"When the darkness closes in Lord, still I will say 'blessed be the name of the Lord'"

Thursday 16th April 2015

This morning began as I lead the devotional time for the staff in the diocesan office, based on Psalm 41. Unpacking the message for some of the senior clergy was nerve wrecking in itself but the worst part was that I had to pick a song and lead the singing – a Capella. Africans have a gift for harmonizing and creating and keeping a beat. I have none of these gifts but we got through ‘All to Jesus I surrender’ just fine and then we prayed to close our time together.

After lunch, Rev Pamela came to pick me up on yet another bodaboda (which I’m getting braver at getting on) to do some pastoral visiting in the “Kenya Zone”. We went first to a man called David who is seriously ill and in his very final days. Out of respect for him I won’t try to explain or describe that visit. It could be summed up in the words ‘heart wrenching’. I was simply privileged enough to hold his hand and pray that his journey home would come quickly.

Following that, we walked for a few minutes until we arrived at the home of an elderly couple and their grandchildren. They were delighted to have visitors and warmly welcomed me to their home. We sat outside on plastic garden chairs and the lady, Dorcus, sat on a large straw mat on the ground where she was later joined by her young grandchildren and some chicks. Her husband, Shemaiah, spoke really good English and we had a great chat about his life, his interesting career choices and how he came to faith. His wife spoke no English but she was keen to speak to me so Rev. Pamela translated for us. She told me that she was delighted to have a white person at her home at last. She explained that her father had been orphaned quite young and some white missionaries had taken him in to look after him. A few years later missionaries also took her mum in when she too was orphaned. One of the missionaries was a pastor and as the cathedral had just been built, he agreed to marry the two in there and so they were the first couple to be married in Emmanuel Cathedral, Arua. Her father was also the first to be baptised there also. Although she is Ugandan, she feels that she is the product of a white European family and so was delighted to welcome me into her home, as her sister. They also explained to me that poor health prevented them from getting to church, which they really missed. Dorcus was unable to walk more than a few steps and Shemaiah, not much more. 

We talked about their family for a while. They had 10 children who all grew up quite a bit and then 1 by 1, six of their children died and are buried at their home. Dorcus asked that I would hold her in my prayers, and ask God to help her make sense of it all, and give her strength to carry on. They told me about their surviving children, including their daughter who is a nurse, and apparently I look a lot like her. Pamela and I laughed at that! A boda pulled up at their house and off jumped their 3 or 4 year old grandson. He speaks English so they asked him to come and speak to me. He managed a “hello” as he shook my hand and continued to stare at me while Pamela spoke to him in English. She asked about his day at nursery and then asked if he knew who I was, to which he pointed at me and said “my auntie?!?!”  We all laughed at this point. I wish they had been able to show me a picture of my Ugandan doppelganger! We prayed together before we took some photos and then Pamela and I began our walk home.

My long lost Ugandan family

On the way, we dropped into Pamela’s home where I met the extended family of women and children who live with her. It seems here that lots of husbands work away from home and so they live with their wives for short periods of time, a few times a year. We had a ‘soda’, chatted, laughed and looked at some old photos. Rather than hit the dusty road, I took a shortcut through some of Pamela’s fields to get back to my guesthouse, just in time for the sun setting.

Today has been another day where I was faced with the joyful highs and tragic lows of the human condition and of the ministry to which I have been called. Sometimes I wish I could speak Lugbara, to be able to communicate better with the people to whom I am trying to minister. Yet if I have learned anything today and the past few days it’s that there are times when words and gestures are totally inadequate, when silence is required and only the presence of God will ever be enough.

“Blessed be your name in the land that is plentiful, where your streams of abundance flow, blessed be your name.

                                                                                                                                               Blessed be your name when I’m found in the desert place, though I walk through the wilderness. 

Every blessing you pour out I’ll turn back to praise. When the darkness closes in Lord, still I will say ‘Blessed be the name of the Lord’”

Blessed be His name!

Danielle x