Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday...

Rev. Justin Zimba, Esther Phiri Zimba, and Grace Zimba

On Sunday, we sat and talked with a good friend of ours, Rev. Justin Zimba, who has lost three children. He is about the same age as Joel and me, but has already buried three of his five children. On Monday, my supervisor came into the office; he was on his way home from a funeral, having just buried a baby who died of diarrhea. On Tuesday, Elias, our gardener, came to our home with a desperate look on his face. Little Victor, his 10 month old son, had diarrhea and a fever. We gave him money for the hospital, for medicine, for transport, and sent him with our prayers. On Wednesday, when I said hello to our secretary, she told me that her niece had just died. At twenty-five years old, the young woman just suddenly dropped dead because of a treatable heart condition.

Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday...It happens every day, with a frequency that can make a person numb. Diarrhea, asthma, lung congestion...How does diarrhea turn into death? How does asthma kill someone? How can a cough be fatal? 

The family supported by Nicolette's church

A few night ago, I was talking with Nicolette, who is our guest for this month, about cancer. She is a pastor in the United States, and deals with cancer on a regular basis. She mentioned that while she has heard of so many people dying of so many diseases here, she does not often hear about cancer in Zambia. While it is true that cancer exists here, it is also true that many people simply don't live long enough to get cancer. They die from other things, like asthma, diarrhea, hunger.

In six days, I will travel back to the United States for some speaking engagements, and for my father's wedding. I will be officiating at the wedding, as I join my father and his fiance in marriage. We will eat a lot, I am sure. We will dance and we will celebrate. I will stay in places where there is constant running water, and be able to choose a hot shower whenever I want it. I will even be able to drink water out of the tap! I will not have to deal with constant power outages, and I won't have to check for snakes whenever I want to take in the laundry. And while we are there, we will get some significant medical work done for both of our children. Our family can just get on a plane and leave behind the constant tragedies we witness here.

It is true, as I have written many times, that when tragedies occur here in Zambia, love pours forth, and people are surrounded with comfort, compassion, and support. I believe it is remarkable and inspiring that the people here are not numb to the pain of death, and they do not just accept that which is unacceptable. Instead, they mourn, they soothe, they show up for funerals and visitations and hospital stays. They bring food, they donate money, they pray, they sing, they sit in silence and solidarity.

But today, that is not enough. I am sick and sad and angry. My children are outside playing with a dozen other kids. These kids laugh and climb and goof around just like any other children. But if my kids get sick, we can get excellent medical care. If their friends get sick, we just have to hope that they survive. Hope and pray.

And so I come back to prayer, back to faith, back to the mystery of a God who loves us and sustains us through tragedy. I can get angry. I can become furious. I can weep with worry and guilt. But my Zambian friends choose to pray. They choose to praise. They choose to trust. They choose to have faith. They believe that there is something bigger than death, a God of love who is with us in life, and beyond. My Zambian friends are certain that there is something more, something bigger, than life itself, and they have found hope in their Christian faith. They believe that the promise of heaven, the assurance of grace, and presence of God, will never fail them. And so they endure, they move forward, they live with pain and are sustained by faith.

I have so much to learn. Today is a day when my faith falters, when my assurance is weak, when my struggles become almost too much. But God loves me anyways, and God is stronger than my frustration, my anger, my sadness. And if God is strong enough, big enough, gracious enough, to see my Zambian friends through their immense pain, then I think that God is strong enough, big enough, gracious enough, to get me through the sadness, too.

Please pray for my friends today, and especially for little Victor Phiri. And may we all pray for a faith that is strong and powerful, as we seek to love God, love God's children, and be God's hands in the world.