Jesus is not an American

 

Wednesday June  10, 2015

Jesus is not an American… okay I know what an obvious statement right? But today as I sat under a tree in a slum in Uganda while listening to women who have seen more heart ache than I could ever imagine praise Jesus with every ounce of their being, that simple fact  hit me smack dab in the middle of the face. Growing up in America I have been extremely blessed to be surrounded by Jesus my entire life. I wake up every Sunday morning and put on a nice pretty church dress and drive to my nice big fancy church building and act just the right way and sing just the right songs and pay attention to the perfectly timed sermon with the perfectly laid out slide show. To me that is church, and while in theory there is nothing wrong with that — today I experienced one of the best “church services” I have ever been a part of while in the middle of a Ugandan slum, sitting in the mud underneath a tree, with fifty women who I barely know. There I was dancing and singing and praising the same God I have been praising my entire life, but in an entirely new way. It sounds kind of silly but for the first time in my life I truly realized that the same God that I have given my life to and do my best to serve everyday is the same God that these very women cling to for life. 

Our Bible study today was out of Matthew and the women discussed times in their life when they had great faith. In my own head before the ladies began sharing their stories I was trying to think of times when I have had great faith in God, and to my great disappointment I realized there really wasn't too many times when I can say I put all my trust in the Lord and had great faith. Yes I have had many moments of faith in my life… but great faith? I wasn't so sure. The women then began sharing their own personal testimonies of times when they have had great faith in God, and I was just simply blown away. They told stories of great illness and great loss. They shared about literal times when their faith in God is what kept them alive. They then began sharing about how they have great faith right now in The Lord that He will provide a new place for them to go since the Ugandan government has decided to build a highway right through the place these ladies have called home for years. 

Numerous times while I have been here I have caught myself asking God why. Why was I blessed with an amazing life in America with two loving parents, a roof over my head, and food on the table every night? I didn't do anything to deserve this life that I live, if anything the women I was spending the day with in Masese deserved that life far more than I do. Everything these women have has come at a cost, nothing here is easy for them. And now everything that they have worked so many years for is being taken away. I also ask myself how do I go back? How do I go back to living the life I live in America where I more often than not spend more money on clothes every month than these women do on food each year. I thought that having been here before, having witnessed these great levels of poverty before, would have helped. But I really don't think there is anything you can do to prepare yourself for what you see when you visit a third world country like Uganda — I don’t think these feelings go away no matter how many times you see it either.


Jesus is not an American. He did not come to save the lives of people who live life rich and comfortably. He actually came and died for the opposite— he came for the poor and the oppressed. While I may not be poor in material needs, if there is one thing I have learned while being here it is that I am however poor in spirit. After seeing what you see here I don't think you can go back home and ever be completely the same, and I think that is a good thing. But at the same time I have been reminded that I can’t feel guilty for what The Lord has blessed me with either. I just have to take those blessing and do the best that I can to use them to bless others in the name of Jesus. At first sight it may seem that I am very different from the women I raised my hands with and praised the Lord with this afternoon, but the longer I am here the more I realize how I really am not at all. We are all the same in the eyes of the Lord. We are all his people.That is why I am here. That is why I am doing my very best to serve as the hands and feet of Jesus, because He did not just die for me — he died for each and everyone of his people in America, in Uganda, and around the World.