Brothers

Sunday's post was for my dad, so today's ought to be for my big brother Ed who long ago requested a post of this title and I'm certain the anticipation has been killing him.

Brothers

There is this little prayer house near Uswaa, not more than a 20 minute walk. From the outside it looks like someone’s ramshackle out-building or barn, but when you walk inside there are benches, an altar, and a cross. Amazing. Right there in the middle of the bush people gather for prayer, worship, and church business.

Last week I went along with Pastor Mmanga to a meeting at this little prayer house. We met these two brothers, one is 85 and the other is 71, they don’t seem to really like each other. The meeting was actually a mediation between these two, they are in disagreement about who owns a certain piece of land. The contested property is about the width and length of a boardwalk along a city street. Only it’s a triangle. Pastor calls it “the triangle of tragedy.”

These two men are old, “old enough to know better” as my grandma would have said. I sat there looking at their faces, they have those old man faces that sort of begin to look like a little kid again. Ya know? I just kept picturing them as little boys playing in the yard together. What happened? I know it seems like I’m day dreaming during a counseling session, but it’s what you do when you don’t speak Swahili.

Later that day Pastor Shao asked me how the meeting went. I said to him, “based on their voices and body language it did not end well.” He asked if they shook hands when they parted. I confirmed that they had not. He said, “the meeting was unsuccessful.”

Why? Why could this small piece of land possible be worth breaking a relationship? I know of lots of stories like this, some in my own family. Stories of people who can’t work together with enough civility to maintain the relationship that started it all in the first place.

This is not the only story of brothers that I have to share. The second story should be more inspiring.

When we left the prayer house we headed to another house, the Urassa house. There, prayers were already underway. They were holding a funeral service for a young woman of 41 years. She was their sister. Here were three brothers who for their entire lives had cared for this woman who (for reasons not explained to me) could not care for herself. I don’t think she really had significant relationships with many people, but these brothers hosted a funeral and a feast in her honor and everyone showed up to celebrate her life and commend her to God.

Funerals here do not tend to be emotional, but each of these brothers in their own way showed a love for their sister that was genuine and it is clear that they will profoundly miss her place in their lives.

I’m not sure if these stories exactly relate, in one two brothers walk away angry and in the other three brothers come together sharing a grief that only they three can understand.

What it made me think about, is something I’ve been thinking about every single day that I have been here, which is that the Tanzanians are really not so different from us. Our homes, our environments, and our resources are different, but either of these stories could have happened in any family, in any country, on any continent.

We are human beings and have a God who not only blessed us with relationships, but also entered into relationship with us. He came to offer us the love of an earthly brother and the forgiveness that only could come from God. Why would we ever want to spend time keeping something like a triangle of land (a proverbial triangle of course) between us?

I will now apologize for venturing into sermon territory here when all I really wanted to do was to say “thank you” to my brothers who are the kind of people who create stories that inspire me. So thank you and see you soon!

Thanks to my brother Ed yesterday’s post featured a country song, so I thought I’d include a piece of one again today as well, one of my favorites.

Jerusalem 

by Steve Earle.

I woke up this mornin' and none of the news was good

And death machines were rumblin' 'cross the ground where Jesus stood

And the man on my TV told me that it had always been that way

And there was nothin' anyone could do or say

And I almost listened to him

Yeah, I almost lost my mind

Then I regained my senses again

And looked into my heart to find

That I believe that one fine day all the children of Abraham

Will lay down their swords forever in Jerusalem

Well maybe I'm only dreamin' and maybe I'm just a fool

But I don't remember learnin' how to hate in Sunday school