We were walking, my fellow Peace Corps volunteers and I, from the hotel to a café across town in Gabu, a small city in Guinea-Bissau which is itself a small country in West Africa. We were walking under the blackest of skies, pierced by the brightest stars and the sunniest moon. We were on the main road with low slung buildings on either side whose top halves were painted white to reflect the daylight heat away and the bottom halves were painted blue to mask the red clay dust kicked up from the nearby dirt road. This was our nightly routine. Training during the day followed by a nighttime walk to the café where we would talk about our classes, our teachers, upcoming assignments, etc. Sometimes we would just stare from the restaurant’s outdoor courtyard where we sat and watched the locals pass by.
But this night was different. Rather than reaching the café, one in our group asked if we heard that sound. Not hearing it while walking we stopped. And listened. And we heard it too. We heard the sounds of drums in the distance. “We have to see this”, I said. And we headed toward the sound of drumming in the distance. We walked in circles toward the drums; larger circles then smaller ones until we got closer. We were no longer on the main drag; instead we were walking amongst blocks of homes dark on the inside save for the glow of a gasoline lantern | |
flickering. Larger circles then smaller ones, until the street opened up and we found ourselves in a courtyard; there it was: The people were dancing, women in homemade dresses, their hair swept up, danced. Boys with no shoes, their shirts and shorts hung loosely on their skinny frames, danced. The girls, some in dresses but most dressed like the boys, danced. The men mostly stayed by the oil barrels, feeding wood into the fires lit inside. And the drums! The drums they drummed! Two men were facing each other playing their beats off of one another. One would build on the rhythm from the other. Bent over, their drums by their side, they would stare at each other and blow their whistles, all the while circling around, dancing to the beats they created.
We stood in the courtyard watching for a short while, seeing the drummers drum their djembes, the dancers dance; the fires in the oil drums and the torches and lanterns lit this little square between four houses and smoke and glowing embers floated into the air. We stood there a short while before a woman saw us and told us to come join her. We did. We moved into the throng and were quickly offered chairs and food and drink and I watched the dancers sway and move and groove to the music. I saw the joy in the eyes of the children as they did their routine. I saw the familiarity and broad grins wash across the faces of newly made friends as they told stories to each other about years past. I smiled with them. I had no idea what they were talking about, but I smiled with them.
And in that moment, as I sat there with my fellow volunteers and watched the celebration unfold and ate the food and drank the drink offered to me by strangers, I smiled. And I watched them dance some more. And I listened to the music some more and I felt such elation, such jubilation that happenstance brought me to this courtyard and it felt as if every moment lived before this one was lived to bring me to this exact spot, on this exact night. I stared up into the night sky, happy.
We stood in the courtyard watching for a short while, seeing the drummers drum their djembes, the dancers dance; the fires in the oil drums and the torches and lanterns lit this little square between four houses and smoke and glowing embers floated into the air. We stood there a short while before a woman saw us and told us to come join her. We did. We moved into the throng and were quickly offered chairs and food and drink and I watched the dancers sway and move and groove to the music. I saw the joy in the eyes of the children as they did their routine. I saw the familiarity and broad grins wash across the faces of newly made friends as they told stories to each other about years past. I smiled with them. I had no idea what they were talking about, but I smiled with them.
And in that moment, as I sat there with my fellow volunteers and watched the celebration unfold and ate the food and drank the drink offered to me by strangers, I smiled. And I watched them dance some more. And I listened to the music some more and I felt such elation, such jubilation that happenstance brought me to this courtyard and it felt as if every moment lived before this one was lived to bring me to this exact spot, on this exact night. I stared up into the night sky, happy.
Now as a Peace Corps volunteer, I was posted as an Agricultural Extensionist, meaning: I was supposed to teach improved rice growing techniques to local farmers who were relying on years, sometimes decades of experience raising crops for their families and the local markets. After a few months and although I was trained, it became obvious that my gardening experience in Connecticut wasn’t measuring up. I found myself just not contributing and spending most of my days reading books. I soon made the decision that it was time to move on, but as I left and recalling the drums from that one special night, I made a promise to a friend. I would be back.
For years after that, I managed my career so that I could return and serve in a role that would be productive; one that would allow me to help contribute to the well-being of so many less fortunate than myself. As I drove to work, I would hear those drums in the distance. And when I met the woman who would become my wife, I dreamed we would seek out those drums together. And when the kids came along, I pictured us as a family under African skies, listening for the drums in the distance.
When the time came, I applied for the Foreign Service and met with the Ambassador in Residence at the City University in Harlem and he was very encouraging. I reached out to any and all connections and all signs were suddenly pointing to my being accepted into the program. I was close, so close to realizing this dream of ten years and the drums sounded louder and I could see once again the brightest stars looking down upon me, upon my family until suddenly they stopped. For reasons not important to this story, I was suddenly faced with the realization that we would not be able to live overseas. And with a finality that shook me to my core, this dream was done. The drums were silenced.
When the time came, I applied for the Foreign Service and met with the Ambassador in Residence at the City University in Harlem and he was very encouraging. I reached out to any and all connections and all signs were suddenly pointing to my being accepted into the program. I was close, so close to realizing this dream of ten years and the drums sounded louder and I could see once again the brightest stars looking down upon me, upon my family until suddenly they stopped. For reasons not important to this story, I was suddenly faced with the realization that we would not be able to live overseas. And with a finality that shook me to my core, this dream was done. The drums were silenced.
Following this, I entered into what can only be considered a functional depression. I went on, but the sunlight did not appear as bright. I’d drive to work in a fog, do my tasks and then return home in that same fog and this lasted for a couple of years. While I always realized just how blessed I was to be surrounded by such a wonderful family, I found myself repeating the refrain: Is this it? I’d wake to that question and there was never an answer. I was lost in my wilderness. Toward the end of this period, I was laid off from my job and I expected to be drawn more fully into that wilderness. For a time, I was. I would walk the kids to school in the morning, go home, apply for jobs online and then go to pick up my daughter in the afternoon. When we got home we’d lie on the couch watching Curly Sue and inevitably I’d end up taking a nap. And usually after that nap I’d wake to that same question: Is this it? And this happened for weeks until one day, I woke to the site of my 5 year old daughter laying her head on my hip and I could see just how beautiful she was and that small realization woke me not just from my nap but from the daze I was in for so long. The smallest realization became the most profound: This was it, and it was wonderful.
And so in today’s lesson, we learn of a different wilderness; one of temptation and one that lasted for 40 days and 40 nights. What struck me about today’s reading is that Jesus had a choice for he is not only human, but the Son of God! When the devil tempts him with turning stones into bread, he could have done so. Think about that, after 40 days of fasting when presented with the option of eating, Jesus turned it down. And when the devil tempted Jesus with idea of commanding all of humanity to fall down and worship the Son of God, Jesus turned him down. Wouldn’t it be easier if we were just ordered to worship and love a God who commands us to simply love each other? If, as the Son of God, Jesus told us to do so, there would be no more wars, no hate, just love. But as a human, I think Jesus understood that suffering is part of the equation, that we must experience all of the range of emotions and taste all of the tastes that this world has to offer so that we can make the choice to love and to serve a God who loves us without condition.
Perhaps Jesus understood that his wilderness experience was a necessary one. Perhaps it prepared him to stand up to those so opposed to his teaching. And perhaps that is the lesson we need to take during this season of Lent. That we need to explore our own personal wilderness, that we need to understand we can survive our lowest lows and muddle through when we must. We need to understand such things, because there might be times when we are bullied and God seems so far away. And there might be times when we don’t close that sale and God seems so far away. And there might be a time when our love goes unrequited or we are deserted by a spouse who promised to love you always. Or you may find yourself sitting in a hospital at your grandmother’s bedside, holding her hand and silently saying that hers is the love you cannot live without and God seems so far away. And there might be a time when you are completely lost after such an overwhelming devastation that the wilderness seems the only thing around you and it seems as if God was never there at all. All of this is possible and over the course of a lifetime all of this might occur.
But then, Jesus had a choice and so do we. We have a choice to explore our wilderness for these next forty days, to explore what is good enough, to fast, to remove all that is unnecessary from our lives and to celebrate the mundane; to build up a place where we know we can exist when all seems lost. Let us learn to survive on the love that surrounds us and accept it for what it is: Beautiful, in a sometimes vacant wilderness.
And at the end of these forty days, when we celebrate the resurrection of the risen Christ, when we welcome the warmth of the sun once again, we will realize that the cold of winter was as temporary as our wilderness. We will survive our low periods; we will better understand that because we reside in a community that loves us, we too can love even when God seems furthest away. And we will be glad and shout for joy for we are true of heart and having survived that wilderness we can embrace the resurrection.
And after, after Lent and after Easter and after all of this, we will dream once more and the drums, we will hear the sound of drums in the distance.
And at the end of these forty days, when we celebrate the resurrection of the risen Christ, when we welcome the warmth of the sun once again, we will realize that the cold of winter was as temporary as our wilderness. We will survive our low periods; we will better understand that because we reside in a community that loves us, we too can love even when God seems furthest away. And we will be glad and shout for joy for we are true of heart and having survived that wilderness we can embrace the resurrection.
And after, after Lent and after Easter and after all of this, we will dream once more and the drums, we will hear the sound of drums in the distance.