Some Reflections on Being in the Diocese of Nzara, South Sudan

Photo by Mary Cole-Duval

I have now had two and a half months to begin to reflect on the journey four of us were fortunate to take to the Diocese of Nzara in South Sudan in February. Our journey was sponsored by the Diocese of Iowa through the One World, One Church commission.  We went at the request of Bishop Samuel Peni as a delegation to represent the Diocese of Iowa at the Standing Committee meeting in the Diocese of Nzara.  My traveling companions were the Revs. Robert North (St. Mark’s, Maquoketa), Mary Cole Duvall (St. Timothy’s, West Des Moines), and Suzanne Peterson (Trinity, Waterloo).  But these reflections are my own.  I am quite sure they have equally powerful but different reflections of their own.

We have a formal, companion relationship between our Diocese and the Diocese of Nzara.  When we have a relationship with someone, it implies that we know who the other person is and they know us.  We spend time together.  We learn that person’s story and they learn ours.  The more intimate the relationship is, the more time we spend together, the more we reveal of ourselves, the more vulnerable we are.  When we are committed to a relationship, we nurture it and care for it – in good times and in bad. 

If we are to form a relationship with people half a world away – not just in distance, but in language and customs and everyday life – we have to have the courage to put ourselves in their place, not only to hear their story from afar but to see their story up close.  And perhaps to expose some of the poverty of our own lives as well.  That’s hard to do.  But we are called to it, not only by our diocesan relationship, but because they are, as we are, children of God.  So how do we do that?

It seems to me that the first part is just being there and experiencing the reality of life as it is lived by these very special people.  Of course, we were honored guests and so we didn’t really experience the fullness of their lives.  We were given hot water every morning and evening with which we could rinse ourselves and “bathe.”  The two or three oscillating electric fans, when the electricity was working, were always pointed at us.  We had plentiful bottled water.  We never experienced hunger. We were never in danger.

But we did get a taste of life as it is lived in Nzara and what we experienced was a close-knit community that, of necessity, depends on each other for survival.  They share what they have.

Bishop Samuel’s brother visited one day and the Bishop introduced him to us as “the son of my mother.”  We thought that a very strange way to speak of his brother and asked him why he didn’t just introduce him as “my brother.”  He replied that all of these people surrounding him were his brothers and his sisters, but this particular person was related to him because he was also the son of his mother.  I thought that we here in Iowa might occasionally speak of “our brothers and sisters” when we are gathered together at a church function, but I’m not sure we really mean it.  I think Bishop Samuel does.

I discovered that sometimes there’s freedom in lack of choice.  We Westerners tend to think that having choices is a good thing and the more choices the better.  We forget that choices can sometimes be paralyzing.  Choosing itself can take up a lot of our time.  Sometimes when we have finally chosen, we begin to regret that we didn’t make a different choice.  That’s a lot of energy!  When there’s no choice, we take what we are given with gratitude, because we are glad that we have something.  God’s story is frequently a story of privation – people wandering in the desert, hungry people by the side of a sea in Galilee.  That’s frequently the story of the people of Nzara too.  Our story is, sometimes, of privation as well, but not for material goods, like food and water.  No.  Our privations are of the spirit.  “Now that I have all this stuff, what am I to do with it?  Why don’t I feel good?”  Can we too get to the place where we can learn from those who find joy with so little in material goods?

It seems to me that there is in the Diocese of Nzara a wholly different perspective regarding bad things that happen to good people.  We here in this very rich country tend to think that our lives should just roll along and everything should go well.  When things don’t go well, our tendency is to ask, “Why me?”  Some of us wonder how a good God could let these awful things happen. 

But in South Sudan, where virtually everyone is beset by problems difficult for us even to imagine, it doesn’t seem to me that people ask, “Why me?” and wonder where God is.  They accept that both good things and bad things are a part of life for everyone and God is with us through it all. 

Bishop Samuel is always delighted to receive the gifts we bring (T-shirts and dresses and soccer balls and uniforms for the children; vestments and altar hangings and bicycles for the clergy on this trip).  But he doesn’t easily see all that we get from him and from the South Sudanese people when we come to visit.  These things aren’t material; they are attitudinal and spiritual.  The beauty of true community; the gladness of heart that we feel when we are greeted enthusiastically each day; the smiles and laughter.  Simple pleasures? Yes. Simple to achieve?  Maybe not so easy for us.

By Jeanie Smith, Deacon, St. Timothy’s, West Des Moines