I wrote about Kenya the other day. I was a little passionate and perhaps obscure. I’ve had time to sort out my understanding, my knowledge and my senses. I have no direct connection with the unfolding violence and mayhem there, but I find it strangely compelling nonetheless.

I wrote this statement: “Africa is crumbling. In the West we will be held to account for this in some form or another. It is on our shoulders that this mess lies.” I asked these questions: “But … have we done the work of understanding the other? Of knowing who they are? Of truly becoming One with them as God asks us to? Or do we simply wrap our culture on top of theirs like a blanket and hope that it takes?”

In a comment, Janet wrote so succinctly:

I don’t believe the missionaries are the worst offenders… the Colonial powers drawing up national boundaries based around geographical features rather than tribal identity or ancestral lands hasn’t helped. Nor has economic systems of trade that advantage the West. Nor has political covert interference by Western nations… especially in the cold war era by Russia and the U.S. Nor has impositions of political / military systems that work in the West but haven’t perhaps been translated to work with cultural realities. Nor has the world community’s tendency to tolerate the utterly intolerable as if African nations are a special case… we seem far more willing to ignore civil war, genocide and famine there than we are if white people are involved….

I’ve been contemplating that and then there’s my long since misplaced classmate from college.

He stood out even on the first day. I think he was about 6 foot 4 or so. With a smile to match. The purple and gold beanies they made us freshmen wear looked even more ridiculous on him than they did on the rest of us mortals. But Ken wore his with style. The ever-ready grin became his fashion statement. As did the workboots he wore year round. Dunhams. He wore them with shorts or jeans. It didn’t matter. They were his shoes and I never saw him in anything else. No one could keep up with him walking because his legs were so long.

I had several classes with him as the International Relations department at our college was small. So we crossed paths often and had an easy going friendship. Ken … from Kenya. He was smart, funny and good looking. And interesting to talk to. But it was not a deep or long lasting friendship. He was returning to Kenya and I went to college BI. Before Internet. For all intents and purposes I went to college BC (before computer). I typed all of my papers on … get this … a typewriter! So I lost touch with most of my classmates almost immediately upon graduation. My class is still the least reported class in the alumni rag … except for the class just before mine. We’re terrible.

In any case, I’ve remembered Ken from Kenya. I’ve remembered his full name. It’s a name you don’t forget … though I won’t reveal it here. So, when the recent poop hit the fan I began to do some research. I wanted to find him again, if I could, and mostly reassure myself that he was likely okay. I found him alright. What I found gave me pause and made me sad.

I always knew that Ken’s father was a “minister” in the government in Nairobi. I found him alright. It wasn’t hard to do. The name, as it turned out, was fairly well known. Or infamous. Depending upon one’s perspective. As I read articles about Ken’s father I read all the sad stereotypes that come to mind about African government officials. Then I also read heroic things about him as well. It really did depend upon the perspective of the author. The author’s perspective depended upon their ethnic background. Were they Western? If not, what tribe were they from? The answers to those questions really did color the perspective of the author. Western authors tend to view ministerial activities in a very light than African authors. Africans tend to have their perspective colored by their tribal affiliation. So it’s very difficult to sort out where the lines are.

In searching for Ken I’ve had a primer on Kenyan politics for the last 40 years or so. There is a lot to learn. I think it’s important that we in the West learn our lessons quickly and well. The ghosts of Rwanda and Somalia are still too fresh. We cannot afford to let those happen again. Ultimately the responsibility does lie on us. For we did carve up a continent based not upon the people who were already there, but upon a boundary system that was guaranteed to create problems in the future for these people. We have then laid over top of the cauldron of tribal/feudalism a blanket of democracy that is supposed to repair any problems that were created during the colonial period. The blanket has created a warm dark place for the problems to fester and grow … like a rotting wound covered with an unclean bandage.

I thought about attempting to write that primer out here. But I am still unsure of myself. I do not understand the finer nuances of the intertribal conflicts to spell it out yet. Here are the parts I do understand (I think … and I may have missed huge chunks) and there will be a list of links at the end.

Kenya gained independence in 1964 from Great Britain. Her first president was Jomo Kenyatta. He was first prime minister under British rule and then President of an independent Kenya from 1964 to 1978. I believe that he was a member of Kikuyu tribe. This is the main taproot of the violence and unrest that we are seeing today.

The second president of Kenya was Daniel Arap Moi. I believe he was president for 24 years (1978 – 2002). He was a member of the Kalenjin tribe. While he was president the Kalenjin was ascendent, but the Kikuyu tribe maintained it’s hold on power as well.

In 2002 Kenya held it’s first contested presidential elections and Mwai Kibaki was elected president. Kibaki is a member of the Kikuyu tribe (again) This was the first presidential election in which more than one person (man) was running … for real. In late 2007 another election was held and I assume it was accordance with the Kenyan constitution. Mwai Kibaki, the incumbent, ran again. He was opposed by Raila Odinga (a member of Luo tribe) among others. The reason that the presidential results are in question is that most of the parliamentary incumbents were ousted; especially those who were of the Kikuyu tribe. When Kibaki declared himself the victor and had himself sworn in without the election being properly overseen violence ensued.

Given the pattern established by his predecessors (Kenyatta and Moi), it is not unreasonable to think that Kibaki anticipated that he would be in office (by hook or crook) for a number of years. Certainly he anticipated more than five years in power.

Tribal politics and vendetta relationships are the primary driving forces creating the state in Kenya at the moment. An unspoken issue is that when this generation dies out, there is a vacuum in leadership. The men who drove Africa to independence in the 20th century and have governed her since, have not raised up leaders to replace themselves. There are very few young Africans willing and able to take the reins of government and administration when this generation passes from the scene. The middle class is paltry and small. We, in the West, have done a pitiful job at passing the flower of democracy to the cradle of civilization.

Kenya: Roots of Crisis by Gerard Prunier

Ethnic Tensions Dividing Kenya by Adam Mynott

New Broom For Graft Ridden Kenya by Jeremy Scott-Joynt

African Successes: Four Public Managers of Kenyan Rural Development by David Scott

Where Tribe Is Everything by Geoffrey Clarfield

UPDATE – Because I’m Western my perspective is questionable as well … as you may discover here, in Kenya: Causes and Solutions:

That the elections results were rigged – of that there is little doubt. The hasty inauguration, the blanket banning on the broadcast media, the dispersal of security forces to deal with expected protests – all these have given the post election period the flavour of a coup d’etat. What was not expected was the speed with which the whole thing would unravel. The declaration of the members of the Electoral Commission that the results were indeed rigged only added to the growing realisation that a coup had indeed taken place.

People across the country took to the streets to protest and were met with disproportionate use of force by the police and GSU.

Emotions ran high. And there is evidence that politicians from all sides used the occasion to instigate violent attacks against their opponents’ constituencies. There have been rapes, forced circumcision and forced female genital mutilation. The western media has been quick to describe these as ‘ethnic clashes’ – but then they appear only to be able to see tribes whenever there are conflicts in Africa. What is ignored by them is that the security forces have been responsible for the majority of killings.

Today is LightGirl’s 14th birthday. I write that in a much more understated manner than I feel. What the h e double hockeysticks happened? Where did the time go? How did thirteen whole years go by so fast? Why is she wearing so much makeup? So many, many questions with no answers. I feel all gulpy inside. Some days I want to hold her close and make certain that nothing bad ever happens. Most days I know that’s not possible; I have to know that she has a good head on her shoulders, a sprout of faith, and the best I can do as her mom is to prepare her to handle life with grace and aplomb. The rest is up to her. But I still feel all gulpy inside.

So … in order to deal with that feeling of gulpyness here is a list of my personal favorites from last year. These are not necessarily the posts that got the most hits (in fact some of them barely got any), or the most comments (again, most of them got zero), but they are my favorites because they are the posts that I still think about. I may revisit these ideas this year in other forms, you never know …

On The Ways of Geese – perspectives on leadership
Losing Ground – decision making
My Vision – for faith communities
Shavuot-The Feast of Pentecost the Megillah of Ruth
Slice It, Dice It, Anyway You Want It … social, cultural constructs for looking at the Bible
Book Review – Organic Community – surprise! A book review.
Christendom? Post-Christendom? – a look at labels.
Critique, Criticism and the Gong Show – what’s love got to do with it?
On Creating Space – what do hockey and church have in common?
Living Within The System and Non-Violence – a look at living in the world but not being of it.
Good Gifts – every parent desires to give good gifts, but what are they?

Well … the end of another calendar year is in sight. I’m working on some posts right now … but I also got bit by a designing bug and I’ve got quilts coming out of my ears. Not literally, yet. But I have to get the ideas down, or I’ll lose them. So in the meantime, I thought I’d do some best of posts …

Tonight, a list of the most commented posts of the year. I just went through by month and picked the post for each month with the most comments. August was unique because there was a tie that month for most comments and it was a high too … 26 for both posts. So, I’ll begin with January, end with December and see where the road takes us.

January – Comestible Consumption Competition – Day 8
February – Love Them Patriots
March – Leaving Oz
April – The People Known As the Bride of Christ
May – Perspectives On Women
June – 7 Books I’m Reading
July – Losing My Religion
August – The Appearance of Holiness
To Whom Shall I Turn
September – OMG!!!
October – Vampire Protection
November – WWJS …
December – Twaddle and a Confession

Having spent so much time in my own writing this evening, I no longer have any confidence in myself. What am I thinking? Oy … my 7 readers are filled with grace. Thank you from the bottom of my pea-pickin little heart.

Tomorrow, or Sunday, a list of my favorite posts from the year. Maybe a photo of the quilt I’m designing too as a special extra (it’s an art quilt, so it’s small).

8 And a highway will be there;
it will be called the Way of Holiness.
The unclean will not journey on it;
it will be for those who walk in that Way;
wicked fools will not go about on it.

9 No lion will be there,
nor will any ferocious beast get up on it;
they will not be found there.
But only the redeemed will walk there,

10 and the ransomed of the LORD will return.
They will enter Zion with singing;
everlasting joy will crown their heads.
Gladness and joy will overtake them,
and sorrow and sighing will flee away.

As I mentioned in my earlier post, we did lectio divina the other night with 7 children and 5 adults. There were varying reactions. LightBoy recognized elements of the Psalms in this reading which cheered his mother’s heart greatly.

It was very interesting to me that verse 8 rang out to me and LightHusband and LightGirl, but for different reasons and in different ways, but when we put all of our parts together the story became complete. LightGirl heard a command to holiness and was offended because no one can be completely holy in this life, so who could walk on this highway? I heard a promise that all will be kept safe from highway men and beasts. LightHusband heard a prophecy fulfilled in that we live after Jesus in a time and place when there are no unclean, and the lions and ferocious beasts are penned. We have been redeemed and walk in freedom.

Not all who live in the world are so blessed I reminded LightHusband. Those who live in the land where these words were originally spoken might disagree that they have been fulfilled. Then one of the other children wanted to know where they had been spoken, so we talked about that for a little.

This Highway … it made quite an impression on me. I’ve been pondering it. Isaiah’s prophecy is rich in description here. I went looking for his timeline and place. Isaiah is dated to sometime towards the trickly end of the Assyrian Empire, he did some of his prophesying during the reign of King Hezekiah of Judah. This puts him close to 700 BCE and makes the capital of the Assyrian Empire, Nineveh. Ohhh … where have we heard about that city before? I wanted to know where Nineveh is/was. It’s about 2/3 of the way up the Tigris river in what is modern day Iraq. The ancient ruins were completely looted in 2003 and much of our common history was lost.

I found a map ..
… of the Assyrian Empire.

Now, if you look at that map, the red line indicates the path that the Hebrew exiles took out of Israel when the Assyrians overran them. Take a moment and ponder the idea of exile in 722 BCE. Let the stink and sweat of fear, loss, hunger and death permeate your bones for a few minutes as you consider a forced march and endless footsteps of dry, dusty desert to slavery.

Read Isaiah’s prophecy again. Read what he has to tell those Hebrew men and women about what God has in store for them. Wait, he says, wait. God’s road back will be filled with water, and safety and clean clothes, and good food to eat and there will be joy and singing at the end. You will come home. You will come home. And we will have a party. What faith. What hope.

Can we too hang on? Can we remember this? This road back to God … She promises it will be filled with good food and water and there is going to be a party at the end. We’ll be safe too. We just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other, with our eyes on Him.

As some of you might know I’m married to a shutter bug. LightHusband has been known to take a photo or two. In another life he was once rather affectionately (or so we thought) known as “The Sniper” because of his delight in snapping photos. Now he takes literally thousands of pictures of hockey players. Those that play with the LightChildren that is. He does a great job with it too. Enough so that when the “professional” came to take the team photos this year, I took secret delight at the high standards the hockey moms and dads had for him … that had been set by LightHusband.

In any case, when Brother Maynard mentioned that he’d found a website of 100 photographs that had changed the world, I was intrigued to say the least.  I wanted to see these photographs that had managed to change the world.  Because I’m always interested in the things that can change the world.

It was, in any case, the Life website and the 100 photographs that their photographers had taken that had changed the world … in their estimation.  The introduction and their rationale is well worth the read.  The photographs themselves are revealing and stunning.  They trace a bunch of our shared history for the past 150 years … that period of time during which we have had photography available to us.  It is a site that I really cannot recommend enough.

Here is the thought that kept echoing through my head and I cannot shake.  It hasn’t given me nightmares … yet.  But I’m bereft with it.  These photographs that changed the world.  I’m not so certain that it was the photographs that did the changing … it was that they captured the moment that a change began.  And here is the thing that causes my soul to quake … was how many of those moments were moments of utter and depraved violence.  They captured the worst moments of evil and depravity.  Some of the photographs are seemingly innocent.

There is the photograph of the first “Marlboro Man.”  I never knew he was originally a real cowboy, a foreman on a 320,000 acre ranch in northern Texas.  He rode into town once a week for storebought shave.  But there is violence underneath that photo … the violence of using a human as an icon to make money on addiction and ultimately death.

There is the “Earthrise” photo … capturing the moment the earth rises over the horizon of the moon during the one of the trips to the moon in the late 60’s.  It remains one of the most beautiful photos ever taken.  But we still do not know the effects of our pollution when taken into the realms of outer space.  We take it there and blithely dump it as we did for so many decades into our oceans thinking they were limitless.

Take only photographs and leave only footprints … is that truly possible?  Can we really leave only footprints behind?  Or do we make more of an impact on our environment than that.  I wonder about the implications of the curses in Genesis 3.  What did God mean by them?  How far down have we gone?  Can we ever change the world?

Today we remember the saints who have gone before us. We remember the saints who were canonized by the church and wrote many books that we now endeavor to follow because they help to keep us on the path laid before us by Jesus.

Me, I remember my grandfather. He was a different sort of saint. Today would have been his 115th birthday. He would have been very, very, very old. I would have had a lot of time to get under his skin. I did that quite regularly and with abandon. We never quite got along when I was a kid. I never quite understood that when I was kid. I think I do now.

He was a very strict man with a bold twinkle in his eye. There was, you see, a large helping of grace in his heart. He never went to church for all the days that I knew him, but I know now that that doesn’t matter at all.

I was the sort of child who rarely stopped chattering. I had few, if any, governors on my thoughts. My grandfather was of the generation who firmly believed that children should be seen and not heard. To say there was a clash of cultures between the two of us would be putting it mildly. I got more than a large dose of stubborn from him.

I was famous for asking him pointed questions about anything that crossed my mind … including his anatomy. He was famous for being disingenous because he was not willing to hear my response. Yet, I probably spent more time with him than any of my other grandparents as a small child. I ended up driving around large portions of the western part of Massachusetts with him following fire trucks and parades.

LightHusband may lay it at my grandfather’s feet that we watch endless episodes of “murder” television. I learned to love it by eating dinner on a television tray and watching “Ironsides” with my grandfather. Don’t tell anyone, but I always snuck the ketchup on my grandmother’s Minute Rice because it was yucky! You can do that in the dark.

My grandfather did many things in his life. He was a teamster throughout most of his life. We found his journal a few years ago along with some photographs from his childhood. They came as a large surprise to me. The man who was so strict as my grandfather, was a large prankster as a child. It winked and twinkled out of his eyes. The same man walked all over Brooklyn and to and from New Jersey on his days off … just for something to do. He joined the National Guard to fight Santa Ana in Texas.  He also spent years caring for his elderly mother and more years caring for his wayward sister who was coping and recuperating from an abusive marriage and serial abusive relationships.  He never said much about it, it was just what he did.  As adults his children have put the puzzle together and passed the story along.

I remember him for his attempts to get me to eat my dinner.  They were numerous.  He would fix me with his blue eyes and tell me that it was more healthy to chew my food eighty times before swallowing it.  Then he gracefully put his chin in the air and commenced chewing.  I tried to chew eighty times.  HAH!  Try that sometime.  It’s impossible.  I watched and counted his chews one time … he couldn’t even do it.  So I gave up.  But I never told him.  Then he would tell me that children should be seen and not heard.  But I did not believe that and told him so.  Then at long last, he would fix me with his eyes and say, “Eat thy supper and let thy food stop thy mouth.”  And that would be the end of that.  Humph.

But I always knew where I could find him when I visited their house.  And I always knew that when I wanted a pencil or a piece of paper to draw that those could be found in his wonderful desk which was available to me at any time.  I still have the postcards from all over the world that he faithfully sent me all of my life til he died in 1974.  He loved to travel and see the world.  He loved to read.  Despite our clash of cultures, he loved me.  And I loved him.  He was a good man and a saint to be remembered on this day of saints.

Well … it’s a great day.  My much maligned Red Sox have won the World Series.  LightGirl won a game and so did LightBoy.  For a woman who ordinarily doesn’t pay any attention to sports, it’s quite a day.

I was amazed that the Sox won so handily and quickly.  They did well this year.  I watched from afar.  I never hope for too much.  As a Red Sox far since I was a child I learned young.  They fold after the All Star break.  But not in 2004 and not this year.  Who knew?  Every win is a surprise and delight and every loss expected.  I’m such a pessimist when it comes to baseball.  But you know?  When you’ve had 2 World Series championships in 3 years … but the one before that was in 1918, you kinda get a little cynical.

To my friends who are Rockies fans … I am sorry.  Just not very much.

So, here’s to the Red Sox …

And here’s to LightGirl and her team.  I watched something truly remarkable happen this weekend.  I watched a group of girls learn how to play as a team.  I watched synchronicity happen.  They won too.  But the best part was watching them finally “get it.”  Yeah … that was grand.

Fairly early on in my blogging career (such as it is), I stumbled across this little known blog called Present Matters. No one else that I knew followed this blog. I had a hard time finding the name of the person writing it. And for quite a long time I was convinced the author was a crusty old man. He sure sounded like it from his writing. He wrote dense, long posts about long dead monks and dusty old books that fascinated me for some reason. I would trudge through the posts which were always well written but sometimes I wondered why they were written. Certainly only a crusty old man would read such dusty old books alone as he was in the mountains of Southern California.

Then the author began to also post some photographs of his beautiful surroundings. I was further hooked. And I also began to post some comments here and there as I began to understand more and more of what he was posting about. I loved the photography and some of you may know that LightHusband is also a photographer (who supplies me with the photographs for this blog :D).

Pretty soon, though, I discovered that the author was NOT a crusty old man, but a lively young guy and younger than me! At first I was embarrassed. But then I realized that no one knew what I had been thinking all that time (until now of course). I was by this time really enjoying his writing and discovered that he was an author for real and not just a blog author. I tried to lure him out by linking to him in a couple of memes, but he was determined to remain quiet and in the backwater. I wanted more people to know about him and his writing because it is winsome and good, and above all I’ve learned so much from reading him.

Patrick draws from such a variety of sources when he writes that it is always refreshing and new. He uses modern (and by that I am referring to the era, not the method of thinking) writers, Reformation writers, Medieval writers and early Christian writers and he’ll use them all in the same piece. He is unafraid of history which makes for very holistic pieces.

So when Patrick announced that he had a book coming out this fall, I was thrilled. I was excited for him personally. After all, now I actually *know* an author. Someone who has a book which is published. That is thrilling in and of itself. I was excited for him because I know that it’s something he’s been working on. But I was selfishly glad for me too. A whole “Patrick Oden” book to read.

Here’s the thing … I know we’re not “supposed” to do this, but it seems that Patrick is drawn to many of the same spiritual streams that I am drawn to … Celtic Christianity, finding God in nature, reading about Him throughout history and the like. This is likely why I find Dual Ravens (as his blog is now known) so compelling. So when Patrick announced, “It’s A Dance: Moving With The Holy Spirit.” I was pretty thrilled and thought, “Dang. November 1 is a long way away.”

Then he invited me to read a pre-publication copy of the book. So I am one of the lucky few to be able to read this book *before* November 1. And, it is everything I hoped it would be. Tomorrow … a review of It’s A Dance, by Patrick Oden.

“… The brain is scattered on the ground.”He added: “I am shaking as I am trying to describe to you what happened. We are not able to eat. These were innocent people. Is it so natural for them to shoot innocent people?”  from The Washington Post two days ago.

I have restrained myself for months.  But I’m going to say it now.

I predicted this.  I said this was going to happen.  I said this from the very beginning.  I do not relish this at. all.  But I got into more than one argument over whether or not there were WMDs in Iraq.  There were not.  Or whether or not Al Qaeda was in Iraq.  It wasn’t.  Vindication does nothing now.  Because now Al Qaeda IS in Iraq.  We have created that which we feared.  And *that* is what I predicted.

Bigger, stronger, and harsher is not going to win this war.  If we do not learn that lesson quickly we will be trapped in that quagmire for decades on end.  Smarter, kinder, more loving is going to win the day.  Bullies never win and apparently they never learn either.

I am scattered today.  My mind is skittering around and trying to process several things all at once.

One of the things that I’ve been sorting through and want to do some more reading about (if I can find it) is a theory I’m beginning to nourish about the differences between the Celtic Church and the Roman church during the 500s and 600s and just why was Pelagius declared a heretic?  I wonder if it had a lot more to do with who he represented than what he thought.  But I’m still thinking and reading and need to organize my thoughts before I can do any serious writing about it.

We had dinner with some friends up here last night.  It was funny (weird), but I’ve known about these people all my life.  Just now we’re becoming friends.  Another person dropped in towards the end of the evening.  I’ve also known of him my whole life.  But not known him.  They all knew and hung out with each other all summer every summer.  Their families summered here.  I just came to visit my aunt for a few days here and there each summer.  Sometimes I’d spend a week.  We had a conversation last night about the gangs they ran with.  To them those gangs had been all inclusive.  To me, I could never find an opening.  LateComer declared “Oh, if we’d known you were here, you’d have been part of us.”  None of them remember me; they remember my youngest brother.  But I remember them.  Which leaves me wondering … am I really that withdrawn?

I remember the first time I took the MBTI and got the Introverted result.  I thought it was wrong.  But now I as I look back over my life and remember all the times I’ve tried so hard to be outgoing and failed.  Or gotten it wrong.  I remember being shoved out, off the porch to “go find the kids, they’re all over the place.”  But I just could not do that.  I wouldn’t know what to say when I got there.

So I’m trying to put all that together.  It felt like a sucker punch.  It wasn’t meant that way.  LateComer was trying to make me feel belatedly included.  But … the reality hit hard.

I’m continuing to recuperate, but not as quickly as I’d like.  So thoughts like this … “What if I have pancreatic cancer?” keep springing into my head.  I have to say them out loud so that LightHusband can help me push them away with the reality of this takes a long time to recuperate from.  But I have a strong imagination, it likes to win.

My cousin and her children came to visit yesterday.  It was fun, but too short.  Next year, we’ll gather here again for a longer day.  I will feel better and be able to do more.

The next big battle to fight with LightGirl is getting her into some decent clothes for Thanksgiving dinner in November.  I’ve got 84 days.  We’ve invited LightHusband’s parents, siblings and their families for the holiday.  So far it looks as though everyone will come and they’re all excited about it.  My 11 year old niece exclaimed, “I’ll go if I have to drive myself!”  And it’s an 11 hour drive for her … But this side of the family dresses for holiday dinners.  So.  LightGirl will need something appropriate.  Not made of tissue paper.  Not looking like a ‘ho from the ‘hood.  In other words, nothing from any of the local or on-line shops for girls her age.  I will have to make it.  Not a big deal for me.  But it will take some … (how shall I say this?) … negotiating.  So … let the games begin.