The Miracle of Suffering

“During the night of August 13, 2004, in a refugee camp in Burundi, Africa, called Gatumba, 166 innocents from the Democratic Republic of Congo were mercilessly slaughtered by armed factions.  These 166, the 116 others who were maimed and injured, and their traumatized families, were almost exclusively members of the ‘Banyamulenge’ tribe, who had earlier been forced from their homes in the southern Kivu region of the DRC.

But since that horrific night, hundreds of Gatumba Survivors have been relocated to safety in North America…”

…51 of them live in Boise.  They are my friends. 

Sometimes I interpret for them. Eat with them.  Take them to parent/teacher conferences.  Make phone calls to embassies in Africa with them on behalf of their loved ones. Laugh and pray and worship with them as they struggle to adjust to life in America.

But more than anything, I learn from them.  For they are a people of faith as deep as their suffering. 

Not the self-focused entitlement we in North America typically call “faith”… in which we turn God into a vending machine, granting him the privilege of receiving our trust, just as long as we in return receive the ”blessings” we believe we deserve… then when we don’t get the results we expected from our faith installment, we turn away in anger, take our “money” and stomp off to find a vending machine that “works”.

No, this is the faith that clings to the kindness of God when surrounded by the cruelty of people. This is the faith that finds one small glimmer of hope, flickering dimly amidst the ashes of despair, and clings to it.  When there are no answers, no relief from the emotional pain, and no satisfaction for the need for justice, this faith pours all the passion of grief out to God as a form of worship, flowing tears mingling with dancing feet in utter dependence upon Him.  (Perhaps we westerners have a hard time believing that God is all we need, because we’ve never had to live through a time when God was all we had).

I’ve heard enough of the Gatumba story to know that it’s overwhelmingly painful, unjust and tragic. I’ve seen the pictures of my friends’ dead loved ones enough times to know that the pain is still so fresh. I’ve heard the frustration in their voices when they talk about the injustice of their oppression.  I’ve seen the desperate tears in their eyes when they speak of loved ones still in Africa… still waiting to be rescued from their places of hiding, or from the prisons they’ve been placed in due to their ethnicity, or from any number of refugee “holding places”. 

So when we began to plan together for a memorial service to commemorate the 5th anniversary of the Gatumba Massacre, my heart trembled. How could we plan a service worthy of the memories of loved ones lost so violently?  Do words exist that can adequately express the level of grief that has invaded their lives?  What could be said or sung to bring comfort to such broken hearts?

During one of our planning meetings, I was privileged to be given the task of making sashes for the Gatumba survivors to wear at the memorial service, to distinguish them from the other guests that would be attending.  This was important to the survivors, because they know that what they experienced at Gatumba is now a part of who they are.  They want the world to know who they are, to know their story, and to stand with them as they struggle to recover.

They wanted words printed on the sashes.  Something that would represent their identity as Gatumba Survivors. Much discussion took place as to which words would be chosen.  Perhaps “Gatumba Survivor”?  Or just the word “Gatumba”?  Or maybe the date of the event?

As the discussion continued, I found myself imagining what words I might choose if I were in their place…. maybe something like “please notice how much I’ve suffered and feel sorry for me”, or ”I’m mad and I have a right to be” or maybe even “The world (or God) owes me something for all I’ve been through”.

The words chosen by my friends? 

“Miracle of Gatumba”

Wait.

Miracle?

Their explanation:  Yes, miracle. Because we are here.  Because our enemies wanted to wipe us out, but some of us survived.  And through our suffering, God has taught us to depend on Him.

Miracle of Gatumba.  Miracle of suffering.

Miracle of a faith that sees beauty even in unbearable pain, if that pain sends us running into the arms of Love.

           My heart is barefoot on this holy ground…

            ~Traci

p.s. You can read more about the Gatumba story at these links:

www.gatumbasurvivors.org

http://www.mapendo.org/flashindex.cfm?ID=8

http://www.bbc.co.uk/worldservice/africa/2009/08/090813_burundi_prime.shtml

Advertisement