Katoyi
Last week I preached in a small church located in a neighborhood known as Katoyi (Cat-toy-ee). We have many local small church pastors taking our training and joining the Disciple Making Movement! It’s incredibly exciting to see the same passion igniting in others that was ignited in me only a few years ago.
The service was great, but by the time we got home that afternoon, we were told the pastor’s son died shortly after church. He was only 28. This past week, in between meeting with different small lighthouses that have started all over town, we spent a lot of time sitting at the pastors house mourning with him.
I had almost forgotten how beautiful the mourning process is here. They take time and space to really sit and grieve TOGETHER. Sometimes in absolute silence, sometimes with beautiful songs, sometimes just crying… but doing it together. Pastor Walonja and I talked about the contrast of grief and joy. I had talked about joy in my sermon, even in the middle of suffering. How apropos, he thought, that would be the part of my message that stood out to him on the day he would find out his son died. By the time we left, he had us all laughing. He said it was important to remember the joy of Meshach’s life and find reasons to laugh together.
The simple act of showing up, even when there is nothing that can be done speaks volumes. I was honored to sit with his family during this time. He asked for a photo of us and he also gave me permission to post it and tell this part of his story.
Today we visited his lighthouse in an area called Mugunga. This group is comprised of people who are too familiar with the horrors of war. Maimed from bullets, displaced from rebels, suffering HIV from rape. And yet, they read the Word of God and see His goodness and mercy. My prayer has been for God to break my heart for what breaks His. Hearing their understanding of God’s character after everything they’ve been through was beautiful and my heart was incredibly emotional hearing even the most brief aspects of their stories.
