NYT Article
Irving Bible Church and Bent Tree Bible partner with ALARM to impact DRC
On Thursday, April 28, six individuals (Katherine Holloway, Lauren Gilland, Lindsey Sobolik, Marsha Romanowski, Mike Scott, and Wayne Cagle) departed DFW International Airport for the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) to provide women’s leadership training to women lay pastors and trauma training to men. Kara Murrin and Kevin Dial, also members of the team, experienced flight delays and joined the team in Goma, DRC on Sunday.
The two conferences began Monday, May 2. The Women’s Leadership Training Institute (WLTI) Conference focused on Bible Doctrine featuring topics like the Trinity, Nature of God and Man, and Role of the Church. This was the fourth such conference offered to a group of 35 women who will attend 12 conferences before graduating.
The Men’s Trauma Conference was the first of its kind in DRC. It was offered to approximately 70 men who have been traumatized or who care for those who have been traumatized. This included pastors, army chaplains, police chaplains, doctors and nurses. They received practical training on how to use biblical principles to care for themselves and others who have suffered trauma.
A highlight of the conference was the foot washing as a demonstration of servant leadership. Afterward ,one pastor stated, “I've never seen someone in authority humble themselves, especially to me. In life, I often fear soldiers but today a soldier washed my feet. The soldier even said to me, 'No matter what position we have in life we are still called by God to serve others.' That surprised me and gave me much joy."
The team stayed at a Catholic Guest House off Lake Kivu which is regionally known for their fuzzy grass and their plethora of fish dishes. The team worked, played and laughed together as they offered encouragement and a ministry of presence to the men and women they met and served. The team arrived safely home on May 8.
“God breaks the rules". I just returned from my seventh trip to Congo and this is the phrase I can't get out of my head. What I notice most is that the pivotal moments in life, the boldest brush strokes if you will, are moments that I am convinced should never happen. Rules on what God will allow a person to suffer, rules on what a tender heart can overcome, and rules of culture that family share the same blood and continent...are all thrown out the window. It would be truer to say that He breaks my rules. Picasso's ‘Les Demoiselles d’Avigno’ was regarded as the most innovative painting since the Renaissance invoking criticism like explosive reductionism, contortion, and dislocation. That is what God does to our rules. He reduces them. He contorts them. He dislocates them. He exposes them and shows how frail they are. To the scientist, the resurrection challenges the laws of nature. To His disciples, "you have heard it said..., but I say to you..." challenges the laws of religion and the notion that God is after our behavior. To me, "God will redeem it all" challenges my conception that anything is irreparably lost. God is after our hearts. And as long as He is after our hearts, He will break our rules and expose the illusion of control for what it is. A theologian with a pipe and a smug smile considers such a notion obvious citing the ridding of idols as central to every spiritual breakthrough that redeems, reconciles or transforms. But when that man looks inward and watches the veil of control lift or see his world view crash to pieces like a small boat on the rocks, he can find himself devastated and lost too. That is where it all begins. That is where we learn that the excruciating can usher in the beautiful and that we are not meant to sit still under an awning on every spring day especially when such an awning on such a day only serves to shield our hearts from Him and each other. God breaks the rules so that we will have nothing else to hold onto...but Him.
Confluence – My first trauma conference was a women’s trauma conference in Mt. Elgon, Kenya. There were 100 women attendees (mostly survivors of sexual trauma in war), 6 women teachers and me. Typical that my initial thoughts orbited me. What is a man doing at a women’s trauma conference? What would I teach these women on suffering when I know so little of it relative to them? What will the women think? What about men? Having been to three women’s trauma conferences now and one men’s trauma conference, I am slowly learning the questions are less about me and more about them. “what do women need to hear from a man?” and “what do men need to hear from a woman?”. I think an answer to the first question is “what happened was not ok and men can hear the cries of women and bear their burdens”. I think an answer to the second question is “men don’t need to always be strong before women”. Those are messages that must come from an outsider. Confluence with rivers is when two rivers of different origins come together. Different colors, different speeds, different temperatures and different compositions all converge. The most beautiful, even if awkward moment, is where they actually meet one another and the contrast is most apparent. During this phenomenon, the rivers travel side by side for several miles almost as if they don’t trust each other. Then, they begin to become one. What do I need to hear from someone not like me? What does that person need to hear from me? It will be awkward and maybe even offensive. But, how else will we learn? For this trip, we asserted “men can serve women” and “Americans can serve Africans” and if that is true then we can all serve one another regardless of our tribe. The most uncertain moment of the whole trip was when an American woman, Kara, sat in a chair up front with an American man washing her feet. We were asking them to break cultural barriers and there was no easy way to do it. We asked the pastors to remove their shoes. We asked the soldiers and the police to remove their boots. We asked them to look past race, gender, generation, and vocation in order to serve. They did and the freedom was magical.
Pretending – This is how you sign the word “pretending”. But, how we actually practice it is much more stealth. It is invisible in those who are best at it. During every trip to Congo, most who make the trip, if not all, will find and share parts of their story for the first time. This can be trauma that is triggered and relived or it can be nuances of a story that have never been shared. However it looks, it is driven by our God-given desire to be known. And, this desire finds its voice in Africa somehow. It is beautiful to see this moment shared by such a diverse group and the freedom and community it brings to everyone. It is unfortunate that so many have to go to Africa to fully experience it. The west auctions identity and image in so many colors, shapes and sizes even if it conveniently forgets to call it what it is. We try them on before a mirror wondering “how do I look?” and “what will he or she think?” Pretense promises to keep us safe. But, it slowly isolates us and suffocates us as our deepest thirst to be seen, known, and loved goes unmet. Being vulnerable is where this starts and that is the hardest of all things. The poor and the Psalmist have much to teach us if we will listen.
Suffering – I love this. I see a woman fully exposed which suffering does to us. She is tired and can’t hold up her shoulders, so she rests them on her knee. She is curled up as if trying to protect herself. She has turned her back on the world wondering if it can be trusted…wondering if anyone is there. I see myself in her. I also see myself beholding her feeling the weight of her pain and wanting to console her. I want to put my hand on her shoulder and tell her she is not alone and let her know that others can stand with her…even if by not saying a word. This is called ‘Blue Nude’ and it was painted by Picasso while grieving the loss of someone close. In Congo, I am the person in the painting and the person outside the painting at the same time; except in Congo I can see their eyes. Their eyes are not good at pretending and they can hold so much sorrow even if at the same time such deep perseverance and joy. The really hard questions float to the surface and the first is “where is God in this?”. Worldviews are erected on this icon of suffering. The atheist cites it as a reason for disbelief. The prosperity gospel cites it as avoidable if we will only believe; this works until we open our eyes and see the person in this painting or become her. So, what do we do with suffering? I pray we would turn to God and to others. I pray that our words would be few, if any. I pray that we would dream together of how God can redeem and make beauty from ashes. In Congo, I feel more pain than I do here in America. But, I also feel less alone. I know they feel less alone too. God redeems even suffering. He uses it to bring us together. And, that is a beautiful thing.
“Art Survives” is something a friend of mine said to me two days before I went to Africa. She said it referencing the people in Congo and it caught me off guard. What struck me was that ‘Art’ felt so less indulgent than an inner-child soldiering on and refusing to give up. It contains an element of fragile beauty that maybe is not so fragile after all. Art is created with delight by the one who paints, sculpts, writes or plays. It expresses a message that is sometimes received by many, but more often times not. Art comes from the most vulnerable part of someone and it is the one thing they feel like they must say at that moment. It is the part of them that does not want to be alone any longer. It is above all things honest. It does not pretend or try to look smart or attractive or unattractive; it is raw and unafraid. It is the hope of the afflicted Congolese that lives on when there is no rational reason to explain it. It is the joy of the Congolese that knows smiles even if not happiness. It is the part of us that we think unknown and unlovable that finds its voice and perseveres. It is me finding Congolese as brothers and sisters and speaking into different parts of each other’s lives where silence once lived. ‘Art Survives’ simply means that the tender places that laugh and cry and dream still breathe and still live. “How does it survive, and why?” are questions we would do well to wrestle with. This painting is entitled “The Old Guitarist”. It was painted by Picasso after a close friend of his committed suicide. The man is old and disfigured. He is weathered and worn. But, he plays. His music is his art. And, it survives.