One Decade Down...

At the turn of the millennium there was much optimism around. A 21st Century beckoned free from the dead hand of the cold war or the likely prospect of military super-power conflict. Economic prosperity for many, and a growing awareness of the injustice that was denying it to more, and the extraordinary advance and capability of technology, promised, if not a bright new world, then, at least, some cause for hope.


At the end of the first decade things seem decidedly less bright. I’m usually very reluctant to join in the, always to be found, chorus of how terrible the world is, and how we’re all going to hell in a hand-cart, I was however struck by these two reflections. The first, a reworking of a familiar model from Mark Greene, the second a quote from Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sacks …

Blessed are the brazen for they will be applauded.
Blessed are the beautiful of body for they will be adored.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for fame for theirs is the kingdom of Cowell.
Blessed are the selfish and the individualists for their ends will justify their means. Blessed are those who don't strictly believe in anything for they can dance to any tune.
Blessed are the drug-dealers, dream-weavers, make-over mavens and jingle-writers who help us forget our fractured hearts and our clipped wings and the echoing chasms of our souls.

“The richer Britain became the more cynical it grew. It put its faith in a financial house of cards. It looked at house prices and thought itself rich. It created the religion of shopping, whose original sin was not having this years model or must-have, and whose salvation lay in spending money you didn’t have, to buy things you didn’t need, for the sake of a happiness that doesn’t last. Rarely was a faith more seductive…”

Tale of Two Communities...

Some days just throw up the weirdest of combinations. You can hardly imagine you’re the same person, living the same life when, in such a short time, your experiences can be so varied.
Within 24 hours last week I visited 2 different communities. 90 minutes apart, same time zone, different worlds.

First we went to Shada, the largest slum in Cap Haitian. A rabbit warren of tiny, winding alleyways dotted with bits of metal, wood and half constructed blocks that served as homes. Teeming with people, children would come from everywhere, to look, laugh, beg, or simply shake your hand. The tiny alleys served as playground, sewer and tip and, when darkness fell, you would need to be an expert to navigate yourself around. This is one of the poorest communities in the world. People here eat clay cookies, patties of dirt from the ground, baked to give just the vaguest impression of food. Families here don’t name their children until they are 5, so likely is it that they will not live that long. We were visiting a community clinic with a Doctor we help to fund, and a project that was concerned with establishing, relatively, hygienic toilets in communities like these. Little beacons of hope in a dark place.

The next day, travelling home, we had a few hours to kill in Florida between flights. We decided to do the tourist thing and go on the boat tour of Fort Lauderdale harbour, complete with commentary of the riverside mansions of the rich and famous. The contrast was, of course, surreal, stark and jarring, from one of the very poorest to one of the richest communities in the world.

The mansion in the picture was that of Wayne Huizenga, out of his $6bn fortune he has bought half a dozen other similar properties along the river, as well as a $90m yacht, he likes the place. Wayne owns Blockbuster Video, as well as the Miami Dolphins football team, and the States baseball and basketball teams for good measure. To be fair though, my home is more like Wayne’s than a typical Shada dwelling; it has a front door, rather than a tatty piece of cloth or corrugated metal, it has lights, and a tap inside, more than one room, and a toilet. The toilet’s the thing, the key to health, wealth and happiness, at its most basic, the reason why those community eco-loos in Shada are so vital. And the irony? Wayne Huizenga’s fortune, long before the videos and the sports teams, was built on one thing…Waste Management. There’s money in most things, but the way it’s shared around, well it just feels a bit crap sometimes.

Heaven's Burger Party...

Many encounters in Haiti left me humbled, but a particular episode, on our final day, could have been a definition of humility itself.

Julbert works at the children’s home, he has a paralyzed arm but, being a teenager, was ineligible to join the programme itself. Nevertheless, he comes each day before 7.30 and leaves after 5.00, making himself useful answering the gate, doing odd jobs. He’s not employed as such, and has never asked for money, but he is paid when it’s possible to do so.
On our final morning a meeting was taking place and it was conveyed to me that Julbert was not a Christian and that I should pray. I was uncomfortable, was this some sort of disciplinary issue, had a piece of information come to light which jeopardised Julbert’s ongoing work? I knew that wasn’t the policy, or the heart, of the home, but it seemed so formal. I was told though that on arriving that morning Julbert had announced that he wanted to make this new commitment for himself. With that, without a word, he stood up and knelt in front of me. Uncomfortable again, I knelt beside him and prayed.

Afterwards, we shared with Julbert the fact that all of heaven rejoices with every new believer and invited him to come with us that evening, as we were going out to eat, to mark our final night in Haiti. We went to one of the very few half decent restaurants in town, recognisable by the armed guards outside. Julbert, wide eyed and speechless, had clearly never been here before. The menu was full of such delicacies as cheeseburger and chips, a luxury at $2.50. This was Julbert’s option but he struggled with it. Whether overwhelmed by the occasion or just unused to such rich fare he picked at his chips and left the burger untouched. We called for a box so that he could take it home, it would serve as a good few days food in his house we were sure. As we left Julbert detached himself from the rest of the group. As we looked over our shoulders, eager to return to the safety of the vehicles, we saw him, speaking with a street-boy who was begging at the side of the road outside of the restaurant, quietly we spotted him handing over the burger box.

The generosity of grace is one of the first lessons of discipleship. Some of us start a long way behind.

More than the name of a girl ...

In many ways this picture is the defining image of our trip. Yes it’s a Haitian child, her frail body belying her 5 months of life. Her weakness is eloquent testimony of this country’s poverty and need. She’s severely malnourished, she’s been abandoned by her family, she suffers from hydrocephalous, a condition which would, more than likely, have been identified and treated with little lasting damage here in the UK. But she’s Haitian and so she wasn’t treated and it is now severely life limiting for her. She’s a sign of injustice.


But she is more than a symbol, she is an individual who became a part of our team. She was abandoned half-way through our trip, the hospital rang and asked if our children’s home could accommodate her. She was collected, named by one of us, and brought home. Arms and legs the width of a single finger she was loved, nurtured and cared for. Fed, by syringe, first every hour, then every two, her body began, slowly, to fill out, just a little. Occasionally she would cry, just quietly.

She would be carried round with us, a constant talisman reminding us: that the building we were working on was being designed precisely to prevent such conditions being so devastating in the future. That the love she was receiving from Reninca and Carwyn, who run the home, and the other staff, was precisely what they did, and would continue to do, to all who they came across. On our final day she was dedicated to God, and we who have responsibility for her (that’s all of us by the way) made our promises too.

So she stood for much more than she knew, she was known and loved, eternally and today, she is more than an image of desperate poverty far, far away. She is a girl, she has a name, her name is ….Grace.

Home again, but not as we know it...

It’s now 5 days since my return from Haiti and there is some sign of things quietening down. I’ve slept in 7 different beds in the last 8 days but its now only 48 hours till I’m back in my own.

I’m back in Northumbria, with a view to reflect on my experiences over the last few months generally, and few weeks in particular. Quietness, space and solitude are helpful aids to reflection it’s true – but busyness, pressure and chaos has its place as well. Can you understand the bedlam of a Haitian slum better from a rural retreat or a crowded tube? None of us have the luxury of sitting entirely outside our world, so as to coolly observe it, that’s the challenge – we are all involved, responsible.

I guess that’s my overriding thought as I begin to look back. God is everywhere, his voice is always there to be heard, often it’s more of a cry demanding attention. If we take the time to look and listen, it’s not so difficult to hear him speak … much more tricky to respond.

Returning to ‘ordinary life’ after a visit to a place like Haiti brings inevitable tensions. Even after just a few weeks the culture clash is significant, what counts as important or significant is turned on its head. It’s not that the poverty is a surprise, and the much commented on ‘anger’ at the triviality of so many of our daily concerns will inevitably fade. But what can, or ought to, remain?

I’ve described my feelings to some as being like that of grief, when your world has been so affected yet all around you seems to carry on obliviously, and you want to shout at it to stop and take notice. As with grief, the task, over time, is not to get back to how things were before, but to find a new way to live which takes into account all that’s happened. It's the old question of discipleship, ‘How then shall we live?’

A visit makes the question all the more urgent. An email or a blog, newspaper report or any second hand account, cannot convey with anything like the same intensity, the challenge of standing in front of, looking into the eyes of, a hungry child as she asks for ‘one dollar?’ You may or may not hand over the cash there and then, but the question follows you home, and is likely to end up being a lot more costly.

I will be talking much more about Haiti, in a series of blogs, linked to specific people or events, over the next couple of weeks. But, for now, the big question, that’s dominated the whole of my 3 month break, remains. If Jesus is Lord, of everything, what does it look like to live an ordinary life?