AFRAID TO ASK

 

AFRAID TO ASK

On a cold winter’s night in July 1973, guerrilla freedom fighters visited St Albert’s Mission on the edge of the escarpment in the north of Zimbabwe, rounded up about 280 students and staff and led them down into the valley planning to enlist them in the struggle. When the Rhodesians learnt what had happened, they sent planes which dropped flares in the area where the guerrillas and students were walking. They then sent soldiers but were unable to attack as they were afraid of killing the students along with the guerrillas. Later the students became tired and the guerrillas allowed them to rest hidden in an eroded depression (donga). The guerrillas were now on their own and the army attacked. The guerrillas withdrew and the soldiers captured the students and stayed with them until trucks arrived to take them back to the mission.  

While they were waiting, one soldier’s rifle accidentally went off and killed one of the students, Hedrick Mandebvu (14) from Highfield, a suburb of Harare. She was the only casualty among the students and Fr Isidore Chikore, who knew the girl, later said she was exceptional and used to gather her friends and lead them in games and dances. And she would take them to the church and explain the Stations of the Cross and other pictures to them. Going down the escarpment, she took out her rosary and told her companions, ‘We must pray now’. Fr Lorenz von Walter, one of the priests at the mission, believes her sacrifice saved the mission.

As we enter Lent, we are invited to be aware that anything can happen in our lives any time. I write this on 21 February, a day when we especially remember the young people of our country. Young people, like Hedrick, have a freshness, an awareness, that can become dulled as the years pass. But the Church keeps interrupting our ‘dullness’ with moments of awareness – especially Advent and Lent. We yearn for security and comfort. But, if we get them, they can be dangerous for our spirit. We can be lulled into complacency and put signs on our doors saying, ‘Do Not Disturb’. But it is precisely in order to be disturbed that we enter Lent. You can’t cook without stirring! In today’s gospel, Mark tells us the disciples were shocked by Jesus’ talk of his suffering, death and rising.  They did not understand and ‘were afraid to ask him’ (9:32).

How many times have we been ‘afraid to ask’? We can be paralysed by the imagined reactions of others. And we can be afraid of the answer we might get. Basically, we don’t want to be disturbed. How often Jesus said, ‘Do not be afraid!’ But his message does not get through to us. Can we listen to Jesus, to other people, especially children, and to our own heart during this time of Lent?

26 February 2023        Lent Sunday 1A    Gen 2:7-9, 3:1-7    Rom 5:12-19     Mt 4:1-11

AWASH WITH WORDS

 

AWASH WITH WORDS

Ignatius Zvaravashe, who died in 2019, was a Jesuit priest and a writer. He was born in Gutu, Zimbabwe, in 1943 and was a keen observer of traditional customs and use of language. He has recently been ‘discovered’ in the sense that his thought, expressed in his writings and in the memory of those who knew him, is being studied and appreciated. A seminar on his work was held at Arrupe Jesuit University in Harare this week.

One of the speakers, Dr Ignatius Mabasa of the University of Zimbabwe, set the theme of the seminar by speaking of Zvaravashe’s life as lived between two walls: one was the Christianity which he learnt in his early years and which became so much part of him that he became a Jesuit and a priest. The other was his deep roots in the tradition of the ancestors which was so much part of him that he saw all his experiences in the light of that tradition. Walls are solid things and that, no doubt, was why Mabasa chose them as symbols of the two worlds between which Zvaravashe found himself.  He was driven by a desire to punch holes in those walls for he passionately believed both Christianity and tradition were not opposed to each other but both drew their power from a common source: the story of humanity.

This drive was agitated, and irritated, by the seemingly common perception that once a person becomes a priest, he would put all his traditional upbringing behind him and embrace a new doctrine, ‘purified’ of all ‘pagan’ beliefs. Zvaravashe fought this idea vigorously and suffered much to draw out the deeper unity that underlies all human searching for meaning. He was misunderstood by many and perhaps especially his own Jesuit companions who were scared off by what they saw as his wild language. He was not invited to teach at the Jesuit colleges that trained younger Jesuits and even his period with the novices, as an assistant to the director, came to an abrupt end.

Where he was accepted, and with enthusiasm, was in his writings. His novels became set books in Zimbabwean schools. Mabasa described Shona culture as ‘awash with words’ and gave as a simple example people being dissatisfied with saying just ‘Thank you,’ when receiving a gift. They would wish to express their appreciation in many words, including poems and songs of praise. Echoes of the psalms. Other speakers at the seminar, Fr Dominic Tomuseni, Dr Aaron C. Moyo and poet Chirikure Chirikure, developed different themes from their personal knowledge of Zvaravashe and from their close study of his writings. The dean of AJU, Fr Evaristus Ekwueme, closed the seminar by announcing it is just the beginning. We will hear more of Zvarevashe.

FRONT

 

FRONT

I wonder why the ruling party chooses to retain the word ‘Front’ in its title? It was part of the title chosen by their predecessors in government when, in the early 1960s, they chose a military title for theirs. Then it was a ‘front’ against any black advancement and the Zambezi was often invoked as a frontier with chaos ‘to the north of us’, a chaos against which they were determined to build a solid defence.

Knowingly or unknowingly, our present government retains – not only the word, with its militaristic connotation - but the attitude of ‘we’ and ‘them’ which was the coinage of the Rhodesians. Every decision, every policy, was then, and is now, underwritten by an outlook that kept, and keeps, the front in place. You may advance so far but no further. We, on this side of the front, intend to keep things as they are.

A front can be a barrier. And a barrier is a sign of fear. But it can also be an invitation. And then it becomes a sign of growth. ‘Look to him and be radiant; so your faces will never be ashamed’, cries the psalmist (34:5) and when Peter was in the depths of his humiliation, ‘Jesus turned and looked straight at him’ (Luke 22:61). It was a look of love and compassion but it was also a con-front-ation. Peter was a new man from that moment. To face someone or something can be a moment of healing. To engage with people who are different from us, opens us up.

‘Engage’ was the catchword of the French youth in 1968, and when it comes to revolutions, as usual, the French like to be out in front - that word again! After all, the phrase avant-garde is theirs. In Matthew’s sermon on the mountain, Jesus is explicitly avant-garde; he moves beyond the front the Jews had built. ‘You have learnt how it was said to our ancestors …’ about killing, adultery, and the rest. ‘But I say this to you …’ and he goes far beyond the frontier the Jews had built and probes the deeper meaning of relationships between people. He knows it will be tough to break down the barriers but he puts the choice all the same: ‘fire and water is placed before you, choose what you prefer,’ (Ben Sira 15:15).

To face someone or something can be a liberation. People choose to visit the sick – not just their relatives, the handicapped and those in prison. Often, they will say, ‘I receive far more than I give.’

12 February 2023        Sunday 6A      Sir 15:15-20        1 Cor 2:6-10            Matt 5:17-37

FOLLOW ME!

 

FOLLOW ME!

‘Follow me!’ You would need to be full of confidence, perhaps like St Paul, to say that to another! I once committed myself to another’s lead on a mountain side when we were lost. But what happens when someone you trust lets your down? I had trust, appreciation and admiration for the first leader of this country for twenty years (from 1974). But then, in 1995, my trust crumbled. I felt let down.

Now it has happened again. Someone, whose compassion for people with disabilities made him a star for thousands who followed his example, has been found to be a weak fragile human being. I was one of those who was deeply inspired by Jean Vanier and, like so many, became involved in the work he began. Now it turns out that he was leading a double life: announcing the ‘good news to the poor’ on the one hand and exploiting vulnerable young women on the other. Jean was such an influential person that the organisation he founded commissioned an inquiry involving experts from many professions to study the evidence and make their judgement.

Those of us who hoped for some soothing conclusion that would somehow diminish the impact of the revelations are not only disappointed but now know the situation is much worse than we feared. We are prepared, perhaps, for a political leader to dash our hopes. But it is harder when a man, seemingly embedded in the gospel, proves to quite other than we thought.  (The work he founded, l’Arche, is untainted by his behaviour and lives by its own, often heroic, values).

What do we do when we feel let down? Get angry? Start blaming? Become cynical? All these. But they don’t help. In the end we have to reflect; was I transferring my ideals onto another, allowing that person to carry the crown I am too scared to wear? Was I allowing another person to be my hero because I had not the courage to be a hero myself? Have I hid in another’s shadow, content to bask in their glory while evading the responsibility of cultivating my own?

When Jesus said, ‘you are the salt of the earth, you are the light of the world’, he was talking to each of us – not to our leaders. We are, each of us, individuals, responsible for our own choices. These people I mention were human beings, tainted by their own unprocessed lusts. Despite their gifts, they could not cope. In the end they let us down. Instead of getting angry with them for failing, can I try to embrace the struggle of being ‘salt’ and ‘light’ myself?

5 February 2023    Sunday 5A  Is 57:7-10   I Cor 2:1-5  Mt 5:13-16