A Responsible New Year: A New Year's Response

I rang in the New Year this past week as if I were at camp in the middle of July, roasting marshmallows and making s'mores with supplies that were sent to me for Christmas, but other than that the traditions were the same, at least in secular Uganda: the counting down, the parties, the loud noises. But the Christian culture has something different to offer in Kampala on New Year's Eve--a crusade on a national scale.

People come from all around for this rally, held in the largest stadium in Kampala, Mandela Stadium, to be prayed over and preached to by the continent's top evangelists. Though it's a little too high profile for my taste, I didn't have many thoughts about it--that's just how religion is here in Africa, and even though I might not like it that way, it's not worth fighting (head on, at least). In fact, my eventual distaste for the event had nothing to do with the people there--it had more to do with what was left behind.

We have a neighbor named Jennifer. She lives in a small one-room house and makes crafts and has two small grandsons, even though she looks to be about 40. She also is a member of our church, and just so happened to be going to this New Year's event in Kampala. She stopped by Wednesday dressed in her best attire and told me she was going to the event and I was genuinely happy for her. Her income is generally on a day to day basis, which means that she doesn't always have enough to prepare her favorite dish, matooke, let alone travel to Kampala. I was glad that she would be able to treat herself with something that was really important to her.

Later in the afternoon, though, I realized that I didn't know the full story. Jennifer had gone to the crusade in Kampala (which lasted all night), but had left her two grandsons, aged one and three, home alone. She hadn't even told them she was leaving. She had arranged for them to sleep at the neighbors but had neglected to arrange for them to eat. When I came across them, they were crying and starving with a general sense of being lost about them. I helped them find some food and water, though I couldn't comfort them with words because they didn't know any English. And while I was doing all of this, aghast at the situation, I couldn't help but see the irony in all of this--Jennifer had gone to this crusade because of her faith in Jesus Christ, but in doing that she left these children alone without any guidance, and I couldn't help but think of when Jesus says, "what you do to the least of these, you do to me."

I also couldn't help but think that we, as Americans, are somewhat to blame for things like these. The prosperity gospel that was birthed in America woos so many poor Africans today. As in Jennifer's situation, they are more consumed with being blessed by earthly treasures than realizing how God has already blessed them abundantly--with loving communities, with daily bread, with grandsons--but this is what they believe, because this is the message that we have portrayed to them. And it's a message that we can't afford to portray, because in allowing it to continue, we're leading people like these astray.

So how do we change the message? As for me, I think it starts whenever I get home and can be seen in the lifestyle that I live and the community that I engage in, and I look forward to diving in head first. But as for you, the change can start now, and I challenge you in this new year to act on it, because the truth is, we are Americans, we are looked up to, and we are responsible.