry because his haircut makes him look like Herman Munster, bless his heart. Perhaps John Edwards can recommend a good barber.

So, yes, America has issues, just like the rest of the world.

But the longer I’m in Africa, the more I appreciate just how good we have it in the good ole’ US of A. Here is short list of some of my biggest ‘gratefulnesses”.

• In America, I’m grateful for mostly honest policemen who aren’t constantly trying to con me, as one did this week in Lusaka when I was given a speeding ticket for going 4 miles per hour over the speed limit. The officer tried to claimed the fine was three times what the law says it is.
• In America, I’m grateful that my tax money generally goes to important things, like roads or schools. In Africa, tax money can just as easily go towards a new fleet of Mercedes for government Ministers, presumably because the poor roads destroyed their previous ones.
• In America, I’m grateful that a person can say whatever they want about the President, and not fear being tortured or killed. In many places in Africa, a person can say whatever they want about a president, as long as it is flattering.
• In America, I’m grateful that loud explosions in the middle of the night usually don’t mean that we’re at war. Instead, it just means that Americans are celebrating their freedom, in the usual fashion, by blowing stuff up.
• In America, I’m grateful that people like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Al Franken can run for office, and win. If they can’t get laws passed, then they should at least be good for a laugh or two.
• In America, I’m grateful that there is a Fox News, and a CNN, and that neither of them are as “ fair” or “balanced” as they claim. It makes us all think for ourselves a little more than we otherwise might.

I was sort of hesitant about posting this, because the last impression I wanted to give is that I think that everything about America is good, or that I think that everything about Africa is bad. Both places have their share of both.

But in America I sometimes wonder if we are losing a sense of our most valuable national treasure, and by that I mean our ability to celebrate both our unity and our diversity. It seems that more and more our differences erupt into bitter personal attacks and slanderous accusations. Little by little, we are losing the ability to respectfully disagree.

And if the Church, as possessors of the Spirit of unity (Rom. 15:5), cannot take the lead in changing this, how can we expect anyone else to?

Because, as we have seen in Iran recently, we are never really independent until we can celebrate the freedom of dissent.