In Tete, Mozambique I finally got to go to the Lutheran Church. It was tiny- a small room that could fit about 12 people if they squeezed in. There was a table in the front serving as an altar, which was big enough for a candle and a flower, and communion was a real challenge! But the group was very lively! It was pouring rain afterwards, and no one had a car. One guy with a bike took me home, saving me a drenching 40-minute walk!
In Tanzania I accidentally found a Lutheran church close to the Shalom center, where I was living and volunteering. I couldn’t read the Swahili on the outside, but a painting of Luther’s rose gave it away. I went in to introduce myself, and they were very happy to have me. It was holy week, and, after asking me to have lunch with the assistant to the bishop who was there, they insisted on having me process in with them and sit up front. I tried to refuse- mainly because I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt and was pretty sweaty because I had just come from playing with the kids, but they wouldn’t take no for an answer!
I also went to this church for Easter Sunday. I never understood more than a few words, but the people were friendly and I loved the music. One girl even gave me a coin to put in the offering, because instead of passing a plate, everyone goes up to the front and drops something in the basket. Because I was with the kids earlier, I didn’t have any money, and she saved me the embarrassment of being the only one who didn’t go up!
Afterwards I had a long chat with the evangelist of the congregation. In the Arusha Lutheran diocese, there are over 900 worshipping congregations, but only 56 pastors! Evangelists, who usually have about a year or two of theological training and cannot give communion, help run the churches that don’t have pastors. There are plenty of congregations who don’t even have an evangelist, and the pastors rotate between these congregations while lay leaders take charge on a daily basis. This is very common for the churches in Africa!
On Good Friday, I went into the Arusha city center and joined in the annual procession from the churches to the stadium. In the stadium, they celebrate with an ecumenical worship service, with all Christian denominations represented. It was really neat to walk through the streets, singing and dancing!
Across the border in Kampala, Uganda, they have a huge Christian gathering at the university every Saturday night. There were probably 1,000 students crammed into the swimming pool area, all listening to skits, songs, and sermons. It was incredible that so many people would dedicate their Saturday night to this. The man giving his testimony that night had had AIDS, but was miraculously healed. Now, he is a pastor who shares the gospel and his amazing story in all of East Africa.
The next day, I was planning on going to the Orthodox service with my friend Enoch, but he had a test that Sunday morning. So, I went with his roommate to his church- a Pentecostal church. I really liked the music, but the 45-minute sermon didn’t really seem to have any point. At least I understood it, though.
I was lucky to have the experience of worshipping in so many different communities. It taught me about other denominations and how they worship. But in general, the music in Africa seems so much more fun and alive! It was a great experience singing and dancing in church! We could learn a lot from the African way of worship.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Monday, May 21, 2007
Kampala, Uganda
From Rwanda I headed to Kampala, the capital of Uganda, to visit a friend named Enoch. He and I were both stewards in Porto Alegre, Brazil, for the World Council of Churches assembly in 2006.
I stayed with Enoch, his brother and a friend in an apartment near Makere University, one of the most well known universities in East Africa. Enoch is studying there, with several years left until he graduates.
The students in Makere, like those in many places that I’ve been to in Africa, seem to be very willing to demonstrate whenever they feel there is injustice. Usually they will only demonstrate if they are directly affected, and even though some of the demonstrations seem to be over petty issues, I admire the fact that they are willing to strike.
But the right to assemble is being taken away from them.
‘President’ Musseveni, who has been leading the country since 1986, has recently clamped down on public gatherings. After several large demonstrations against his regime, he has enforced with violence a ban on all public marches and gatherings. Ironically, you can no longer gather in independence square, in downtown Kampala, where Ugandans demanded their freedom from British rule less than 50 years ago. He has even created a secret police force, which has little oversight and only does the presidents bidding.
In addition, he has cut back the political science courses at Makere and other universities, because he was afraid that the students could turn into opposition leaders one day.
Musseveni doesn’t get as much negative press as some of the other dictators, like Mugabe in Zimbabwe. But a dictator is a dictator. From the favorable way he is treated by the West, it seems like Uganda doesn’t have enough oil for us to really care.
In addition to these problems, there has been a civil war in the north of the country for many years that has claimed thousands of lives. Enoch’s brother was one of the victims. As part of his job as the young adult representative on the National Council of Churches in Uganda (the national level of the World Council of Churches), he went to the north to help monitor national elections. He was taken hostage, tortured, and then killed. His was so disfigured, that his family was told that they wouldn’t want to see his body.
Africa continues to suffer. But we continue to turn our backs on them. I have heard many people talk about Africa like it will never recover. And so, our policies towards the continent seem to reflect this. But one thing I noticed everywhere I went is that Africans have hope. There are success stories. There are countries that are on the right path, but economic depression and as a result high unemployment are major obstacles that threaten to reverse these advances. Agricultural subsidies in the U.S. and in Europe continue to tilt the field against the Africans, making it impossible for them to export their cash crops. Increased foreign aid isn’t the only answer- in fact, if the overall GDP went up just a few percentage points, it would generate more money for the countries than all of the foreign aid combined.
There is all this talk in the USA about free trade and how important it is. But if you look closely, we are only for free trade if we think it will benefit us. It’s time to make a choice. If we are really for free and fair trade, then lets show it. Stop punishing the world’s poor.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Genocide
Almost everyone in the world has heard of Rwanda, and that is for only one reason: genocide.
Rwanda is a very small country- it seemed that you could get anywhere in just three hours in a mini bus from the capital, Kigali. You will find beautiful rolling hills all throughout the country, and even volcanoes, rainforests, mountain gorillas, and Lake Kivu, one of Africa’s great lakes.
But Rwanda has had a history of ethnic violence. The worst genocide happened in 1994, when anywhere from 500,000 to 1 million people died as a result. In college, I took several history and politics classes that focused on Rwanda, and therefore had read a lot about its history and what happened in 1994. I was anxious to go see it for myself.
My second day in Kigali I went off in a moto taxi to the genocide memorial. It is down the hill from the main part of town, but still very much inside the capital. I felt prepared to see and hear the stories that I had already read about and seen in the film, Hotel Rwanda.
But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. It is a great memorial, with a complete history of what happened, along with many personal stories. I slowly walked through, taking it all in and trying to keep my composure. I completely lost it at the end, when they had large picture of kids. Underneath, they had the name of the kid, age, who their best friend was, their favorite toy, their last words, and how they died.
I don’t remember specific names, but the ages in the exhibit were from 3 months to about 15 years old. The best friends included their father or mother, sister or brother, or a schoolmate. One of the kids was killed by the family of his own best friend. Most of the kids were killed with machetes, sometimes in the bathtub, and usually they were killed in front of their parents, so that they would have to watch their children die before they themselves were killed. One baby died because a militia man threw it against the wall. Another had his skull smashed by the militia mans foot. The only reason that these stories are known is because one of the family members, who had been sliced and left for dead, miraculous lived (often for several days) before they were finally found.
Around the memorial is a garden, and many mass graves of the victims of the genocide. An eternal flame burns, and there is even a library and classrooms for learning in the same building.
When I went back to the Presbyterian Church hotel/hostel where I was staying, the college aged girl working the desk asked me what I did that day. I told her that I went to the genocide memorial. After a short pause, and she told me that her family is buried there.
On the mini bus to the north, I noticed that several people had huge gashes on their legs and/or arms. Was this from the genocide? I also saw along the road many of the local trials that are still going on today, called gacacas. At these trials, the accused person, in a pink shirt, stands in front of the people of the town and tells his or her side of the story of what happened. At the end of the trial, the community decides what will happen to the person, which rarely includes jail time even if they are guilty of murder. This is not the most perfect way for justice, but how in the world could you possibly prosecute and jail the tens, if not hundreds of thousands of people that participated in the genocide? In Arusha, Tanzania, I passed by the international criminal tribunal, which is trying the worst offenders.
A friend of mine asked me “how many more genocide museums will we put up with?” And yet we continue to sit on the sidelines, allowing the long genocide in Darfur and others to continue.
I will never forget the last words of one of the kids. He said to his mother not to worry, because the UN will come to their aid. Thanks to our apathy and inaction, and that of many other Western countries, we refused. On the same day that they spoke of the horrible atrocities being committed in Rwanda, the UN member states, including the US, voted to reduce the UN force significantly.
How many more genocide museums will you put up with?
Rwanda is a very small country- it seemed that you could get anywhere in just three hours in a mini bus from the capital, Kigali. You will find beautiful rolling hills all throughout the country, and even volcanoes, rainforests, mountain gorillas, and Lake Kivu, one of Africa’s great lakes.
But Rwanda has had a history of ethnic violence. The worst genocide happened in 1994, when anywhere from 500,000 to 1 million people died as a result. In college, I took several history and politics classes that focused on Rwanda, and therefore had read a lot about its history and what happened in 1994. I was anxious to go see it for myself.
My second day in Kigali I went off in a moto taxi to the genocide memorial. It is down the hill from the main part of town, but still very much inside the capital. I felt prepared to see and hear the stories that I had already read about and seen in the film, Hotel Rwanda.
But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. It is a great memorial, with a complete history of what happened, along with many personal stories. I slowly walked through, taking it all in and trying to keep my composure. I completely lost it at the end, when they had large picture of kids. Underneath, they had the name of the kid, age, who their best friend was, their favorite toy, their last words, and how they died.
I don’t remember specific names, but the ages in the exhibit were from 3 months to about 15 years old. The best friends included their father or mother, sister or brother, or a schoolmate. One of the kids was killed by the family of his own best friend. Most of the kids were killed with machetes, sometimes in the bathtub, and usually they were killed in front of their parents, so that they would have to watch their children die before they themselves were killed. One baby died because a militia man threw it against the wall. Another had his skull smashed by the militia mans foot. The only reason that these stories are known is because one of the family members, who had been sliced and left for dead, miraculous lived (often for several days) before they were finally found.
Around the memorial is a garden, and many mass graves of the victims of the genocide. An eternal flame burns, and there is even a library and classrooms for learning in the same building.
When I went back to the Presbyterian Church hotel/hostel where I was staying, the college aged girl working the desk asked me what I did that day. I told her that I went to the genocide memorial. After a short pause, and she told me that her family is buried there.
On the mini bus to the north, I noticed that several people had huge gashes on their legs and/or arms. Was this from the genocide? I also saw along the road many of the local trials that are still going on today, called gacacas. At these trials, the accused person, in a pink shirt, stands in front of the people of the town and tells his or her side of the story of what happened. At the end of the trial, the community decides what will happen to the person, which rarely includes jail time even if they are guilty of murder. This is not the most perfect way for justice, but how in the world could you possibly prosecute and jail the tens, if not hundreds of thousands of people that participated in the genocide? In Arusha, Tanzania, I passed by the international criminal tribunal, which is trying the worst offenders.
A friend of mine asked me “how many more genocide museums will we put up with?” And yet we continue to sit on the sidelines, allowing the long genocide in Darfur and others to continue.
I will never forget the last words of one of the kids. He said to his mother not to worry, because the UN will come to their aid. Thanks to our apathy and inaction, and that of many other Western countries, we refused. On the same day that they spoke of the horrible atrocities being committed in Rwanda, the UN member states, including the US, voted to reduce the UN force significantly.
How many more genocide museums will you put up with?
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Christian Worship in Africa, Part I
In the several months I have been here in Africa, I have worshipped in many different churches, including: Methodist, Anglican (Episcopal), Presbyterian, Roman Catholic, Lutheran, and Non-denominational.
In South Africa, we went to a Methodist Church because it was the only church within walking distance. They had a traditional worship service and, at the same time, a service for young people (ages 14-30, approx.). The traditional service was attended by whites only, but the other service was multiracial, with a majority being black. The leaders were all white, but they were inclusive in their style. We sang a lot of modern worship songs, with guitars and drums providing the music, and they used a lot of videos (some home made) throughout the service and the message. We were even asked to break off into small groups and come up with a skit to present at one point!
When I was in Zambia, I went to an Anglican Church on what happened to be youth Sunday. The service was in English, and they used the traditional liturgy, with young people (18-30) doing the readings. They also had the traditional hymns with organ music, but at several points the youth sang and danced to African hymns. This was so refreshing!
In Malawi I went to the Presbyterian Church. The people in the town and a friend that I made all told me the service started at nine. So, naturally, my friend came to meet me to walk to church at 9:15. When we got there a little past 9:30, only the elders were there, and they assured us the service would start at ten. I had booked a ride out at 11, based on the information that the service started at 9, so I was anxious for the service to start. The church started to fill at 10:15, and while we waited different people started singing moving African hymns. At 10:45 the elders (all men) came out and it seemed like we would be underway. But the first business was the treasurer’s report, which lasted for 15 minutes! As the opening hymn started at 11 am, I headed for the door and ran off to catch my ride!
I looked for the Lutheran Church in Mozambique, but, as nobody knew where it was, I went to the large Roman Catholic Cathedral to worship. The hymns were traditional, with the organ playing in the background. The Bishop was presiding, and the acolytes and anyone who came up to read had to bow to the bishop. For the gospel reading, the assisting priest came over, bowed before the bishop, kissed his hands, and waited on his knees for his blessing (honestly, I don’t know if he was praying, getting a blessing, or what, but that’s what it looked like). After the incredibly long message by the bishop, all the young people were asked to go around the Cathedral (and there were a lot of them- probably 300) so that the bishop could come and give each one of them a personal blessing. After 10 minutes of this, seeing that the bishop had only blessed 20 people or so, I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I left.
To be continued…
In South Africa, we went to a Methodist Church because it was the only church within walking distance. They had a traditional worship service and, at the same time, a service for young people (ages 14-30, approx.). The traditional service was attended by whites only, but the other service was multiracial, with a majority being black. The leaders were all white, but they were inclusive in their style. We sang a lot of modern worship songs, with guitars and drums providing the music, and they used a lot of videos (some home made) throughout the service and the message. We were even asked to break off into small groups and come up with a skit to present at one point!
When I was in Zambia, I went to an Anglican Church on what happened to be youth Sunday. The service was in English, and they used the traditional liturgy, with young people (18-30) doing the readings. They also had the traditional hymns with organ music, but at several points the youth sang and danced to African hymns. This was so refreshing!
In Malawi I went to the Presbyterian Church. The people in the town and a friend that I made all told me the service started at nine. So, naturally, my friend came to meet me to walk to church at 9:15. When we got there a little past 9:30, only the elders were there, and they assured us the service would start at ten. I had booked a ride out at 11, based on the information that the service started at 9, so I was anxious for the service to start. The church started to fill at 10:15, and while we waited different people started singing moving African hymns. At 10:45 the elders (all men) came out and it seemed like we would be underway. But the first business was the treasurer’s report, which lasted for 15 minutes! As the opening hymn started at 11 am, I headed for the door and ran off to catch my ride!
I looked for the Lutheran Church in Mozambique, but, as nobody knew where it was, I went to the large Roman Catholic Cathedral to worship. The hymns were traditional, with the organ playing in the background. The Bishop was presiding, and the acolytes and anyone who came up to read had to bow to the bishop. For the gospel reading, the assisting priest came over, bowed before the bishop, kissed his hands, and waited on his knees for his blessing (honestly, I don’t know if he was praying, getting a blessing, or what, but that’s what it looked like). After the incredibly long message by the bishop, all the young people were asked to go around the Cathedral (and there were a lot of them- probably 300) so that the bishop could come and give each one of them a personal blessing. After 10 minutes of this, seeing that the bishop had only blessed 20 people or so, I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I left.
To be continued…
American Culture in Africa
I was crammed, like usual, in a car on the way to Kampala, Uganda. It was a dirt road, with dust flying everywhere, and it was very bumpy. We were listening to the radio when it happened.
I tried not to get too excited, and it took all of my energy to refrain from jumping up and dancing. The man next to me might have thought I was crazy if he saw my arms pop up as the Macarena came on!
It was the first time I had heard that song in so many years. But it was not to be the last. Just one half hour later, the same radio station played it again! Now I remember why I was so happy when they finally stopped playing it on the radio!
From music to the movies, can you guess who are African's two favorite actors? Nope, not Tom Hanks and Will Smith. Instead, my guess is that it’s Jean-Claude Van Damme and Steven Seagal.
This also seemed to be true in South America. Everyone really loves their movies, even though, in my opinion, they are all the same: The protagonist goes around and kills a whole bunch of people and probably gets a girlfriend in the process.
I’m proud of our culture that we continue to produce these exceptional films that provide such good educational material for the young people here and abroad. And we act surprised when a little boy or girl starts punching their buddies after watching these quality movies.
We are a very violent culture. Not only in our movies and our music (including that incredibly stupid song by Toby Keith where he says something like America will put a boot in your ass if you mess with us), but also in our history and values.
We continue to be the ONLY 1st world country that supports the death penalty, even though we continue to apply it unevenly and unfairly, along racial and class lines. For some reason the majority ‘Christian’ society continues to think that healing can only come with revenge. We don’t want real justice- we just want blood. An eye for an eye, that was what the Bible says, right? Is that the way that Jesus would want us to love our neighbor?
And, many people in our society continue to argue that the founders of our country, by writing in the second amendment of our right to bear arms, somehow wanted us all to have the right to own a machine gun. The second amendment aside, but when did we start thinking that the founding fathers were gods? They did a pretty darn good job of setting up our country, but they weren’t perfect (slavery, equal rights, etc). Can we have an honest debate about what would be best for the future of our country? If we looked at other first world countries and their crime rates and murder rates, we will find that again, we can’t even compare!
And of course there is that attitude that because we’re America and we’re the biggest and strongest, we’re going to do what we want. The UN, EU, and even our allies (or all the people in the world for that matter) can disagree. But we’ll bomb the heck out of whomever we want, for whatever reason.
This wasn’t supposed to be about violence when I started writing- it was about the Macarena and Van Damme. But especially with the recent tragedy at Virginia Tech (which, by the way, all the world knows about, and they are all supporting the community in thought and prayer), I hope that we finally have a real, nationwide discussion about our violent nature. Not just political jockeying, but real debate. How long can we continue like this?
I tried not to get too excited, and it took all of my energy to refrain from jumping up and dancing. The man next to me might have thought I was crazy if he saw my arms pop up as the Macarena came on!
It was the first time I had heard that song in so many years. But it was not to be the last. Just one half hour later, the same radio station played it again! Now I remember why I was so happy when they finally stopped playing it on the radio!
From music to the movies, can you guess who are African's two favorite actors? Nope, not Tom Hanks and Will Smith. Instead, my guess is that it’s Jean-Claude Van Damme and Steven Seagal.
This also seemed to be true in South America. Everyone really loves their movies, even though, in my opinion, they are all the same: The protagonist goes around and kills a whole bunch of people and probably gets a girlfriend in the process.
I’m proud of our culture that we continue to produce these exceptional films that provide such good educational material for the young people here and abroad. And we act surprised when a little boy or girl starts punching their buddies after watching these quality movies.
We are a very violent culture. Not only in our movies and our music (including that incredibly stupid song by Toby Keith where he says something like America will put a boot in your ass if you mess with us), but also in our history and values.
We continue to be the ONLY 1st world country that supports the death penalty, even though we continue to apply it unevenly and unfairly, along racial and class lines. For some reason the majority ‘Christian’ society continues to think that healing can only come with revenge. We don’t want real justice- we just want blood. An eye for an eye, that was what the Bible says, right? Is that the way that Jesus would want us to love our neighbor?
And, many people in our society continue to argue that the founders of our country, by writing in the second amendment of our right to bear arms, somehow wanted us all to have the right to own a machine gun. The second amendment aside, but when did we start thinking that the founding fathers were gods? They did a pretty darn good job of setting up our country, but they weren’t perfect (slavery, equal rights, etc). Can we have an honest debate about what would be best for the future of our country? If we looked at other first world countries and their crime rates and murder rates, we will find that again, we can’t even compare!
And of course there is that attitude that because we’re America and we’re the biggest and strongest, we’re going to do what we want. The UN, EU, and even our allies (or all the people in the world for that matter) can disagree. But we’ll bomb the heck out of whomever we want, for whatever reason.
This wasn’t supposed to be about violence when I started writing- it was about the Macarena and Van Damme. But especially with the recent tragedy at Virginia Tech (which, by the way, all the world knows about, and they are all supporting the community in thought and prayer), I hope that we finally have a real, nationwide discussion about our violent nature. Not just political jockeying, but real debate. How long can we continue like this?
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Cheza
The Shalom Center is a Christian home for street kids. Most of the kids are not orphans - almost all of their families could not provide them basic necessities such as food, clothing, materials for education, and basic health care. Many ran away to the streets, trying to sell plastic bags or other things just to make money to eat (some as young as 5 were on the streets!) That's where the social workers at Shalom found them.
The goal of the center is that one day the kids will be reunited with their families (if they can find them). But in the mean time, the kids are fed, have beds to sleep in, access to health care, and everything they need to go to school.
Every night, before bed, they gather in the small courtyard area and have time to worship together. This always includes many Christian praise songs (in Swahili), and every night someone comes to give them a 'message.'
The message is basically a sermon. Sometimes it goes on forever, and I can see the small kids just dozing off. It is obviously really boring for me, because I can't understand what he is saying. But overall, I think it's a neat idea.
But the songs, that's what I really love. In Africa, singing also means dancing. I can't understand the songs, but I can usually pick up the words and try to sing along, and I definitely enjoy the dancing! They have taught me several African dances!
My favorite song starts off pretty fast, with clapping. After a couple verses, the person leading the songs starts singing "Cheza...Cheza..." many times. This means 'dance' in Swahili. So everyone just busts out their favorite moves. They really love it when I do the 'white boy' dance!
After four or five songs, the singing stops, and there is a time to pray. Everyone says their prayers out loud, at the same time, because that is what they are accustomed to doing. I pray silently, while still hearing "Cheza" run through my head.
The goal of the center is that one day the kids will be reunited with their families (if they can find them). But in the mean time, the kids are fed, have beds to sleep in, access to health care, and everything they need to go to school.
Every night, before bed, they gather in the small courtyard area and have time to worship together. This always includes many Christian praise songs (in Swahili), and every night someone comes to give them a 'message.'
The message is basically a sermon. Sometimes it goes on forever, and I can see the small kids just dozing off. It is obviously really boring for me, because I can't understand what he is saying. But overall, I think it's a neat idea.
But the songs, that's what I really love. In Africa, singing also means dancing. I can't understand the songs, but I can usually pick up the words and try to sing along, and I definitely enjoy the dancing! They have taught me several African dances!
My favorite song starts off pretty fast, with clapping. After a couple verses, the person leading the songs starts singing "Cheza...Cheza..." many times. This means 'dance' in Swahili. So everyone just busts out their favorite moves. They really love it when I do the 'white boy' dance!
After four or five songs, the singing stops, and there is a time to pray. Everyone says their prayers out loud, at the same time, because that is what they are accustomed to doing. I pray silently, while still hearing "Cheza" run through my head.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
You know Swahili
So, chances are that if you’ve seen The Lion King, you know more Swahili than you think. (Swahili is the national language of Tanzania and is spoken in several other countries, including Kenya, Rwanda, and Uganda).
Simba means lion.
Rafiki (the monkey) means friend.
Pumba means crazy or stupid.
If you remember the song Rafiki sings, it goes something like “Asante Sana Squash Banana”- Asante Sana means thank you very much.
And Hakuna Matata- It means no worries… What a good song!
There are probably some other words in there, but I haven’t seen the movie in a while. I give props to Disney for using some Swahili!
Simba means lion.
Rafiki (the monkey) means friend.
Pumba means crazy or stupid.
If you remember the song Rafiki sings, it goes something like “Asante Sana Squash Banana”- Asante Sana means thank you very much.
And Hakuna Matata- It means no worries… What a good song!
There are probably some other words in there, but I haven’t seen the movie in a while. I give props to Disney for using some Swahili!
LTSP it is
I have made a decision.
For a long time now, I have heard a call to study theology in order to become a pastor in the Lutheran Church. Sometimes this call has been loud, other times a little quieter (although that could have just been me making it a bit softer). It has gotten louder more recently, and so I decided that it was time to act on it.
I applied to three schools in January, and had been waiting to hear back. I wasn’t really sure where God was calling me, but at that time I was thinking my first choice was Union seminary in NYC, then Yale Divinity School, and then the Lutheran Theological Seminary in Philadelphia (LTSP), but Union and Yale were a close 1 and 2.
While still continuing to pray about it, I got word back- I had gotten in to LTSP and Union, but not to Yale. I was excited, because I took the rejection as a way of God telling me that Yale was not the place to be. It seemed like the path was cleared for me to go to Union.
But I continued to pray about it, talk it over with some friends, family, and staff of the two schools, and it became more clear that God was calling me to LTSP. I couldn’t explain it, but I got really excited when thinking about being at LTSP. What a huge turnaround from only a couple of months ago!
I would have been more surprised by this, but a similar thing happened when I applied to undergraduate schools. And I really think that The University of Maryland was where I was supposed to be.
On Good Friday, after processing through the streets of Arusha and into the stadium for an ecumenical service, I went to the internet café and sent LTSP an email. I’m going to Philadelphia!
For a long time now, I have heard a call to study theology in order to become a pastor in the Lutheran Church. Sometimes this call has been loud, other times a little quieter (although that could have just been me making it a bit softer). It has gotten louder more recently, and so I decided that it was time to act on it.
I applied to three schools in January, and had been waiting to hear back. I wasn’t really sure where God was calling me, but at that time I was thinking my first choice was Union seminary in NYC, then Yale Divinity School, and then the Lutheran Theological Seminary in Philadelphia (LTSP), but Union and Yale were a close 1 and 2.
While still continuing to pray about it, I got word back- I had gotten in to LTSP and Union, but not to Yale. I was excited, because I took the rejection as a way of God telling me that Yale was not the place to be. It seemed like the path was cleared for me to go to Union.
But I continued to pray about it, talk it over with some friends, family, and staff of the two schools, and it became more clear that God was calling me to LTSP. I couldn’t explain it, but I got really excited when thinking about being at LTSP. What a huge turnaround from only a couple of months ago!
I would have been more surprised by this, but a similar thing happened when I applied to undergraduate schools. And I really think that The University of Maryland was where I was supposed to be.
On Good Friday, after processing through the streets of Arusha and into the stadium for an ecumenical service, I went to the internet café and sent LTSP an email. I’m going to Philadelphia!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)