With Fear and Trembling

² Then God said, “Take your son, your only son, whom you love—Isaac—and go to the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on a mountain I will show you.”

 ³ Early the next morning Abraham got up and loaded his donkey. He took with him two of his servants and his son Isaac. When he had cut enough wood for the burnt offering, he set out for the place God had told him about. ⁴ On the third day Abraham looked up and saw the place in the distance. ⁵ He said to his servants, “Stay here with the donkey while I and the boy go over there. We will worship and then we will come back to you.”

⁶ Abraham took the wood for the burnt offering and placed it on his son Isaac, and he himself carried the fire and the knife. As the two of them went on together, ⁷ Isaac spoke up and said to his father Abraham, “Father?”

“Yes, my son?” Abraham replied.

“The fire and wood are here,” Isaac said, “but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?”

⁸ Abraham answered, “God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son.” And the two of them went on together.  ~~Genesis 22: 3-8

Over the last couple of months I have had the opportunity to catch up on personal reading. Much of this revolves around my academic or practical work, but sometimes I also get to dust off spiritual texts as well. It has often been one of these volumes—Bonhoeffer, Merton, Weil, etc—that helps me to refocus on higher motivations and be spiritually rejuvenated. The most recent of these was Fear and Trembling, in which philosopher/theologian Soren Kierkegaard critically read the above story and examined the nature of faith and obedience with respect to Abraham. His examination of Abraham’s faith has weighed on my heart and, I think, is worth sharing as a reflection on Christian service/mission and the sacrifices that inevitably fall within that.  

At the beginning of this story, God calls Abraham to sacrificially kill his son Isaac—the son who God gave him as a miracle and who God promised would make Abraham father of the nations. Kierkegaard opens by reminding his readers how seriously we should take the paradoxical nature of faith that God requires of us. In this act, God appeared to turn the tables on Abraham by asking him to kill his God-promised heir. To help us understand the depth of this command, Kierkegaard contrasts it with other ancient examples of sacrifice, highlighting how others were subject to universal rules whereas Abraham was subject to a particular relation to God. Take for example Agamemnon, who also famously sacrificed his daughter, Iphigenia, in order to appease Artemis (whom he had wronged) and safeguard his troops’ sea journey to attack Troy. Like with his other examples, Kierkegaard guides us through the logic of Agamemnon’s sacrifice: he is being punished by a god for a violation of her sovereignty and is pressured by the demands of life to kill his daughter for the good of his country.

Cause and effect; eye for an eye; breaking eggs for an omelet—all reasonable rules that bound Agamemnon’s decision and all too often motivate many of ours. However, Abraham was forced into a different type of relationship, reflecting a different God. The God of Abraham was not punishing Abraham, and Abraham’s sacrifice would not save/preserve/accomplish anything worldly (in fact, it would work against it). The paradoxical and particular nature of faith is redoubled: Abraham must kill his son, opposing any reasonable expectations or universal causal rules. Abraham was individually approached by God to apparently act in contrast to the universal laws of God (killing his son) and the common sense of worldly prosperity (killing his heir).

Abraham got up the next day—THE NEXT DAY—to fulfill God’s command, beginning with a three-day walk with his servants and son (who he’s going to kill when they get there). Had he waited, he may have fallen victim to Sarah’s doubts. He had once before, and he paid, like Agamemnon, for listening to those around him and doing the rational thing. But instead he left that morning and silently began the journey. His silence and his promptness testify to his faith and to his divine resignation to God’s command. For three days he had the opportunity to turn back, to be overcome by emotions or rationality, to be angry at God’s demand, or to try to explain himself to his three fellow travellers. But he could not, because no explanation was provided to him, and none would satisfy those who had not also heard the particular, paradoxical call to act in faith.

Right now, we are walking up the mountain. We have our own opportunities to turn back, or become overcome with emotion or rationality, or explain ourselves. In fact, we often get trapped by that demand for answers and, in turn, give reasons for our decisions that ultimately fall short or can be argued away. Before proceeding, despite the easy comparison, let me be exceedingly clear that Isaac does not represent Teresa in this parallel. Instead, Isaac, for all Christians, represents the variety of sacrifices we must be willing to hoist upon the altar. For all that we are walking towards, we know that we must also sacrifice much. We know very well that we are leaving family and friends, opportunities for great jobs and education, and the safety and security of a familiar life in a highly-organized society. We are being called to sacrifice many things even in this small act of moving away to a place where we can even learn how to begin to serve. And yet, we also know that none of this matters: first, because it will all fade into dust and, second, because we cannot keep questioning where or how we are called. We must do what we know to be right—what we in particular have been called to do—even if it defies logic or does not offer others a clear guidepost for their own journey of faith. Nevertheless, hearing the ways in which God has called others to large or small tasks has always helped me better hear my own.

We are all called into acts of faith that seem paradoxical or irrational. I do not know why Meg and I were called to this particular way, but after years of asking and making excuses and stalling, I am ready to climb the mountain. We have found our rational veneers for going, but they only make publicly acceptable what we believe is the more beautiful private motivation hiding beneath: that we have been called to act out the Gospel by serving others, advocating for the poor, and comforting those in need—for us: across the ocean in a small rural region of a medium-sized land-locked country that has been cast by the wayside of the global economy and is systemically abused by lack of access to healthcare and education. Who are we to ask others to go in our place? Who is God to call us to serve and then have to wait for us to find more acceptable explanations for following him? Who are those in need that we have a right to say to them “no, your problems are your own.”?

Closing this part of the story, Abraham reveals the root of his faithfulness (his righteousness) and his reason for climbing the mountain in the first place. His son, Isaac, did not know God’s intentions but he likely knew about the future he was promised and the hope that was wrapped up in his survival. In turn, his question was perfectly reasonable: where is the sacrifice? And Abraham responds that the Lord “will provide the lamb.” Kierkegaard makes much of this statement with beautiful complexity. Abraham cannot now say that Isaac is the sacrifice because it would reveal that Abraham was too afraid or dismissive to bring up the issue earlier. Moreover, Abraham cannot with certainty say that Isaac will be the sacrifice—he has not forgotten God’s promise, and he has no idea what awaits him. Nevertheless, he also cannot say that he will acquire an animal on the way because he knows well that he is supposed to sacrifice Isaac. He knows his duty, and yet he knows that it cannot be possible. And so he resigns himself that God will provide, and he faithfully acts out of that blessed resignation.

I feel like this is the appropriate time to cut ourselves to size. I am no Abraham. Neither is Meg. Neither, as he admits, was Kierkegaard. Abraham’s faithfulness is a mirror of God’s own, and it has hardly been mirrored again by anyone else on earth. In fact, I don’t even know if I would recognize God if he approached me and told me to do such a thing; I know even less about how I would respond. Meg and I feel that the small sacrifice we are making—our embrace of the paradox of faith—is often exaggerated by others.

Supporters sometimes raise our work to unfathomable levels, signing us up for sainthood before we leave. Those who are worried or skeptical about our methods act as though we are binding each other or Teresa to the sacrificial pyre out of some convoluted sense of obligation or white savior-ism. But both are wrong. Again, we are not Abraham. We do not get to hear God’s booming voice or even his deafening whisper. But we are also not doing anything that amazing or sacrificial or saintly or [insert laudatory adjective]. We are simply trying to live in the paradox of faith—a paradox that God has instituted, and one that Christ has both simplified and complicated through his teachings and divine example. Paradoxically reject wealth, reject power, reject influence, reject comfort, reject the world, and embrace those who still have even less while you hold on to the promises of the Gospel.

Meanwhile, we are not killing ourselves or our daughter. People do die where we are going. But everyone dies. And oh how filled with life are those who we are going to serve. We should not be undeservedly raised to sainthood; nor should we be preemptively called martyrs.

And so, reflecting on our own plans and on our example in Abraham, we must take seriously the demands that faith puts upon us. Allow me to close with a quote from the book:

“Then faith's paradox is this: that the single individual is higher than the universal, that the single individual determines his relation to the universal through his relation to God, not his relation to God through his relation through the universal... Unless this is how it is, faith has no place in existence; and faith is then a temptation.” 

We have been provided with clear explanations of the universal—those commands that bind all Christians—in scripture and our own conscience: the Law, the commands of Christ, the recommendations of the apostles, etc. But these universals get us only so far, as they only define the scope of our practices and do not tell us, as individuals, what we must do. It is here that faith enters in to compel us directly into particular acts for the glory of God. Faith, and acting out of that faith as a particular individual, enriches our relationship to God because through it our relationship is no longer mediated merely through Law. It does not clearly fit within the standard ways in which we know we should relate to God. Further, others who witness that act of faith through the eyes of the universal may accuse that person of succumbing to some kind of misguided temptation, since their actions do not overtly fit the paradigm. For example, though no Christians would have no trouble with us tithing or volunteering at a soup kitchen or sponsoring orphans from our home here, some consider the risks of moving across the world unnecessarily reckless to be considered wise Christian service. Certainly, this accusation has been levied on us, and I imagine we have foolishly judged others in the same way. But we cannot any longer, because “living by faith” overrules—and must overrule—the “living by sight” offered by universals. 

May we all search ourselves to hear that still, small voice and sort through the clutter appropriately, with great hope, and with fear and trembling.

As a visual aid, this chicken exhibited much fear and trembling.

Zooming In: Healthcare

This post is the second in our “Zooming In” series, which focuses on the environment we are entering and the population we intend to serve and learn from in Zambia. We will focus specifically on our skills and philosophy and how those relate to particular needs on the ground. Finally, as a disclaimer, we have not worked in or visited Fimpulu before, so we are primarily reflecting on our own study and past experiences in the larger village Mwansabombwe. That said, even though every community and village is different, there are some similar trends and challenges that we will almost certainly encounter. 

Writing about healthcare in Zambia is tough for me.

It’s tough because statistics are a wily beast that can be misleading and discouraging, and in the process of explaining the struggles and shortcomings of healthcare in rural Zambia, I do not want to minimize the progress the country has made in the past couple of decades, or the hard and dedicated work being done by the local healthcare workers on the ground. It’s tough because the battle is overwhelming, and the challenges are complex, and we don’t have all the answers.

These are the statistics. Officially, the HIV infection rate in Luapula Province, Zambia, is about 1 in 6 for men and 1 in 8 for women.  Moms have a 1 in 59 chance of dying during childbirth during their lifetime. The top causes of under-5 mortality are largely preventable:

Neonatal  – 34% (includes preterm or intrapartum related complications, sepsis/infection, and congenital conditions)

Malaria – 16%

Pneumonia – 13%

Diarrhoea – 9%

HIV/AIDS – 6%

Access to care is a very real issue for many Zambians. I vividly remember scouring a clinic for a healthcare worker when a toddler was poisoned and I didn’t know how to respond. No one was available—the usual staff were out on house visits. On another occasion, the clinic had nothing except Tylenol to offer a child who, along with his siblings, was almost certainly suffering from whooping cough. Well-meaning healthcare workers often give malaria medication to anyone with a headache and fever, and I have so much sympathy, because if it’s your kid that’s sick, then the possibility of contributing to the development of drug-resistant strains takes a temporary backseat. The same kind of over-treatment often happens with antibiotics, when they’re available. For rural folks, the clinic may be a long way away, and the lines are most certainly very long. The vaccination rate in Luapula is the lowest in Zambia, with 40% of kids missing some or all of their vaccinations. Burns are common, especially among children, and proper treatment is often simply not available or even understood.

Complexity arises with the fact that healthcare must be holistic. Meds and docs aren’t enough. Half of all child deaths worldwide can in some way be linked to malnutrition-- tired and malnourished bodies don’t fight off infection well. Effective farming techniques and a solid understanding of nutrition are some of the best medicine in the world. Traditional practices have a very tight hold on many rural Zambians. It is not uncommon to see a child with a charm tied around some part of their body to ward off illness, or an arm cut and rubbed with “medicine” powder to cure pain, or the same powder packed in the ears of a child with an earache. A woman once shared with me her fear that her family would disown or attack her because an in-law she didn’t get along with had died without any seeming explanation, and they believed a curse to be at blame. More than one Zambian expat has related to me the practice that some locals have of giving Fanta to their babies, because it’s just fruit juice.

But Zambia is strong, and Zambia is loved. I once knew a remarkable Zambian woman who had taken the initiative to be trained at the local clinic as a “malaria officer” of sorts. I often heard her educate her coworkers about how to prevent and properly treat the condition. A Zambian farmer who, with the help of Peace Corps, was successfully cultivating a variety of sustainable crops and a fruit orchard, was beginning to catch the eyes of his neighbors who saw his success and the vibrant health of his family. Choshen Farm is involved both directly and indirectly with healthcare in Fimpulu. Their Home-BasedCare program (which you can and should read more about on their site) includes community outreach, education, and provision in areas of nutrition, food security, and community orphan care. They also work with volunteer caregivers from Fimpulu who serve the chronically ill in the community “by learning and teaching about HIV/AIDS, nutrition, personal hygiene, disease progression, treatment options, stigma, and positive living.” And the Gospel of Christ seeps through it all, sharing a promise of love and hope and a power greater than any medicinal charm.

The creative approaches to Zambia’s healthcare situation are as multifaceted as the problems. Personally, my time in Fimpulu will likely be largely engaged with the following:

 

• Volunteering as relief or regular staff at the local clinic
• Serving as an on-call midwife
• Home healthcare nurse for chronically ill members of the community
• Assist in the regular under-5 growth monitoring clinics, including immunizations and health education
• Advising on community health initiatives involving food security, nutrition, HIV/TB/Malaria care, safe motherhood, etc
• Investigating opportunities around the region with the national Ministry of Health

If I could add a bullet-point (and I suppose I can… it’s my blog, after all…), it would be “Learning a whole lot about healthcare in the bush.” A bit over four months from now, I imagine that’s exactly what I’ll be doing.

***For a more "official" look at Zambia's current health status and the progress made, 

as well as the source for the above statistics, see the Countdown to 2015 Country Profile for Zambia***

Out of the Pockets of Babes

A quick break from our Zooming In series to reflect on recent events...

Fundraising is a full-time job—at least mentally, if not also in hours dedicated. We travel and share our call and our plans with old friends and new. We compile email lists and write letters and thank-you notes.  We fill up social media in an attempt to remain present and make the process at least somewhat enjoyable for all involved. We methodically try to widen our circle through “shares” and remain current with “likes,” and we are often bewildered with the new Facebook design that has still left many of our closest supporters asking “are you guys going to have a social media campaign” or “how can we donate?”

(The answer to both of those questions can be found on this blog or on our YouCaring page…)

Beyond this, we feel that things are made more complicated by our relative inexperience. We are new to missionary service, and we are new to community development; we are learning, finding our place in the world, figuring out how to use our experience and training, and trying to explore that exciting horizon of potentialities. Fundraising is partially a process of convincing other people that we, or the work we are doing, is a good investment. Of course, we fully believe that God has called us to go, and that the work is good, and that therefore the financial cost is absolutely worth any sacrifice. Now we find ourselves in the position of trying to convince others with our refrain: “This service is important; God is in this; please be a part of it too.”

Nonetheless, our fundraising experience has been a testament to the “divine economy”-- that is, the way in which money has appeared without explanation from sources we never expected or in quantities we never imagined, keeping us eerily calm throughout the process.

This last week we were incredibly humbled to receive our most valuable donation yet (catalyzing this blog post), in the form of two dollars from a little girl, L, at our church here in Chicago. L earned some money and had the whole world of opportunity before her in regards to how she could spend that money. After some thought, she told her mom that she wanted to give some of it to help people in need; we are honored that her mom thought of our cause as worthy to be the recipient of this teachable moment. When her mom explained that Meg would be working with sick kids, L pulled out her markers and construction paper and channeled her remarkable love and compassion into making two beautiful “get well soon” cards, then tucked a dollar bill inside each one. I know that when we were children, saving money was difficult and giving that money to anyone but the ice cream man was rare. But the heart of the Savior and the divine economy were at work in this little girl, motivating a selfless and beautiful act of sacrifice in the name of Christ.

Friends, be both encouraged and challenged by this today—the economic adjustments and corrections of the divine economy that work through the body of Christ will always intervene to undo the logic and systems of this world. The widow’s mite has been exchanged for an American child’s dollar (you know, inflation), but Aslan is ever and always on the move.

Zooming In: Intro to Education

This post is the first in our “Zooming In” series, which focuses on the environment we are entering and the population we intend to serve and learn from in Zambia. We will focus specifically on our skills and philosophy and how those relate to particular needs on the ground. Finally, as a disclaimer, we have not worked in or visited Fimpulu before, so we are primarily reflecting on our own study and past experiences in the larger village Mwansabombwe. That said, even though every community and village is different, there are some similar trends and challenges that we will almost certainly encounter.

David here, signing on for the first time to our family blog!

This first post is dedicated to the rural Zambian educational environment and our planned place within it. Our direct contact with the public education system came with the 9^th grade class at Kazembe Basic School in 2012. Meg taught science and I taught math and civics to a total of about 120 kids, 30ish at a time. We spent most of this time in a formal classroom setting, but also spent some hours tutoring small groups as they prepared for their year-end exams. The whole experience was both enlightening and incredibly rewarding, and we were so grateful for the opportunity to help and learn.

The most striking education problem the rural population faces is access. Most villages have one or more primary schools (lower and sometimes middle school years), but secondary schools are more rare. Those seeking secondary education often have to either travel great distances or board with family or friends in another village entirely just to be close enough to attend. This problem on the individual level is exacerbated by a lack of teachers/funding that causes class sizes to be large and largely non-participatory. During our last visit, we worked with some very dedicated and capable faculty and staff who were, nevertheless, only able to do so much in an overburdened system. As a result, the students are chronically underprepared to meet the national standards that allow them to move on to the next grade level. 

A small group study session leading up to finals.

We saw this first-hand while preparing students for their standardized tests. While reviewing a practice-test with her science students, Meg found that it was full of questions based on experiments that the kids “should” have completed that year in class but could not due to lack of resources. The questions were worded in a way that made them impossible to reason through—for instance, a question about an experiment to demonstrate photosynthesis could not be answered based on one’s knowledge about photosynthesis, but only by knowing whether a specific chemical agent aids or inhibits photosynthesis. We never did figure out the answer to some of the questions, even with all of Google at our disposal.

Meg explaining something science-y that I don't know anything about.

Another major problem related to access is the inability to pay for or effectively engage with what educational resources are provided. Besides the basic materials like pens/pencils and paper, students also must have school uniforms or else be excluded from class. Costs increase during secondary school, when students must begin paying tuition. Even those in school must struggle to engage with educational materials. For example, textbooks are rationed and distributed to schools, making them a rare commodity to which students don’t have direct access. Instead, we saw that teachers had to spend part of their class time simply dictating from their copy. When Meg and I were given textbooks in our respective subjects to work out of, the kids caught on quickly and often copied down paragraphs out of our books during tutoring sessions.

Trig is not for the faint of heart. Neither is chalk.

The costs are only made more difficult by the fact that, for families in rural areas, maintaining one of their children as a student means losing a hand around the house. On multiple occasions we saw kids pulled out of classes because the family needed them elsewhere (farming, caring for a sick sibling, etc.). These factors combine to make the investment of education high risk while it results in little tangible reward, perpetuating cycles of hopelessness and poverty.

We are grateful that, in Fimpulu, Choshen Farm creates a positive and targeted impact through their programs, which include providing a head start to kids through a (rapidly-growing) preschool program, enabling access to education by sponsoring secondary and college students who work for their tuition during breaks, and increasing access to informal resources through their Learning Resource Center and library. As our “Fimpulu” page explains further, I will serve both in formal classroom settings and informal tutoring and mentorship programs. Though it is a systemic problem, lack of education in rural areas can be alleviated on the ground in part through these holistic approaches that not only address the problem of access but also make that education worthwhile both for students and their families.