I was at the doctor’s today, to pick up a prescription for an anti-malaria drug and to get a second Hepatitis B shot. She asked me a question that others have asked…why am I going to Liberia? She knows it is neither for business nor a vacation.
My reflection this afternoon on her question took me back to my childhood. When I was 7 ½ (half years are very important when you are 7) my grandparents took me on a ship from New York to Peru. My grandfather had been born in South America and we still had relatives living in Lima. After the Panama Canal crossing our ship docked in Ecuador (the ship was partly passenger and partly cargo so we had interesting ports-of-call.)
While the crew used cranes to swap big boxes of goods, my grandfather took me by the hand and we walked outside of the harbor area. The road was very dusty and dry, and beyond the gate were children begging for money. Some were missing hands and arms, or walked with stick crutches. My grandfather’s grip was strong, so I don't remember ever being afraid. He answered my myriad of questions while handing out coins to the children. Soon there was a flock of us around him. As he and I walked back to the ship, he said that the world had lots of people who needed doctors or food but were too poor to afford them. Some of those people were like the children…able to get to a place where they were visible to travelers like us.
But the part of his talk that day that has stayed with me for so many years was when he told me there are other people who may need something and we will never see them. We have to trust that other people will find a way to reach the “hidden” needy people—and there are things we can do to make life better for those hidden people, too. Later in the trip, on our way back to New York, we docked again. Anchored out in the bay was a ship called Hope. It was a hospital ship and my grandparents and I ended up going on board for a tour. We met nuns in white habits and saw lots of clean children laughing. There were rooms for physical therapy and machinery to provide other medical services. The hospital staff of the ship found the hidden people beyond the coast and cared for them. I don’t know if my grandfather made a donation to the nuns who took us around the ship, but I would not be surprised if he did.
My grandfather taught me that I am not limited to either one choice or another. I can exist in a “both/and” world. I try to live into that belief. I support local non-profits, food pantries and other ministries around Columbus. However, I believe my trip to Liberia is a way to live into being a steward of God’s creation on a global scale. The Episcopal Church in Liberia is like the ship Hope. There are people ready to welcome us to Liberia, as they also teach us about their country, faith, and culture. The Ohio delegation will not be going deep into the equatorial rain-forests. Our Liberian hosts are the ones who will reach far beyond Monrovia or the coast. They know where to find the hidden, needy people. Theirs is the hard work of cleaning up and rebuilding a country. So I’m going to Liberia to listen, ask questions, learn, and return to Ohio ready to suggest ways to collaborate and share my learning. Whatever comes of the trip will go beyond the limitations of the “either/or” mindset and take me into a “both/and” world where we share God’s abundance.
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| Shell casings litter the ground after the Liberian Civil War |
