Mawazo Juu ya Jumapili ya Matawi – Thoughts on Palm Sunday

Today I celebrated Palm Sunday with about 1500 people at Kanisa Katoliki la Mt Maria Kwa Njenga – St Mary's Catholic Church in the slum called Kwa Njenga, literally Njenga's Place.
This week is the holiest of weeks for Christians remembering events of 2000 years ago that draw us closer to God and to believing that love is stronger than all else.

There were many memorable moments but to share a few:

• Seeing why Fr John called us last week to get our shoe sizes – in case we needed gum boots to reach the church.
• Bumping along the narrow pathway with people making way for Fr John's truck which reminded him why he always walks to the church. With the visitors today, he forgot.
• The faces of so many - both interested and disinterested in the visitors, the shy and bold greetings of little ones.
• Brushing ants off a little child who had leaned against a tree they inhabited.
• Victor, a 4^th grader, offering me the cross he had woven out of palm branches.
• Watching Cindy & John interact with the children, knowing they will soon be using their gifts with young people as teachers.
• Amassing with the others to begin the procession.
• Straining to hear the reader outside over the neighboring church.
• Processing slowly, trying to make out the words being sung.
• Seeing a 4-year old walking with us, holding her palm high above her head but hidden within the adults around her.
• Hymns and incense filling the air.
• Catching enough Swahili to know where the story was of Christ's conviction and death.
• Singing the one word I knew – pokea – receive. We offer our lives, our hope, our prayers and ask God to receive. Christ offering us peace and us singing that we receive it as well.
• Making all those people laugh with a few words of Swahili and wishing I could give them more than a smile and a blessing.
• Talking with parishioners afterward with the words I could find.
• The children. Adorable, mischievous, timid, smiling, crying, watching, listening for the mzungu to speak their language. All of them.
• Chicken and cilantro as only I had thought Minh, a co-missioner I trained with in New York, could make.
• The cook at the parish apologizing for what, I don't know (I'm starting to speak Kenyan English), but with “Hakuna stima, hakuna maji.” – There is no electricity, there is no water.
• Father John praying for those who inspire us by their perseverance.

The blessing of the palms before the procession.

The cross leading the procession ... about to begin.

Processing to the church

The choir in the center in purple robes led the singing.

Some of the children. Victor, the one who made the cross I carried, is on the left waving.
The girl with the red sleeve & her sister on her back sat next to Cindy & me in Mass.
The church is the metal building behind us.

There's a bit of time in the midst of prayer in another language, whether it is sung or read, to try to fill in the blanks, the unintelligible or the unknown words. Today I was reflecting on one word I heard many, many times: pokea – receive. So much of what I have experienced here is about receiving. Being received as a visitor, a foreigner, a student, and one who wants to be with people to learn from them. Receiving a new kind of education – language, culture, different ways of being and communicating. Knowing I have so much more to learn, but also being grateful for what I've received.

Wish you all a very holy week!

Choices, choices, choices - Hiari, hiari, hiari

Greetings from Nairobi!

I am in the midst of discernment between whether I will go to live and work in Mombasa or Kitale. I was hoping that the decision would be clear after visiting both places, but there's interesting work I could do in both places - and each place has its own distinctive charm.

Language school has continued to keep me busy, but I hope to spend more time in silence to listen to the whisper within of where I am being called.

Today's Gospel reading about the prodigal son returning to the open arms of his father reminds me of the love that surrounds me. I think part of me has been afraid of making the wrong choice, but perhaps there is not a wrong choice.

Here's the journey to Mombasa in photos:

To Mombasa or bust! Due to bus consolidation, John ended up in seat that was stuck in the reclined position and Cindy's seat was damp. I was in the back row and enjoyed chatting with a few other passengers ... a good opportunity to test my Swahili & learn a few new words.
It was a beautiful day, albeit warm. The landscape on the eastern side of Kenya was more dry than our trip the weekend before to the west.

Our first views of Mombasa was the port from the "causeway" - which connects the island of Mombasa to the mainland. My romantic mental images of the city needed some adjustment as we arrived through the industrial part of the city.
Mombasa is a city of contrast, color, and history.
The tuk-tuks are a popular and inexpensive form of transportation.
The view from our co-missioner's 2nd floor entrance. Some of the city reminded me of Southern California.
One of the Catholic High Schools in Mombasa. The school motto: Ukweli daima (Truth Always) and other encouragement is painted on the building, as are common for schools here.
Another motto I hope to live by.
We were very busy visiting potential sites to serve in. One area in which I was particularly moved was the area called Bangladesh, served by Kiltegan priests from Ireland.
We met many dedicated people serving those living with HIV.
Our co-missioner works out of this building for administrating a project that helps over 150 children stay in school in spite of losing at least one of their parents to AIDS. I was able to read the bios of some of the children and talk to one young man who finished high school and is now taking courses in community development. It was through the project that he found his desire to serve others.
After a long day of exploration, our hostess-with-the-mostest pulled off an amazing evening to introduce us to other missioners in the area.
We used the ferry to cross from the island to the mainland to visit another part of the diocese, where our co-missioner has been helping with an epilepsy clinic.
We stopped to put our feet in the Indian Ocean. We arrived at low tide and walked all the way out to the waves breaking.
hThe walk was a bit of a challenge due to the beautiful but prickly sea life. We moved carefully and in awe of the beauty surrounding us. John captured the clarity of the water and the variety of life - crabs, birds, starfish, sea urchins, sea cucumbers, fish, birds, coral and wonders I don't know the names for.

Within a couple of hours, the coral reef was submerged. It made for an even trickier trip back to shore as John's camera doesn't know how to swim - and the sea life below was more difficult to see in 3-4 feet of water.

During our visit to Mivumoni parish, I met with the women's microfinance group and we all met with the youth group. They were interested in life in America and sang a blessing for each of us before we left.
Back in Mombasa, we saw a bit of history. Fort Jesus was built in the 1500's by the Portuguese.

Now I remember what a luxury it is to have choices, to have options. Thank you for the continued support, letters, emails, and prayers. I hope you all find yourself at home wherever you are.