A Long View

The young adult stage of life can be one of almost constant transition. Many switch time zones, or even continents, with each new course of study, year of service, or job opportunity. Some move away from home after graduating high school to attend university. Others enter the work force or go to graduate school. Countless possibilities present themselves, many far from home and the comforts of the familiar.

In South Africa, although I’m building some wonderful friendships and have been shown immense hospitality, I can never feel truly at home. As soon as I think that I have something figured out, I realize that there are several more unknown layers of meaning underneath that something. I can never really forget that I’m not a South African. I expect to be made uncomfortable, to be put in awkward social situations, to be asked to do something I’m not prepared for, and to always be meeting new people.

In conversations with people I’ve just met, my accent usually betrays the fact that I’m not South African. The questions that follow often go something like this:

“Where are you from?”
“I’m from the US. I’m here a volunteer.”
“Oh, really. How long are you here for?”
“A year.”
“And when are you leaving?”
“Probably mid- to late-July.”

When are you leaving? Although I’ve been in South Africa for four months now, in some ways it seems that I have still just arrived, that I am barely scratching the surface. A year is both very short and very long, both significant and insignificant. The story of my year of service is an infinitesimal part of the story of the people of South Africa, one that is thousands of years old. In many ways I’m just passing through, a sojourner, fully present but ultimately on my way to the next thing. When are you leaving?

I’m waiting for a moment of repose that never arrives. When I’m on the cusp of completing some big task, I look forward to a moment of calm, of stillness. But that moment never comes. The end of one thing inevitably produces several more things. Inertia hurtles me forward in time.

Regardless of a particular life stage, ultimately, we are all strangers in a strange land, passing through on our way to the next thing. It’s easier to feel at “home” in one’s country of birth, among family and friends who speak one’s mother tongue. Supposedly as a young adult is the best time to serve abroad before becoming a “real adult” and “settling down” with the obligations of a career, a family, and a mortgage. Is to be a “real adult” simply to be deluded into thinking that one’s life is all that predictable, that it brings some sort of stability?

Do we ever really settle down? Is the purpose of life to settle down into the comfort of predictability, or are must we ultimately serve something bigger than ourselves? Or do we ever realize that our lives are always in process, that transition is inevitable, and that we are part of a greater story that is far beyond our comprehension?

We are part of a far greater story: God’s story. Our lives here on Earth are but a tiny part in the history of the cosmos, however significant or insignificant our impact on that history may be. Although that feeling of smallness can be overwhelming, it is also liberating. In not being able to do everything, we recognize that we can do something in a meaningful way.

It helps now and then to step back and take a long view. The Kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision.

We accomplish in our lifetime only a small fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work. Nothing we do is complete, which is another way of saying that the Kingdom always lies beyond us.

We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own.

- Archbishop Oscar Romero

World AIDS Day

A year ago on World AIDS Day I was a student organizing students on a university campus. I was trying to convince my peers that it was in their best interest and the “right thing” to care about a pandemic happening thousands of miles away on “the problem continent” (although it is happening on a much smaller scale at home too). I helped coordinate a letter writing campaign to the US Senate in support of legislation for the President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief (PEPFAR), which took place during a worship at the campus chapel. Although a profoundly different experience, this year on World AIDS Day I was also a young person among young people. But I was the student and my peers were the teachers. There was nothing spiritualized or theoretical about the day. It wasn’t advocacy; it was “real life” in a way I wouldn’t have been able to comprehend a year ago.

The day started with a march. Hundreds of people sang, danced, carried banners, and distributed flyers and red ribbons to passers-by. Stopping traffic and making active participants of those standing on the side of the road was a powerful way to disseminate information. I had an adrenaline rush from being among so many people singing and marching, and the almost parade atmosphere of the police escort cars and people watching.

The march was followed by a rally. There were speakers, dramas, and singers. On the field where the rally was held were mobile HIV testing sites. Each of the three trailers had several consultation rooms fully staffed by counselors and nurses. Most South Africans are “HIV ignorant.” Of the 600 people that attended the event, over 70 tested for HIV and learned their status. Knowing one’s status is extremely important in stopping the spread of the pandemic. Those who test negative are encouraged to continue practicing safe behaviors and habits. Those who test positive can take the necessary steps in getting treatment and support. The people at the rally weren’t just talking about HIV/AIDS. They were doing something to stop its spread.

What struck me about the types of people in attendance was that they were either young or old. This year World AIDS Day fell on a Monday, which could explain why there were not as many adults present. Many were probably working. The number of young people there, especially those that participated in the program and decided to get tested, was a strong testament to power that youth can have in transforming a society. There was strength in their commitment to change, to taking ownership of their generation.

The young people of South Africa have inherited so many challenges: high rates of crime and unemployment, limited access to quality education, and a failed health care system. These are challenges most American students and young adults cannot even fathom. As a young person myself, I know how quickly some in the older generations write me off, won't take me seriously, or condemn me as apathetic and uninterested. Many older people think youth are more fascinated by the latest video game or designer brand of jeans than becoming involved in the community. Yes, it is true, that there are many young people that do need swift kick in the pants to get off the couch. But this year on World AIDS Day, I was a witness to the power that youth can have to making a positive impact on their communities. Young people may have a lot to learn, but they also have a lot to teach, especially to their western peers.

What I'm thankful for

When people ask me a year from now how I celebrated Thanksgiving in South Africa, I’ll have some awesome stories to tell about hiking in the Drakensburg Mountains and taking a day trip into Lesotho. If the conversation doesn’t stop there, the follow up questions might include, “Is Thanksgiving celebrated in South Africa?” (No, it is not. Thanksgiving is based on distinctly American historical events that have little, if any, relevance in SA.), and “Lesotho? What’s Lesotho?” (It is not, in fact, a dance move. Lesotho is a tiny, landlocked country within the borders of SA. It’s pronounced leh-SOO-too.)

The YAGM volunteers in SA gathered for our first retreat over the Thanksgiving weekend at the home of our country coordinators, Brian and Kristen Konkol. Kristen cooked an amazing dinner complete with turkey and pumpkin pie. We didn’t watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade or drink hot chocolate to ward off the cold. But we did go to the pool at the local university in sunny, 85 degree weather. The seasons are in the southern hemisphere are opposite those in the northern hemisphere. As the US is bracing for winter, SA is heating up for summer. I typically don’t associate the pool with Thanksgiving, but it made me really think about the meaning of the holiday. Is Thanksgiving really about chilly fall weather and pumpkin pie, or is it about giving thanks for the things that matter most?

As we sat down to dinner in the mid-afternoon, there was a shared feeling that, as volunteers, we are becoming more and more like family. Far from our own kin in the US on such a family-oriented holiday, we realized the importance of the people with whom we are sharing this experience. During orientation at LSTC, the chaplain told us that we if we never “psychologically unpacked” that we would have a very difficult time integrating into our countries of service. Bonding with our fellow volunteers and looking to them for support in this experience has been an important part of the unpacking process. We had to acknowledge that we’re all in this together.

One of the most common things people are thankful for is “friends and family.” As Americans we like to think that we create our families through our life choices: that we choose to marry a certain person and to have a certain number of kids, or even whether to stay in touch with blood relatives. We also choose which friends and communities we consider “family.” For South Africans, one’s identity is inherently bound up in the family and community into which one is born. There is no choice in being part of a community, because individuals are inherently defined by their relationships to each other. South African culture places a stronger value on how communities shape individuals than how individuals shape themselves.

Frankly we didn’t choose whom the other volunteers in the SA YAGM program would be in the same way that we didn’t choose our host families or placement sites. The program chose for us. As volunteers were “born into” the same community, not because we sought each other out or chose to serve with each other. Although our placements vary widely across the country, we are defined by our group identity and by the church we serve. We are not best friends, but we are family, I might even dare to say, an African family. And that is something for which I am incredibly thankful.

Pictures courtesy of Amy Swenson