Jars of Clay in Nairobi!

(I've been trying to post this all week, but our Internet has been terrible.)

Saturday night I got a phone call with some crazy news. Jars of Clay would be performing in Nairobi on Sunday! After some juggling of schedules and responsibilities, I took a carload of RVA staff into the city for the concert. It was my first rock concert in over four years (our entire time in Kenya), so you can imagine my excitement.

After the excitement of driving into the city and finding a venue I’d never heard of before, we found ourselves in our seats by the 2pm start time. And in our seats we would be for the first 2 ½ hours. A variety of amateur musicians—mainly Christian acts dancing, rapping, and singing for the biggest audience of their lives—took the stage one after another. (One of the rappers had a song with this chorus: “I want a piece of your ear like Mike Tyson.” Need I say more?) The majority of the Kenyan concert-goers enjoyed the enthusiastic performers, but back where we were sitting, it seemed like most were waiting for the headliners or at least something along the musical style of Jars of Clay.

The concert promoted the Jijue 1 Million Campaign. The message of the campaign—to encourage 1 million Kenyans to get tested for HIV by the end of 2010—was sprinkled in by artists and by local radio DJs. Jars of Clay was able to headline the show due to their travel with Blood:Water Mission (an organization they founded). As the haphazard concert prattled on, I was wondering what kind of show we’d finally get when the band took the stage.

Around 4:30, we finally saw wazungus (white people) starting to assemble on the stage and our energy level picked back up. My friend Ryan even picked out a few band members on stage doing their own set-up. I’m sure that’s not the protocol they’re used to on their American tours, but here in Africa, the band seemed to roll with things pretty well. The emcees of the event decided that they had been stalling for time long enough and that Jars of Clay should have been ready. They did their big “Ladies and gentlemen, Jars of Clay!” announcement and walked off stage to thunderous applause. Hilariously, the band and the stagehands continued their preparations for another 5 minutes. When the band finally was ready, they simply walked to the mics and began their set themselves.

The set began strong with their legendary anthem “Flood,” which receives a lot of radio play here in Kenya still today. But the crowd wasn’t completely enthralled by the band until “God will lift your head” (off of their Redemption Songs album). The catchy chorus was learned easily and was sang long while over a thousand in attendance jumped either in front of the stage or at their seats. (The African crowd didn’t really get Haseltine’s joke about how the 17th century hymn wasn’t actually written by the band, but I thought it was good.)

Dan Haseltine told the crowd that they’d chosen some “oldies” for the Nairobi crowd, perhaps because it’s easier for people here to get older, used music than it is to get newer releases. Besides “Flood” there was “Liquid,” “Love song for a Savior,” and “Crazy times,” and the audience loved singing along with all of the classics. The band told the audience they were shocked by how many songs they knew.
I was hoping for some new music when I came to the show and was pleased when the band played a song that had never even been played in the United States—“Two hands” off of their album The Long Fall Back to Earth, scheduled for release in April. I was up in the front for this song and enjoyed following the hand motions of the lead man and singing the easily-learned chorus with hundreds of others. The gist of the song? I used one hand to pull you close and one to push you away. What if I had two hands doing the same thing? What if my hands would both praise you? The band’s first single off their new album is just another example of typical Jars of Clay lyrics—they are simple enough to sing along but deep enough and artistic enough to keep percolating in your soul long after the music stops.

Perhaps the most difficult part of the concert for me was Heseltine’s “apology” to Africans on behalf of America as he introduced “Light gives heat.” In a message of empowerment, he apologized to the Kenyan crowd for Western influence on their country, saying that they shouldn’t be told how to “raise their children and fix their communities” by the “heroes from the West,” echoing lines from the song. As a missionary giving my life to help (not to belittle or to perpetuate dependency among Africans), I felt a little awkward standing among the 95% Kenyan crowd. I know the band is doing missions work themselves; their Blood:Water Mission is an American enterprise championing the cause of poor Africans. So, I really don’t think his aim was at bashing people like me, but I still didn’t quite know how to feel as one who supposedly needed to “apologize” for being in Africa.

The band wrapped up the day with “Carry Me (Dead Man)” and “Revolution,” and the crowd would have easily rocked along for two more hours if they could have. There were little kids way in the back dancing freestyle and adults in the front breakdancing. Things really did seem to be picking up just when it was time to wind down. I never expected so much energy from the stage or from the floor at a Jars of Clay show. The show ended promptly at 6 o’clock just as advertised (an amazing thing here in Africa).

As we walked out of the building, one of the girls in our group dragged us back inside. She made a contact with the concert organizer, and she said the band wanted to meet us. We waited about 10 minutes and then one by one, the band emerged from the green room. Dan told us about his encounter with Kenyan customs (they barely released their instruments in time for their first show), Charlie (keyboard) knew about our school because his wife was an MK, and a few people got their pictures taken with the guys. Like most Christian performers I’ve met through the years, the guys were completely humble and fun to chat with. I thanked them all profusely for not just performing a great show for us, but also for investing their time and money in declaring God’s glory to Africa.

The band has come a long way performance-wise since I first saw them in 1999; this show blew away that pre-If I left the zoo Jars show. I saw them again at UC-Irvine in 2002. While that show was great, the arena-venue was far more stuffy and impersonal than this Nairobi show. Jars of Clay has always been a favorite band of mine, and now that I’ve seen them here in Kenya (and met them!), their music will always mean even more to me.

Missionary Romance

All right. It’s Valentines Day, and I’m a sucker for a good love story. So here ya go.

There are a handful of singles who joined the RVA team this past fall, some short-termers and some long-termers. These singles have meshed right into the fabric of things here, and they really seem to enjoy one another’s company as well.

One of the long-termers is an elementary school teacher named Erica. As the fall wore on, it turned out that she was enjoying the company of a certain short-term missionary named Matt. Now, Matt was a dentist down at the hospital, and although he wasn’t RVA staff, he was still involved with the school and had lots of friendships up here.

Although our missionary community here is quite a fish bowl at times, we try to respect each other’s privacy and what not. While everyone noticed the time Matt and Erica were spending together, no one pried to see if it was “more” than just friendship. Matt’s short-term assignment ended, and he went back to the United States at Christmas.

Matt and Erica continued to write emails, and (as we found out this week) they were in fact dating long distance. (Does it get any more long distance for humankind to be romantically involved from Africa to North America?) They were writing and calling and things were going along swimmingly.

Well, a week ago, Matt had supposedly sent a package to Erica from America that his friends here in Kijabe were going to deliver for him. These friends borrowed Erica’s house keys while she was at work under the ruse of “delivering the package” for her. What they did was fill the house with hundreds of roses and put a chair in front of the TV. They returned her keys to her and told her that she had to go directly into her apartment alone, sit down, and watch a video. She did. It was Matt on the screen holding up cue cards with the song’s romantic lyrics on them. And when the romantic song ended (the last cue cards read “I love you”), Matt began reading from 1 Corinthians 13 from the kitchen behind her.

Not on video, but in person! He had come back to Africa without telling her. She had no idea he was on the continent, let alone in her apartment!

And that wasn’t all. After he finished reading, he got down on one knee and asked her to be his wife.

He had letters of congratulations from his parents and her parents ahead of time (they all knew about his trip and his plan but kept it from her) and when he got up off his knee, he had her answer.

Yes!

(Now, for your entertainment, here is a "singing Valentine" straight from the sophomore class at RVA.)

Quoted in my hometown newspaper (Pennsylvania)

The author of this article did some research on Facebook and asked some questions about "older" people using Facebook. I guess this is a milestone for me in life. I'm lumped into the "mature, gray" crowd. Check out my quote about half way down the article.

"Facebook matures, grays" by Wade Malcolm

A Sunday Away from School

One year ago today, the violence in Kenya was just beginning to subside. The post-election unrest had claimed nearly a thousand lives nationwide and tens of thousands of people were fleeing their homes. Because tribes have blended and migrated through the years, many Kenyan communities had become little melting pots. However, the election of December 2007 divided them, causing neighbor to turn on neighbor.

For most of 2008, these IDP’s (Internally Displaced People) lived in overcrowded Red Cross or UNICEF camps. Eventually, the government came through with something to help. For those who had been burned out or physically intimidated out of their homes, the Kenyan government gave small allotments of money as compensation. The amount was too small to do much with, especially for buying a plot of land for themselves. However, if they put their money together, they’d be able to buy a plot of land and share it. And that’s what they did.

In the picture above, you’ll see small white clusters of tents on the floor of the Great Rift Valley. These are the IDP camps. Each family owns the right to have a small tent on the dusty, barren, dry, windy valley floor. There is no water. No resources. No sanitation. No shade. And this is where hundreds of adults Kenyans and their many hundred children will live for an indefinite period of time.

This is the sad part.

The beautiful part of the story is that Sunday, a group of young Kenyan adults and teenagers in our area, raised money and resources to take down to the IDP camps. Although these people are far from wealthy themselves, they recognize that they have so much more material goods and that they are obligated to share it with those poorer than they. A group of missionaries drove the Kenyans to the camp for their ministry outreach (myself included), and we spent Sunday afternoon giving out jugs of water, firewood, bags of grain, clothing, and candy.

It really wasn’t much, when you consider how many people were in the camps. But the people were so grateful for the little we were able to give them. And the biggest joy of the day for me was watching Kenyans—whom I usually see on the begging/receiving end of my American, Christian charity—generously giving to those in need because of the compassion God put in their hearts.

John Piper and prosperity gospel

As we wrap up the holiday season and face the realities of our credit card bills, I think it's good to reflect on the ways that money and God connect. And being a Westerner in the Third World, I certainly see the effects of this. Our Western poverty looks like lavish wealth to them, and so the message that we bring to them of God's love can easily be misconstrued. The craziest thing of all is that the gap keeps widening. Perhaps the world's current recession will keep the developed nations' economies from booming at such a rampant pace, but even so, the recession is likely to break the backs of those in the Third World, literally causing them to lose the little ground that they've been making. This gap is frightening because money is a seductive thing. Islam has no qualms about using their wealth to spread their religion among the poor, and the poor can be easily swayed when survival is on the line.

I feel like the impetus is on Christians in two ways.

First off, to reject the prosperity gospel in all its forms. Secondly, to embrace a lifestyle of giving--particularly to causes that will aid the physical and spiritual poverty found in the Third World. This lifestyle in fact will scream and preach and evangelize that money does not bring us pleasure and security and happiness...God brings us pleasure and security and happiness. That's a lifestyle that is living out the true Gospel.

God is in the cheese sauce

I’ve been a little overwhelmed with life lately. On top of the normal frenetic pace of school, my wife’s schedule has been insane. As an organizer for the AIM women’s retreat, she has been feverishly working up until this past weekend for the retreat. Also, she’s a class sponsor in charge of coordinating a drama/musical for our school’s version of prom. In the midst of her busyness, my busyness also has increased (mostly around the house with mundane, “daily living” type stuff). Sadly, when I get busy, it’s often my time alone with God that goes.

So this morning, while I’m watching the boys, I knew I wouldn’t be able to lock myself in my room and spend some time with the Lord. I knew that a traditional “quiet time” wouldn’t happen. But I needed so desperately to be close to Him and have Him breathe new life in my dry and dusty soul. I had to do something.

I opened a 15 pound box of dry powdered cheese sauce.

First off, the cheese sauce was sent by a supporter in Pennsylvania who knows about my sons’ addictions to macaroni and cheese. He found some bulk bags of it and sent it our way. While my boys do REALLY love mac-n-cheese, they can’t eat a vat full of it in one sitting. When I broke open this box this morning, I set myself to the task of breaking the 7 huge bags down into 100 small bags.

And that’s how I found myself back at the foot of the cross. As my fingers repetitively scooped and dumped and cinched, scooped and dumped and cinched, I found my mind focusing in on God’s welcoming embrace. As the cheese powder fumes caked the inside of my nose and mouth, I found myself breathing out prayers that I hadn’t been real enough to express in weeks.

The boys left me alone. (After all, I was just busy doing work in the kitchen in their eyes and of no use at all for their amusement.) I had one hour with God, a better hour than I’ve had in weeks, all by myself, in the kitchen, standing over a bowl of artificial cheese powder.