Ijo Bon Yesu

As I consider the beauty of this place, I see trees green with the fullness of life, tall grass bending in worship at the command of the wind, ducks all in a row chasing after their mother, quaint huts scattered across the countryside, truly, it’s beautiful, even the ever presence of silence is refreshing to the ears. The smiles of the people and the warm welcome, children in bright uniforms, all together creating something like an illusion, a backdrop in a drama that quickly dismantles, a smooth glossy white eggshell. But break through that shell and enter into the mess we’re daring to call life and see the way you’ve been deceived. There’s much pain here, too much actually and though it presents itself most commonly as poverty and is treated only as such, that’s not the root of it, it’s merely another symptom.

Enter into this mess with me for a minute. There’s much pain left behind by the rebel group that claims to want the country ruled by the Ten Commandments, but they’ve broken everyone of them in that pursuit, abducting children and forcing them to steal, kill and destroy. And though this rebel group is now far from this place, its residents have taken up that same work. Young girls are still raped, cattle are still stolen, they cheat one another in market, destroy one another’s reputation through harsh gossip and lies. They kill their wives and the joy of their children by caning them thoroughly for simple mistakes, mothers abuse their own children with venomous words, virginity is stolen for a few cows, alcohol is busy destroying futures, the description of the mess can go on and on (I’d hate to start listing the mess that is America). So now think about it, throw some money at it, a few income generating activities, give more seeds, send some cows, and maybe it appears to help for a while, like a Band-Aid put on a wound that’s in desperate need of stitches. And yet the Band-Aid is better because it may help a little. But give an alcoholic-gambling addict a cow and he sells the thing and drinks and gambles it away and ends up in worse debt. Give the girl child education and she’s sold for more cows. Help a family start a business and the jealous neighbor still poisons them.

We need to get to the root, but it gets even messier, and more painful. The roots need to be reached and there’s only one way to reach them. Because the deep of our souls is eternally crying out to be met, but there’s only One who is deeper still, only One whose love can reach those deep roots, only One gives the greater grace. And most of the people here have heard rumors of this love and grace, but few have really experienced it. The pastor here may live far from church and all the easier for him to live a life of lustful activity. Maybe he takes two women instead of one, or helps himself to the offering. The born-again lady goes to the witch doctor to make her husband love her more than all the other co-wives. The church-going man plants certain things in his garden to protect the other things from curses. The mob of mostly “Christians” kills the thief in its act of mob justice. But what does it mean to live in the fullness of the love of Christ? How will they know unless they’ve seen? So I guess you could say this is a cry, a cry for help, for people willing to live out the gospel of Christ in this place. For people who are willing to cry out with us, for hope to be restored, for joy, for peace, for life abundant, for believers here to realize they are more than conquerors, not mere victims, for people who seek the heart of God to rise up, for the spirits of death and destruction and hopelessness to lose their grip on this people.

Ijo Bon Yesu. (You only Jesus)