Be the Change

Today I was driving down Hwy 78 when I saw a billboard for liposuction. The claim was “transform yourself." I started thinking a lot about that word. Transform. This word has been recurring for the past six months or so when we began preparing for this pilgrimage. As we discussed, the main idea of a pilgrimage is to be transformed, and for six months we looked forward to that imminent transformation that was going to take place in ourselves and in our lives. For six months I wondered how I was going to be different when I returned, if I was at all. Had I been faithful enough in prayer and preparation before the trip? Probably not. Did I spend enough time reflecting during my time in Uganda? I could have spent more. Have I been transformed? I have, because I encountered Christ in Uganda.

I thought it funny that transformation was being advertised on a billboard for liposuction. Our culture tends to emphasize the importance of surface transformation. As long as things seem to be “fixed,” we consider them transformed. We get makeovers, lose weight, add another coat of paint, and say that we’re like new. These improvements change us on the outside, but they don’t allow us to change the world.

Our time in Uganda gave us a lot of opportunities to compare our culture to Uganda’s. I came to realize more than ever that there are many problems with American life. We have everything we could ever want, but we always want more. As a culture we are selfish, greedy, prideful, and never satisfied. Families are disconnected and we are taught mantras such as “every man for himself.” We take advantage of opportunities we are given and feel entitled to success. Don’t get me wrong; I consider it a true blessing to live in America, but there is no doubt that we are in need of serious change.

I think of the Gandhi quote, “Be the change you want to see in the world.” With all due respect to Gandhi, if you are anything like me and have tried this, you realize that it works for maybe a day. Sooner or later life creeps in, our old ways take over, and we’re back to our old selves. Even our best motivation isn’t enough to transform us in a way that can change the world. We can change ourselves on the surface, but even with the best intentions, we cannot effect change in the world unless we have been transformed from the inside out. We eventually come to realize that the only way we can “be the change” is through a deep transformation that can only take place through encountering Christ.

So then what transformation took place in my life? Like everyone else, I was immediately struck by the Ugandans’ sense of hospitality and warmth. I have never felt so welcome in my entire life. Not only did they greet us with song and dance everywhere we went, but they also gave extravagantly. The Ugandans truly understand the meaning of selfless giving and sacrifice. I was also deeply moved by the willingness of the Acholi people to forgive the LRA for the horror and tragedy they have wreaked on their lives. This caused us to reflect on conflicts we deal with in our lives back home, and to realize that if the Acholi people can forgive the LRA, we can surely forgive our neighbors. The people that we met modeled Christ’s teachings in the way that we are supposed to. Their genuine hospitality is the kind that breaks down walls and their sincere forgiveness is the kind that ends wars. This isn’t because they try harder or have great intentions. It is because the Holy Spirit abounds in their hearts, and overflows to fill the hearts of those they meet. When we allow the Holy Spirit to fill us, we can cause meaningful change.

When people ask me about my trip, I find it difficult to know where to start. I can’t even begin to describe how it feels to walk into a school to see that a child has made a sign saying “Caitlin, You are welcome,” or to walk through rows of children sweetly singing “welcome friends” to a meal that took five hours to prepare. I can’t explain the lump I get in my throat when I think about how a woman whose sister has been abducted is ready to forgive her abductors. I can’t put into words how humbling it is to hear a man who has been robbed the use of his legs proclaim his unconditional faith in Jesus Christ. The only way I find that I can let others know about my experiences in Uganda is to show them through my transformation, and the only way I can be transformed is through encountering Christ. I did encounter Christ in Uganda, and this meeting began a long overdue transformation deep inside myself so that I can stop complaining and “be the change I want to see in the world.” Caitlin

On cooking, dirty clothes, balls, and my job

It's comforting to hear that other folks on the trip have been continuing to be deeply affected by the trip that culminated last Saturday. I can honestly say that my faith has been deepened and I feel more a part of the body of Christ than I have in a long, long time. In fact, for people who know me, using language like "the body of Christ" probably sounds surprising. What I'm feeling more than anything else is that despite being a preacher's kid born and bred in the Methodist Church, I feel like I don't know anything, that I'm starting from scratch from a religious, spiritual, and theological standpoint. As an fan of cycling, I'd like to compare how I feel among the people on the trip and the people that spoke in Sunday school to being a weekend bike rider rolling up to the starting line of the Tour de France.

What does that have to do with the title of this post? Maybe nothing. It's just that besides this uncertain refocusing of my religious life, I have found myself realizing just how easy we have it here in America. The first meal I cooked upon returning was on Sunday and it was stir-fried tofu with frozen vegtables and brown rice that only needed to be reheated in the microwave. Coming so recently from the Ugandan dinner table, I looked at the soy brick with a certain incredulity: what is this?! I turned on the gas range--instant fire. No charcoal, no kerosene, no wood. Turn it on and there is fire. For that matter, turn on a kitchen faucet and there's water--no toting an empty gerry can to the nearest well and carrying the 25-pound-plus beast back to the house. Then there's the frozen vegtables grown who knows where--California? The amount energy needed to keep those vegetables frozen from plant to truck to store to freezer and the surety that energy would be there to do it: this is inconcievable in Uganda. And then the microwave--the appliance we all take for granted. Pop in the food, push a button and it as far as I can tell the interior light and the rotation of the plate is enough to heat the food.

Dirty clothes: in the hotels in Kampala and Luwero, there were plastic basins in the showers. At first, I thought of these in terms of drought-ridden Georgia--they must collect water to conserve. Nope. This is the Ugandan Maytag and forget about a dryer.

One of the more poignant moments for me in the IDP camps in Gulu was seeing this little boy follow us around, kicking the only toy he probably had--a homemade soccer ball made out of banana leaves, wound very tightly and tied together. Nic commented on how perfectly round it was and how, after a good 20 minutes of kicking it back and forth with the boy, it wasn't about to unravel. And when we headed out, the boy picked in up and held on to it like it was his most prized possession. One I'm sure he made himself. My son Zachary must conservatively have 40 to 50 different kind of balls, and on the second day after our return, he got his Sports Illustrated Kids magazine and he saw an ad for a ball that had vents that, depending on how you set those vents, enable you to throw curve balls, sliders, and knuckle balls: he must of asked if he could get one five times. All I could think about is that kid in Gulu and his one banana leaf ball. It's not so much that I feel sorry for the kid in Gulu as I wonder what our wealth and materialism does to our children. Does Zachary cherish any of his sports balls the way that kid cherished his?

And quite simply, my job--helping train graduate students to be good teachers at UGA--just would not exist in Uganda. That's the kind of experience I had: going to a place where what you do for a living probably doesn't exist.

This is a super-long post, and you are better off looking at the great pictures that others have posted. I guess, I just wanted to share some of the disjunctions I've felt returning to my routine after such a powerful experience. Thank you Will Zant. Thank you Athens First United Methodist Church. Thanks to my donors who helped make my trip possible. Thanks to my wife and son for being so supportive about me going on something I see as privilege. And thanks be to God in the highest.

Paul Quick

Pictures

Pictures

Pictures

Welcome Home!

"Welcome Home!" These are the words I read when I opened an e-mail from Katherine - a co-worker at UGA. Little did she know the emotions those words evoked in me. What is it about "Welcome Home!" that evokes an emotion that's lacking in "Welcome back"? ...........

"Welcome Home!" was the greeting we heard over and over from Father Joe while we were in Uganda. When we arrived for a visit at his mother's home, he turned to us and joyfully exclaimed, "Welcome home!". When we arrived at a parish school we were welcomed 'home'. When we returned to our place of rest after a day of travel and activities, we were again welcomed home.......I even had a "Welcome Home!" message from Father Joe waiting for me when I returned to Athens.

Now that I've been back home for a few days I keep thinking of that greeting and trying to explain to myself why I get a lump in my throat and a few tears in my eyes when I recall hearing those words from Father Joe. As I have time to process bits and pieces of our pilgrimage I find that his greeting has brought back memories of days gone by. I remember my great grandmother, Pink Grandma, making her way to the back porch, drying her hands in her apron and eagerly straining to see who had come to visit. As long as she was able she was there to be the first to welcome us into her home. I remember her daughter, my grandmother, always being thrilled to have another grandchild come to visit. And one of my very favorite memories of my own mother is seeing her drop whatever she was doing in the kitchen when she heard the backdoor open and throw up her arms with the warmest of hugs and a look of sheer delight as she greeted us. .................Being welcomed home feels good! It's alright to come as you are. Someone is letting you know they are happy to see you; happy to spend time with you. There's a feeling of warmth; a sense of belonging.

While in Uganda, one of the things we became aware of was that very strong sense of community among the people. At every school and home we visited there were outstretched arms welcoming us. There was dancing, clapping, singing and expressions of so much joy! The first time I met Father Joe upon our arrival at the airport in Entebbe, he literally picked me up off the ground and swung me back and forth! This man is the very definition of joy! He loved us all and welcomed us time and time again. He and Father Stephen affirmed us daily in so many ways; even celebrating us and our efforts to travel and share their homeland. They delighted in us and that's what brings the tears to my eyes and the lump to my throat. I don't think many of us are accustomed to that kind of a reception!

Through thinking about how good it felt to be received so joyfully, I have realized how rushed I usually seem to be on a day to day basis. More often than not I seem to pretty much skim the surface of life in a rush to get to the next item on my list of things to do. One person in our group on the pilgrimage spoke of our tendency to be "individual silos"; to build walls instead of bridges. I immediately had an image of tall walls holding in the grain rather than sharing the riches contained within that silo........Sharing in a way that would result in growth for many. What I saw among the people we encountered in Uganda was the ability to slow down; to pay closer attention. They took time with one another. They appreciated one another. They cared for and embraced one another. They shared. This is how they are raised as young children. Father Joe told us of how he was taught to share whatever he had on his plate regardless of how small his portion might be. If he refused to share a portion of his bite, his mom took the whole bite and gave it to a sibling..........When we were having dinner with Father Stephen's family, we saw his mother welcome the neighboring children who were peering around the bushes. She sat a plate on a mat and motioned for them to come and share with all of us. They were warmly welcomed and fed.

What I'm realizing today is one of the impacts the pilgrimage has had on me. I 'encountered' and now I am 'reflecting'. These are concepts we read about in Trevor Hudson's book, "Mile in My Shoes", which we discussed back in September or October when we first started talking about the pilgrimage. The next part of that process is "transformation". Will what I've seen and felt result in a change in me or in others who walked this path? My deep hope is that we will each remember how humbling it was to be embraced as we so often were in Uganda. I hope we will also remember how warm and wonderful it was to feel that appreciated; to have people actually delight in seeing us each day! ........I think we all long to hear those words, "Welcome Home!" and to know someone is pleased that we are present. We have seen that welcoming spirit demonstrated at it's best. Now it's our turn to pass it on................
Dianne