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Inspired!

Fr. Rich Webster and Fr. Joel Atong

Well, YOU did it!!  Between all of the contributions from folks on the website and the generous support of Grace Cullman and St. Luke’s in Birmingham, Fr. Joel will be going back to Kenya with the money he needs to begin building his health care clinic. AMAZING! 

There are so many stories within this story, I hope to write them sometime soon. For now, I wanted to share this GOOD NEWS with you. This is a wonderful beginning and Fr. Joel and I hope you will continue to walk with us on the journey.  Many thanks to those who have helped. 

Loving Creator, We give you thanks for your abundant mercy and care.  Thank you for the faith of Fr. Joel, holding tight to the vision of a place of healing for the people of Kenya.  Thank you for preparing hearts to be open to participate.  Thank you for the opportunity to co-create with You a world that reflects the love and mercy You have shown us.  May Ngunya Health Clinic provide healing for the people who fund and build it, and for those who seek and offer care in it.   Amen

Grace Cullman reception


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YOU ARE AWESOME!

Because of you, we raised over $700 in one day for the Ngunya Health Clinic!  I just wanted you to know that you are making a difference.  Malcolm and I, and more importantly, Joel are grateful and encouraged.  Thank you for saying “yes” to life!

Let’s keep on spreading the word.  Blessings.

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Kiki at Orphanage in Kenya

“I have a direct influence on the world around me, and I choose whether that influence is positive or negative.”  My then 15 year-old daughter Kiki wrote upon returning from a mission trip to Kenya.

Kiki has inspired me to give back to the country that influenced her so greatly.

My friend and classmate, Father Joel Atong is from the village of Ngunya, Kenya.  Because of the cruel confluence of:  abject poverty, lack of medical care, and HIV/AIDS and malaria epidemics in Kenya, people in Joel’s village are dying unnecessarily. 

For $15,000 a simple medical facility can be built to provide basic medical care for 10,000 people.  Joel has a vision, support, and the experience to build this clinic on his church‘s property–saving villagers the 14-mile round trip walk to the doctor.

IMAGINE, 1,500 people giving $10 each, and the clinic is built. 

WILL YOU HELP MAKE THIS VISION A REALITY?

There are 3 ways you can help:

  • PRAY.  Please say a prayer for the Ngunya Health Clinic project.
  • DONATEPlease click on donate now, then choose “Ngunya Kenya Health Clinic” from the drop down box and make your contribution.  A huge thank you to the Episcopal Diocese of Alabama for helping us to receive your donations securely.
  • SHARE.  Click on the share button below and post this on Facebook and Twitter with your own comments.

Together, we can do this! 

I will update our progress periodicallyTHANK YOU for your support and your prayers.  Blessings!

Joel will be at Grace Episcopal Church in Cullman, Alabama on Friday, April 27th at 5:30–all are welcome. And in Birmingham, AL at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church’s “Thinking Anglican” Sunday School on April 29th at 9:30 am.

If you have any questions, feel free to email me mary@marybeasullivan.com.

 


 

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Easter Hope

Easter hope…

radiant Light of Love

holding hungry babies

caressing harried hands

laughing through sorrow

embracing hope-filled plans

defying gloomy headlines

breaking war-torn strife

reaching beyond boundaries

crushing doubt and fear

calling us to care

listen…love

believe…dare.

A Hope-Filled Easter to you, yours, and all!  May we believe, behave, and BE as Easter people.  Amen.

 

 

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Holy-Hellish Saturdays

This time of year, I often wonder what it was like for the disciples to have been so physically close to Christ.  What joy to  have been in that All-Loving Presence–in the morning drinking tea together, walking down dusty roads, sitting at his feet while he taught.

And then I try to imagine how it was for Peter, James, Mary Magdalene and the others during those last days.  What was it like to fall so precipitously from the heights of Palm Sunday, to the depths of the crucifixion, down to the hellish darkness of what we Christians call Holy Saturday?  How deep their sorrow must have been standing outside of that tomb.

We all experience some version of this emptiness–when we cannot feel God’s presence.  When the consolation of God’s love is replaced with dark desolation.  This experience of despair can last only a few moments; other times days, months, even years are consumed by it.  Perhaps you are going through some version of this in your life now.

I remember empty and scary times of my own.  The most difficult were moving to Tokyo with young children and feeling lost and alone, grieving the death of a beloved friend, and during my divorce.  Each time I wanted to hurry through the uncomfortable feelings–looking for quick fixes to distract me from the pain.

Recently I was with my friend Shirley who had returned from India.  She had spent time with the most impoverished people there.  “I’ve traveled all over.”  She said.  “This trip was the hardest because I struggle with the fact that I don’t see any hope that things will get better for the lower caste people.”  Listening to her I thought, this is a Holy-Hellish Saturday time for her.

Thankfully, we are a hope-filled people.  Still, we have those times when we feel as if the stone has been rolled in front of the tomb.  These experiences are so difficult, it is natural to want to wish them away–for ourselves and for those whom we love.

Yet there is something in the darkness of letting go of all that we have hoped for, all that we have known before, that is essential to our journey.  I do not welcome Holy-Hellish Saturdays; and I am grateful for the truths they have revealed for me. 

What have your Holy-Hellish Saturdays taught you?  What has sustained you in those time?

 

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Seline

Joel's Mother and Members of Ngunya AKC

“It was a great loss when Seline died.  Even though she was only 24 years old, she was already a leader in the church.” Joel said with great sadness.  “You see, she was educated up to the eighth grade and she could read.  As I mentioned, not many people back home can read.” Joel leaned forward and rested on his arms.  We were in the refectory eating dinner.

Joel continued to tell Seline’s story–that she was a young mother with two-year old and four-year old babies.  How even the elders in the village looked up to her because of her education, kind heart, and enthusiasm for doing God’s work.  She had been organizing the women in the church and Joel felt she was going to be a strong leader in the community.

“What happened?” I asked.  “How did Seline die?”  “It was October of 2010.” Joel explained.  “I had actually sponsored Seline to go for training as a Layreader before I came to VTS in August 2010. We had great hopes that she would be commissioned last year as a Layreader (Eucharistic Minister) in order to lead the congregation. One night my mother called to say that Seline was very sick with Malaria.  And so from here I called and called back home, trying to find someone with a bike to take her all the way to the doctor.  The nearest clinic is about seven miles away.”  Joel’s naturally jovial expression was drawn.

“It took a long time to find someone who could take her and she was getting worse fast.  It was too late.”  He said.  “She died on the bicycle on the way–only three days after she started feeling ill.”  Joel and I sat in silence for a few moments.  “Losing Seline was very sad Mary because she was so alive and so young!  One Seline can make a big difference for the people in my village–she held so much promise for all of us.”

“What is most frustrating is that this shouldn’t be happening.  If we had even a simple clinic in our village, so many people like Seline would not die.  It is a waste to lose young, or any lives, this way.”

“What about her children?”  I wondered.  “Their grandmother is raising them.”  He answered.  “That is often what happens when the mothers die.  Someone in the family takes the children.  They are loved, but they miss their mother.  Seline was so loving.”

 I am compelled to share Joel’s story with you, for reasons I can’t explain.   I do believe that with God’s help, we can raise enough money to build the medical facility that would save people like Seline.  In the next couple of days I will share with you Joel’s vision for building a clinic on his church’s property.

If you would like to participate, you can go to this link, click where it says “Please select one” and indicate “Ngunya Kenya.”  Your donation is tax-deductible. In the next couple of days I will share with you Joel’s vision for building a clinic on his church’s property.  Even a small donation can make a big difference in Ngunya.

Please consider adding Ngunya Health Clinic to your prayer list–or saying a prayer right now.  Blessings this most Holy of Weeks and thank you!


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Ngunya Anglican Church of Kenya

I don’t know about you, but sometimes I get a little turned around about who’s in charge.  The other day I was with my spiritual director and I made the (embarrassingly) audacious claim, “When I invite God to participate, something beautiful happens.”

Being the kind and wise soul she is, Karen didn’t burst out laughing.  Instead, she wondered aloud if we might re-frame my perspective.  “You know Mary Bea” She said.  “There is another way to look at this.”  I leaned forward, a bit surprised we could do much to enhance my brilliant realization.  “What if you were to say, When I respond to God’s invitation something beautiful happens?” 

Reflecting on Karen’s insight brought to mind a conversation I had earlier with my friend Joel .  I had asked him how he was able to build a church in such a remote village in Kenya.  “Well, it was the Holy Spirit who built that church!”  Joel beamed.  “Let me tell you what happened.”

“When I was ordained a priest in 2001, my family organized a reception for me and invited the Bishop to join us. A large crowd of villagers including village elders also gathered in our home because they had never seen such an occasion before. The Bishop was surprised to see a very large crowd that had turned up. So during his speech, he challenged the elders that if they can provide land, he is willing to start an Anglican church in Ngunya.”  Joel smiled as if to remember the emotions of that day.

“I was so surprised.”  He said.  “The Bishop believed now that I was a priest, if we had a church, we would better be able to serve God and serve the people.  I agreed with the Bishop, but I wondered how will this ever happen?”

“Then, one day, my mother, my uncle and some neighbors called me and said, ‘Joel you remember what the Bishop said on the day of your ordination?‘  We have been thinking about it and we are ready to give part of our land to build the church. I immediately called the bishop and in 2003 the church was started!  Thanks be to God!”   Joel laughed his infectious laugh.  “And so we continued to listen to the Spirit and little by little, day by day, people came forward to help.

“How has life in Ngunya changed since the church was built in 2003?”  I asked.  “In so many ways.”  Joel said as he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  “Our being there, praying, serving, loving in this visible way–it has helped to make great progress in healing the community spiritually.  Most of my people live in absolute poverty.  We see tremendous physical and emotional suffering because of this poverty.  Our simple church is a symbol to the people that God is with them, especially in their struggles.”

My sense is, Joel, his Bishop, his family, his community have much to teach me–us, about responding to God’s invitation. 

When was a time that you responded to God’s invitation?  We would so benefit from your experience if you want to share your thoughts in the comments below. 

Blessings to you this most Holy of Weeks. 

 

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Joel

Fr. Joel Atong

Attending seminary at VTS  offers me the opportunity to spend time with people from around the world.  I admire these brave souls who have left family and the familiar to enhance their education.  Over meals, at worship, or simply walking on campus I am reminded of the expansiveness of God’s great land–and the many languages which God speaks.

One evening early last year I shared a lively conversation with a priest from Kenya–Joel Atong.  I told Joel that I have a special affinity for Kenya because our daughter Kiki had gone there on a transformative mission trip when she was 15 years old.  After that discussion, Joel and I frequently sat together at meals.  I especially enjoy Joel’s hearty belly laugh.  He is a man who knows joy.

He is also a man who knows  adversity.  Joel grew up in the impoverished village of Ngunya which is in the area of Kenya traditionally referred to as the “bush.” Most of the people in Ngunya have an elementary-level education and live on less than $1 per day.  Like many parts of Africa, Joel’s village has been ravaged by HIV/AIDS and malaria.

“You must be the most highly educated person in your village.”  I remarked to Joel one afternoon.  He has an MDiv. from seminary in Kenya, is a professor at the Bible College, and is completing two years of additional study at VTS.  “Yes,” He responded.  “I am.  And you know Mary, with that comes a great responsibility.  God has been so good to me.  I am healthy–most of my schoolmates from growing up are dead from HIV.  I have a wonderful family.  And who but God could’ve given me all of these opportunities?”  Joel pensively sat back in his chair.  “Just think about it.”  He laughed, “Only God could do this with someone like me!”

“You know,”  He continued.  “This responsibility weighs heavy on me sometimes because I want to give back.  I believe I have been given these gifts and opportunities so that I can help to relieve the suffering in my village.”

Spending time with Joel has shaken something loose in me.  Joel’s grateful heart has pleasantly disturbed a complacency in mine.  His concern for people dying of HIV intersects with a passion Malcolm and I share.  His Kenyan roots reach out to me in ways I can’t quite explain. I feel the drum beat of a call to action.

I am sure Joel’s parishioners, students and especially family–his wife, Tabitha, and children, Grace (9), Rosemary (8), and Phanuel (3) anxiously await his return home in May.

These next few weeks I will share with you more about Joel, his community, and ways we can help.  For now, I ask your prayers for Joel and Ngunya Kenya.  I look forward to taking this, another journey with you.

When have you been “pleasantly disturbed” by another?  How were you changed? 

 

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The Will to Live

Coffee cup and candle in hand, I traipsed down to “Mary’s Grotto,” (Named for a finer Mary, than me).  Much has changed since my last trip home.  The redbud next to the deck nodded a cheery “Welcome back!” with its showy plume of purple finery.  Previously barren trees swelled with the pride of a new mother–”Look! look! Are these the most delicate new buds you have ever seen?”  “Yes, yes” I grinned, “Your babies are lovely!”

Reaching the grotto I stopped to admire what to me is one of the most hope-filled features of our home–optimistic shoots of green protruding from rocky crags.  It is not as if this is the first time I have noticed the oak leaf hydrangeas and ivy that miraculously survive in this most hard and lifeless soil.  But this morning, this day, they seemed to say, “I want to live!”

At that moment a hawk called and geese honked–competing with the buzzing of saws and hammering of nails from the work site across the lake.  These winged friends chimed in with the hydrangea as if to say, “We will survive above the din and destruction, we send raucous greetings of life!”  I was reminded of people I have known who even in the face of death showed the rest of us how to live.

Sometimes our hearts harden–busy schedules, rejection, lost dreams, diagnosis, grief, or any number of things can cause us to calcify.  And yet miraculously, even when the soil seems desolate, deep from within life-force struggles to the surface seeking oxygen and sunlight–it may be the desire for connection, the need to make a difference, or the hope to create something beautiful.

What new life is calling forth within you?  How can you nurture and embrace it like a babe in arms?

 

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Incomprehensible

Much of the day had been spent reading and reading.  I did stop to eat, only to return to my room and read some more. I studied Augustine of Hippo wondering why he needed to go on for 60 pages with what seemed  could’ve been said in 10.  I sensed there were nuances I was missing. It was hard to stay awake.

Then I hung out with Hosea for awhile.  There’s a disturbing book.  It starts out with a cheery, “Go, take for yourself a wife of whoredom and have children of whoredom,…”  It doesn’t get any better, the children are named, “not pitied,” “not my people,” and “I am not yours.”  The commentaries’ discussion of the prophet’s need for shocking metaphor and explanation of the context helped, but again, I felt as if there was more to the story than my brain could absorb in the short amount of time I had to devote to the task.  Also, I was distracted by anger at the centuries of misogyny represented in Hosea and most recently manifested in Rush Limbaugh’s rant on a young college woman.

At 8:25 I closed my book, grabbed my ski coat and gloves, and walked out into the crisp night.  Every Sunday evening, one of the seminarians leads sung compline.  I  had not yet attended this service, but a friend reminded me of it at dinner and I decided this would be a good night to go.

The chapel was dark but for a few candles.  There was an icon of Jesus on the altar, a wooden cross behind it, and chairs in a semi-circle facing it.  David, the cantor led six of us in these prayers which have been sung in various forms for over 1,500 years.

At the end of the brief service, we sat in blessed silence…no talking, no reading, no singing, nothingDavid invited us to stay as long as we like, he would clean up after the last person left.  I closed my eyes, nostrils filled with earthy fumes.  When I opened my eyes, the icon was enveloped in whisps of smoke.  Everyone had left except for David and me.  Heart softening; brain resting; breathing measured, I gently gazed at the face of Christ.

IncomprehensibleIncomprehensible! I thought.  All this writing, all these words attempting to explain that which is incomprehensible.  Poignant peace overcame me as I basked in, welcomed the Mystery.

Once again I was reminded of the importance of balance–Sure, studying informs worship; but without the worship and community, studying is merely knowledge without wisdom. Besides, there really aren’t words for what I felt in my heart.

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