Sunday in Suswa...

This morning was filled with great excitement as I got to meet up with one of the fellows I missed the most since being gone from Kenya: our Maasai friend Richard.  It has been eight long years since we last saw each other and the reunion was certainly a blessed one.  As we chatted over some chai he shared the ministries and jobs he has been involved in, how his family has grown and how God has provided in miraculous ways.  Just after 10:00 we left to make our way to Suswa, a Maasai town at the base of the extinct volcano Mt. Suswa, down in the Rift Valley.  We wound around a serpentine road that looks as if it once was a suitable path for transport but has now been mostly reclaimed by nature.   No words can quite describe exactly how treacherous the road is but with the skill of Richard’s driving and the grace of the Lord we made it to the valley floor.

The equator passes just north of us here in Kenya and there are not really seasons as we think of them.  Instead the year is punctuated by the short rains and the long rains.  The short rains come in the fall and the long rains usually begin in March and are scheduled to arrive any day now.  Once in the valley it became clear how little rain has fallen since last fall.  The plants there are all thin leafed to maximize the scant amount of moisture they can gather when water is available.  What’s more they are all covered with thorns that make the American briars look like a joke.  The lack of rain has caused everything to turn to dust, which is then gathered aloft in immeasurable amounts by the wind.

About forty five minutes into our journey a stone building with a shiny tin roof appeared, seemingly out of nowhere on the left side of the road.  It was so dry and we were all so parched I thought it was probably a mirage but it just so happened to be our stopping point.  We drove right up to the side of the building and could hear the shrill sounds of Maasai worship coming from within.  As we walked in I am afraid my white skin caused a minor distraction but not enough to take away from the heartfelt praise that was already taking place.  I am convinced that the Maasai will be holding classes in heaven to teach worship to those who were a bit too stiff back on earth. 

Everyone was an active participant in their worship and instead of staying in the plastic chairs that were lined up in the back of the meeting place, they all gathered at the front of their sanctuary dancing and jumping in unison.  As they sang their jumps, stomps and whirls churned up the dust from the dirt floor where they meet.  This continued for some time with a speaker system producing a rhythm pumped in from a keyboard on the side.  Brian, the boy playing the keyboard, and quite adeptly at that, could not have been more than twelve years old.  The scene was nothing short of glorious as it was clear what everyone had come for.

As the service continued occasional wind would whip up the dry dust through the open windows coating everything in a light tan color.  My black bag that I carried with me quickly became khaki colored and somehow dust particles filtered into every page of my Bible.  While sitting there the passage from Psalm 143:6 came to mind, “I thirst for you as parched lands thirst for rain.”  The longing for the nourishment of the land was strong but not as strong as their passionate seeking after their God.  A time of testimony came and a number of people shared, praising God for the simplest yet most profound things.  Following that came the time of offering where no ushers or plates were mobilized but rather the entire church ran to the front to deposit their shillings in a bag.  They came not out of guilt or ritual but rather joy for the opportunity to give back to the God that grants them life.

Having an opportunity to share I read from John 10, telling them of how our Savior is a herdsman just like they.  However, it is He who is the best herdsman and laid down His life for His sheep.  We had a tremendous time of reflecting on the goodness of our shepherd and His provision for us all.  With a few more announcements the service reached its end and it was only 2:00pm.  It honestly did not even seem that long but we disbanded quickly as the wind had been turned up a few more notches.  The dust clouds seemed like what I had seen in pictures from the great dust bowl years ago in the Midwest.  As everyone scattered we jumped in the car Richard borrowed to drop his kids off at their house in an attempt to save them from the wind.  We stopped at the local Suswa hotel, grabbed some meat and chapati and were back on our way. 

Heading back to Kijabe we passed two significant accidents on the road and rejoiced that we were not involved as they both happened right before us.  Winding our way back through the bush we made it to our connecting road and headed back up the mountain to Kijabe.  At one point the other passenger and I had to get out of the car and push due to the combined difficulty of the incline, the scant power of the car and the added weight of us two passengers.  Nevertheless we reached Kijabe safely and said our farewells. 

As I sit here and reflect on the day it reminds me of the overwhelming abundance and ease of life in America and at times the lacking commitment to Christian life.  Here in this harsh environment some walk for over an hour through the dust, biting wind and beating sun to meet together and praise the God they serve.  One Kenyan said it well, “Here in Kenya we have much poverty but great spiritual wealth.  You in America have much wealth but great spiritual poverty.”  I think he just may have a point.

 

Scott