I retired from the Canadian Bible Society in 2013 but I wasn’t ready for a full retirement. I still had a lot of energy and passion. I told Iona that if I fully retired and didn’t take on some other responsibilities I could end up sitting on my front step, yelling at children for walking on the sidewalk. Not a pretty picture. I was asked if I would remain with the Bible Society in a part time role as a Major Gifts Officer. In this position I would visit donors who had made major contributions to the Society’s ministry. My plans for my visits were simple – thank them for their generosity, tell them that I wanted to let them know how their contributions were being used (accountability) and ask how they had first begun to support the Bible Society. I met many godly, generous people. Shortly after taking on this position, a decision was made to organize a journey to Rwanda to see how the program called She’s My Sister was operating. Since I had traveled to Rwanda before, I was asked to co-lead the journey.
We had a group of three donors that would travel with us to Rwanda. We visited the National Support Office in Toronto before we flew to Kigali. It had only a few years since my last visit to Rwanda, but the changes that had taken place in the intervening years were immense. It had been transformed from a rather sleepy city into a bustling metropolis. The streets were filled with taxi scooters. Traffic lights were operating and privately owned automobiles were everywhere.
Our first stop was to visit a group of women that were sponsored and funded by She’s My Sister. I expected a rather somber gathering of women weeping together and commiserating over their losses. Instead, I found a laughing, dancing group of women who were celebrating God’s goodness. They studied a series of Bible lessons including topics like if God loves us why do we suffer, how can the wounds of our hearts be healed and taking your pain to the cross. These women, who had all lost many members of their families in the genocide, studied the Word of God together, supported each other and farmed small plots of ground to support themselves. They were amazing. We discovered that in Rwanda all soft drinks are called Fanta. You could have Coca-Cola Fanta, or orange Fanta or even 7-Up Fanta. It is interesting how the English language evolves in different societies.
In my first journey to Rwanda, I visited a Baptist seminary that was in the early stages of construction, now I got to see the completed building. The students were on a break, and we weren’t able to see it in operation. We visited a large primary school operated by the Roman Catholic Church. Between classes the children groomed the grounds and kept them immaculate. We shared a meal with the priests and for the first time I ate barbecued goat and of course a Fanta. The children all wore uniforms and many of them had to travel many miles by bicycle to attend classes. They were committed to getting an education. Many of them were recipients of sponsorships from North American donors. We were surrounded by children who wanted to know if we were their sponsors – they wanted to thank us.
I was asked if I would preach at a Baptist church on Sunday – an invitation I gladly accepted. There are very unique challenges to preaching through an interpreter. I preached from Ephesians 2:11-22, emphasizing that in Christ we are now one, no longer divided on ethnic grounds – we are no longer Hutu and Tutsi – we are all brothers and sisters in Jesus. I spoke in English and an interpreter translated into Kinyarwandan. It is a very interesting exercise.
One last story before I leave my African adventures. We went to a small Catholic church just outside of Kigali. The first thing we noticed when we walked into the sanctuary was that all the pews were covered with clothes. What could they represent? We were told that near the beginning of the genocide a group of about 3-4,000 people gathered in this little church, built for a couple hundred. They mistakenly believed that the militia would recognize the sanctuary as a place of refuge and leave the huddled people alone. How wrong they were!
The militia broke in and began shooting, clubbing and slashing the people with machetes. Those in the sanctuary were soon dead. They decided to dig a hug trench with an earth mover and bury the bodies there. First, they covered the corpses with lye. At the end of the genocide, the new government had the bodies dug up. The lye had done its work and all that was left were the bones and the clothes. The clothes were placed on the pews as a permanent reminder of the slaughter that had taken place there. Our guide was a young girl who had sought sanctuary and escaped with her parents before the slaughter took place. After what they thought was sufficient time, they returned. There were still some militia there and they shot at the young girl and her family. The family was killed but she survived. We were amazed at her ability to forgive those that had murdered her family and asked why she had done so. Her answer – I am a Christian. These humble, godly people were teaching me what it means to keep the Son in my eyes.
Very moving.