“My God, my God,
why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from saving me,so far from the words of my groaning?
O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, and am not silent.
Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One you are the praise of Israel.”
— Psalm 22:1-6
Dear Friends in Christ,
Recently I visited a hospital in western Kenya, on the shores of Lake Victoria, as part of an evaluation of its HIV treatment program. A comfortable guest house afforded me an unobstructed view of the immense, shimmering pool which nourishes three East African countries. I walked down to the lakeside, resting on a bench to enjoy the magical scene: fishermen closing the day, Africans bathing in the age-old waters, the sun a spectacular golden-red orb hiding away to the West. Except for a chain link fence demarcating the edge of the property, I could see nothing that spoke of modernity. It all seemed so romantically African that I did not even mind the malaria-laden mosquitoes buzzing all around.
The hospital’s guard, imported from Maasailand, joined me as the sun disappeared past the far edge of the vast lake-ocean. We conducted a short exchange in Swahili. I asked if any crocodiles still infested the waters. He told me only “pande ingine,” on the other side, but later I would learn that nearby two people had just lost their lives to these savage hunters.
Two days later I was back in Kijabe, in the lab with our virology technician Shadrack. The frozen HIV samples from the western hospital, intended for further analysis, had arrived. Shadrack was meticulously cataloguing the anonymous numbers.
“I just returned from that hospital. It’s really beautiful,” I told him excitedly, knowing that Shadrack, a Luo, came from western Kenya. “Yes, I know it. My nephew, my brother’s son, drowned today while fishing just off the shore near the hospital.”
He related this story so matter-of-factly, so off-handedly, it took me a moment to absorb and comprehend. “What happened?” I managed to inquire. “They haven’t found the body. They won’t find it for a week. I don’t know why he went to fish there. He just finished standard eight [8th grade].” Now a trace of “what if” mixed with the resignation in his voice.
I know Shadrack well. In addition to manifesting his compassion through long
hours and careful work, he is a qualified HIV counselor and head of the hospital
fellowship. When weekend work is required to help those with HIV, Shadrack does
it. When there is a hospital outreach to share the Gospel, Shadrack goes.
Perhaps his diffident tone was his culturally acceptable way of dealing with
sadness—Kenyan men do not display such emotions openly. Or maybe, I thought,
having experienced the loss of so many family, friends and neighbors to HIV,
other sicknesses and tragedies, this most recent event was just one more burden.
While completing the sample collection, his phone rang frequently, distant relatives
he barely knew, all looking to Shadrack, a trained professional, for guidance.
I left the laboratory heavy with the knowledge of the distance—material
and social—that separates me, the medical missionary, from those I came
to serve. I had just been to that very spot! I had just wondered at its beauty,
enjoyed the splendor at a safe and sanitary distance. That night I had dined
on fish retrieved by others from the lake. The water for my shower had been
filtered—and filtered again—before arriving in the room, free of
the parasites which have infested the shoreline for millennia.
There is also another separation between myself and many Kenyans. The fundamental irony of Africa—natural magnificence plagued by pervasive human suffering—cries out to the Christian conscience for redress. Yet what I perceive as resignation may in fact be faithful acceptance of divine creation and order, as the psalmist fails to allow hardship and sorrow to obscure his recognition of God’s glory and authority. Such acceptance does not free us from the moral responsibility to confront the suffering—quite the contrary (Mt 25:40). We must, regardless of the circumstance, praise the Lord, the praise of Israel. But my standard response is too often anger, or even rage, directed at the “world.”
I remember explaining to a patient’s wife that cancer had invaded his neck and chest, blocking the blood supply’s return to his heart, engorging his face.The man’s pain was obvious and intense. I told her I had nothing else to offer; I felt impotent and useless, knowing if only I had more tools I could have done something. She replied simply, “We wait on the Lord.”
The international director of Africa Inland Mission once told us of the day his wife was killed in an ambush in southern Sudan. A plane was sent in a desperate attempt to save her life. On the return trip to Nairobi, he sensed her slip away, and the verse from Job came to him: “The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21b). These responses represent neither resignation nor rage, but a bedrock belief in God’s sovereignty and goodness.
Please pray for Shadrack and his family during this difficult time. Please pray for those who live and toil around the mighty waters of Lake Victoria. And please pray for all those workers who, like Shadrack, are called to fight disease and to give testimony to the love of God in Jesus Christ, that they might not weary in doing good.
Grace and Peace,
Jon, Amanda, and Matthew
Dr. Jon Fielder is a member of Christ the King Lutheran Church and serves as a medical missionary at the Kijabe Hospital in Kijabe, Kenya
If you would like to contribute to the Kijabe HIV project, make checks payable to “Africa Inland Mission” and designate that the money is for the “Kijabe HIV patient fund.” Checks may be given to Christ the King Church, which will forward the funds to the project.