Sharing Food & Suffering

by Emily Theresa She tells me the story as we share a simple meal. The chicken we're eating was a gift to me from one of our mamas. Today was the graduation of the mothers, babies in arms. And now we sit together in the quiet at the table, our fingers smelling of meat and sticky with grease. As we tear off pieces of paper towel, Mama Marie recalls the war. 'We ran to the church, hid in the baptismal tank,' she says. Her face is gentle, like a flower petal. Her hair, in tiny braids. She had been separated from her husband and had run with her children from an army angry with machetes and guns. 'It was so hot in that tank,' she says. 'And then we began to cough. We were so scared they would hear us.' They'd finally slept, a pile of sweaty limbs and trembling hearts, and in the morning, 'We began to run.' They'd run to the Congo, had reconnected with her husband, then on to Kenya where they lived until the war was over. She'd lost a son named David once they'd moved back to Burundi. He'd been sick with malaria. He was 13. She'd sent her other son, my friend and Lulu Tree colleague Steve, to the US with his older sister to get an education. Her other two daughters would follow a few years later. When I ask if it had been hard to send them, she stares at the ceiling. 'Yes,' she says, 'but then I knew they were safe.' She takes another bite of chicken and we are silent in the suffering of a mother's heart. Yet how can I enter her suffering? I am wrecked by her strength and story. But I can listen as we enter into communion around this meal. A chicken that would have provided eggs for a mother for months. Yet she'd given it to me, and was honored that I accepted it. I pour a small pitcher of 'amazi' or water over Mama's hands, washing away the grease. She does the same for me and I think of the baptism tank where she and her children hid. Of the river she'd crossed with them the next morning, and of the river Jordan and how Jesus entered it to wash away the world's tears. And I think of the graduation – three classes of single mothers and their children flooding the church, filling it with dancing and laughter, and of one of the graduates preaching the Word in a mighty torrent of Spirit. She'd preached from the gospels, sharing how, when Jesus called the disciples, they then went and called others. And she'd kept going into the congregation, pulling mothers up to the front and they'd go get other mothers until the front of the church had been full. Steve had wanted to join us for this trip, but his paperwork allowing him to travel hadn't come in, and he now sat broken on the other side of the ocean. The mothers gave us a gift to give him. And I think of how he'd been separated from his mom the day they'd run. How in the chaos, she'd lost him crossing the river. 'I searched and searched for him,' she says. Like Mary, for Jesus. 'And then a Pygmie who knew us picked him up and carried him across the river to us.' The same God who'd carried him that day would carry him here again, across the Great River, and will carry all of us through the Jordan into the Promised Land. Until then, we hide in His love. We gather others to come and hide with us. And we commune with one another in the breaking of bread and in the shared suffering of our stories, knowing it will all make sense when we finally gather around His table - never to be separated again. Prayer Lord, You are the Author of our stories, and You are the main character as well. Remind us that You are always with us, even when we're hiding from angry armies or separated from the ones we love. You are everywhere, working out plans formed long ago with perfect faithfulness. And sometimes You invite us to enter each other's stories, and we realize we aren't just sitting at a table eating chicken, but we're standing on holy ground, in the very presence of our King. Thank you for holding us in the palm of Your hand and that no one can snatch us out of it. You will carry us until we reach the final page of our story, and when we look up from 'The End,' we'll see Your calm, smiling face, hear your 'Well done,' and realize all of this was really only the beginning. Plant these truths in our hearts, and may they overflow with gratitude and praise. In Jesus' Name, Amen. For those who would like tojoin us monthly to prayfor our precious mothers and their children, we would love to have you! Please contact our Director of Intercession, Cindy, for more info:prayer@thelulutree.com. ** Don't forget to grab your copy ofEmily's new devotional on Communion! AvailableHEREin the US, orHEREin Canada. Visit The Lulu Tree