Author Archives: Tim Geoffrion

To say the situation is bleak in Congo understates the horror and impending catastrophe there. Since leaving Goma (the capital of Northern Kivu, on the border of Congo and Rwanda) a few weeks ago, the situation has deteriorated rapidly, with a sharp spike in displacement, hunger, rape, and deaths. The rebels have routed the government troops and sent tens of thousands of people running for their lives without adequate food or medicine.

As many know, somewhere between 800,000 and 1.1 million people died in the Rwandan genocide in 1994. What much of the world does not seem to realize is that the death toll has continued to mount just over the border in Congo, in an extension of the hostilities stemming from the genocide.  Since 1997, a staggering 5.4 million people have died from fighting, starvation, dehydration, and disease. Currently, up to 1500 people are dying per day in the region of North Kivu.  

17,000 United Nations troops are in the country, but it’s not enough. The U.N. is once again undermanned and over their head in the face of the greatest humanitarian disaster since the Second World War. Stretched to the limit, and unable to stop the Tutsi general, Laurent Nkunda, and his advancing rebel troops, the U.N. has dug in. They are hoping for reinforcements and waiting to see what will happen as a fragile ceasefire has given everyone a few days of respite, before the inevitable onslaught continues.

What can anyone do? You and I simply do not have sufficient wisdom, political clout, material resources, human resources or anything else of substance to make a difference in eastern Congo in any significant way. (Though, for those willing to contribute money, organizations such as HEAL Africa [healafrica.org] are on the ground and able to put donations to work to help victims immediately.)

And what about in all the other troubled spots around the world, where human suffering abounds and obstacles truly seem insurmountable? What can any of us ever do in the face of such intractable problems—whether in developing countries or simply in our own personal lives and families?

We can do whatever we can do.

In the face of loss of life, destroyed homes, broken relationships, and other crippling disasters, it’s easy to want to give up. It’s easy to think that there’s no point in trying to help. It’s easy to despair. But, the truth is there is almost always something that we can do, even in the midst of the worst tragedies and most overwhelming circumstances.

Meeting with genocide survivors, encouraging African leaders, and coaching pastors in Congo have inspired me in new ways to not give up hope. In just 10 days this fall, I met numerous people who are finding meaningful ways to make a difference. For example:

As I have been writing about over the past couple of weeks, Théo has been caring for his three younger sisters ever since he was orphaned in the Rwandan genocide when he was twelve. He is a survivor, and has showed me the power of focusing on what he can do, rather than on what he can’t. 

Cristina and Chelsea have given a year of their lives as Christ Presbyterian Church and Upper Room interns at HEAL Africa in Goma. One is helping women to develop products for sale in an arts center. The other is making plans to do development work with those who most need help learning how to provide for their own needs. Both are invested fully in doing whatever they can to help wherever they are needed.

Paul and Lyndee came with a team of volunteers from Australia to offer their services to HEAL Africa for two weeks. Paul upgraded the computer network, and Lyndee tutored numerous individuals in English. They don’t know if the buildings will be standing or how many of their students will be living after the war, yet they are doing what they can do now. They are helping in ways that fit their skills, hearts and opportunities.

The Rev. Jacob Lipandasi, one of the Congolese pastors I have been coaching, has been working tirelessly on behalf of widows and orphans in his hometown of Bukavu. His heart could not be larger. His vision keeps growing. He simply will not be deterred by ongoing, seemingly insurmountable challenges. Just last week, he was interviewed on Congo radio and television, and is busy trying to expand his ministry to the most vulnerable.

The Rev. Kambere Bolingo, lead chaplain at HEAL Africa (pictured above during one of our coaching sessions), splits his time between ministering to patients, supervising the other chaplains, and doing leadership training in the country villages. He carries around great weight of responsibility and concern, but every day he seeks to minister to needs and promote hope. Now, he has already started to coach some of the young men in his church with the same methods he has been learning first hand.

The Rev. Désiré Mukanirwa, Anglican priest in Goma, has a vision for the physical, mental, and spiritual vitality of his congregation. Many individuals in his church are illiterate, many families are overwhelmed due to the influx of refugees (relatives seeking safety in the city), and many widows are unskilled with little hope of providing for themselves. To help address these seemingly impossible challenges, Désiré went back to school to earn a degree in development and signed up for coaching. His plans for creating new ministries must wait while he attends to traumatized parishioners, a refugee pastor who has cholera, and daily threats of violence, but no matter what each day brings, he is doing whatever he can do.

We may never know what difference any of us truly make long term in a given situation—whether we are talking about helping suffering people in Africa, creating a better America, reaching out to needy people in our own communities, or simply trying to love our own families and friends better. We will always be surrounded by intractable problems, and can never guarantee what might happen tomorrow to the work we do today.

But today is the only day we have for sure. And what is within our power to do is all that we are responsible for. Each of us can do something for some situation that we care about. By writing emails, making phone calls, contributing time and money, offering a smile or gentle touch, or simply showing up with willingness to help, we can stand in solidarity with those who are suffering. We can link arms with those who are trying to do something to make a better world.

As the Apostle Paul taught, God has equipped each believer with an ability to contribute meaningfully in this world. Paul encourages us to believe in this message of hope, and to fulfill our calling by acting on the opportunities we are given. He writes:

We have different gifts, according to the grace given us. If a [person’s] gift is prophesying, let him use it in proportion to his faith. If it is serving, let him serve; if it is teaching, let him teach; if it is encouraging, let him encourage; if it is contributing to the needs of others, let him give generously; if it is leadership, let him govern diligently; if it is showing mercy, let him do it cheerfully. Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. (Romans 12:6-9)

For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Ephesians 2:10)

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers. (Galatians 6:9-10)

What can anyone do?  

Whatever we can.  

In Rwanda, I was once again surprised at how little faith I have sometimes—how easily I assume God has abandoned the victims of war, disease and violence.

As I listened to Théo’s story and saw what he and his sisters have had to endure, I was first shocked, then angry, and then sad. Where was God for them and for all the others victims of violence?

My distress only intensified when I found out that some 85% of Rwanda was supposedly Christian before the genocide. Yet church members turned against their fellow church members and neighbors. Even some clergy participated in the killing. In the most egregious circumstances, pastors locked their own parishioners in their church before bulldozing it, setting it on fire, or turning them over to genocidaires.

Unfathomable.

Reports like this can really get to me, and start me on downward cycle of disillusionment, doubt and despair. Not only has Christianity failed in such circumstances, but God appears to be either apathetic or powerless, or worse. I don’t believe this, but when I see so many suffering, I don’t know what to think.

So, I wasn’t surprised to learn that some survivors of genocide feel that God turned his back on them in their dark hour. I wasn’t shocked to hear some victims of violence admit to losing their faith in God and humanity. And I could not criticize anyone suffering from such horrors for wanting to die. As one thirteen-year-old Congolese boy cried out after he was horribly burned when his house caught fire in the night, “God let me die. Let me die.” In such circumstances, who wouldn’t want the nightmare to be over? Or, if you saw your family butchered in front of you, or your mother or sister being raped and mutilated, or you were left to scrounge for food and shelter as an orphan or widow, how would you feel?

Yet, as awful and unconscionable as these atrocities are, as appropriate our revulsion and angry reactions, and as reasonable our questions and doubts, there is more to the story. There is more to God.

I needed Théo to help me see what I was missing.

The insight came to me when he showed us his new house. I was struck by how thankful he was. Never mind that the house is still uninhabitable. He can’t afford the sheet metal to repair the holes in the roof, and doesn’t have the money to replace the over-filled latrine behind the house. Never mind that there is no kitchen, and the walls of one of the three small rooms are about to collapse. From his perspective, even if he had to go without food for a couple of days from time to time, he felt so grateful just having a home that he could call his own and offer to his sisters.

As he stood in front of his house, beaming with pride and joy, he was not thinking about all that he has had to endure in the past. I saw that what mattered to him was the gift of the moment, and his hope for the future.

I, the outsider, materially affluent, highly educated, privileged in countless ways, was angry at God on his behalf. Yet, he, who had hardly any possessions, periodically lacked food, and had to try to cope with responsibilities and needs that made him physically sick at times from stress, was thankful to God for his blessings.  And on this day, in particular, he was very grateful to God for showing his love and generosity to his sisters and him through the gift of his new home and new “parents.”

As I saw his face and listened to him talk, I suddenly realized something I had been totally missing. God had not abandoned Théo as I had assumed. I just couldn’t see him until I followed the impulse of love and acted on the compassion I felt. I couldn’t see God until I started looking for him within myself and in others, when we are at our best rather than at our worst.

In that single moment, something shifted within me. I stopped looking in vain for signs of God “out there” somewhere, independent of ordinary human beings. Instead, I started seeing God where he has been and is—in Théo’s uncle who saved his life, in those who gave his sisters and him something to eat when they were starving, and in the man who took them in before he died. Above all, I began to see God in Béatrice, the woman who has been hiring him so that he could afford to pay his rent, and who sticks by him offering him whatever she can with limited resources and so many others to care for.

Théo sees God in all the faces, voices, arms and hands of each person who has helped his sisters and him over the years. He also sees God now in Jill and me. And because he sees God in us, it is suddenly possible for me to see God in myself as well as in him.

In the inspiration of the moment, I went from questioning whether God is truly anywhere, to seeing God everywhere. The darkness may be great, but when Christ shines through you and me, the light is greater.

For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. (2 Corinthians 4:6-7)

Thanks, Théo. You have given me far more than I have given you.

Wherever I see good, I now see God.

This is the first in a series of reflections on our recent trip to Rwanda and the Democratic Republic of Congo with Faith, Hope and Love Global Ministries.

Presumed dead, Théoneste was thrown into a latrine filled with piles of other mutilated bodies. Having just witnessed his parents being hacked to death by genocidaires, he was barely hanging on to his own life. As he lay dying from a machete blow to his head, he drifted in and out of consciousness. Théo was just twelve years old.

When night fell, his uncle who had been hiding in the forest nearby fished him out of the mass of bodies. He was still breathing and was starting to regain consciousness. Though the killers soon caught up with and murdered his uncle, Théo managed to escape. That was fourteen years ago, and only the beginning of his long journey of suffering.

In one fateful day, in the midst of 100 days of genocide where over 1 million Tutsis and moderate Hutus were slaughtered in Rwanda, Théoneste had to suddenly grow up—or perish. He instantly became responsible for his three sisters, who also miraculously escaped being slaughtered.

First they went to an orphanage of sorts, but soon it had to close due to lack of funds. A kind man took the four children in, but then he died. Since the deceased man’s widow simply was not able to take care of them along with her own children, they had to leave her home. On the street, they went from place to place looking for places to sleep wherever they could. When Théo was able to work, they were finally able to rent a small apartment. However, his limited income sometimes meant they had to go without food for two or three days at a stretch.

Théo also suffers from headaches, and sometimes his nose suddenly starts bleeding without warning. He showed us the scar stretching across the top of his head. No doubt the throbbing and bleeding are linked somehow to the old machete wound. However, his symptoms worsen whenever he worries about where he is going to find shelter and food for his sisters. The doctor’s only advice has been for him to stop thinking about his problems! Some solution.

As I listened to his story, I wasn’t sure I could handle what he was telling me. I wasn’t sure I could face the truth of the extent of his suffering and desperation. Meanwhile, there are 350,000 other orphans in Rwanda alone with their own stories. If it were not for the occasional kindness of strangers and others who are able to offer the minimum of assistance, many would die. Instead, most of them barely scrape by. All of them continue to suffer.

I felt overwhelmed, and scared. If I gave my heart to him and his sisters, and gave them some money, what would he else would want from me? Would I get trapped in a relationship that would demand more from me than I could give? I had already shocked myself when some of us helped him to buy a small, three room house (not three bedrooms, but simply three small rooms under a roof that leaks, with no kitchen, toilet, furnishings, or floors). Where would his need for our help end, I wondered? And maybe even more scary to me, what toll would caring for such a high-risk family take on my heart?

After listening to his story and making a plan for continuing to provide modest support for his sisters and him, we held hands and prayed together. He in Kirawandan, my wife, Jill, in French, and I in Franglais.

When we stood up to leave, Théo wrapped his arms around me. As we hugged to say goodbye, he clearly did not want to let go. Jill told me that he closed his eyes and put his head on my shoulder as he hung on for dear life for at least 60 seconds.

After I made a few tentative taps on his back, which usually signal that its time for the hugging to finish, I caught myself. That’s not the message I wanted to send at all. I didn’t want to let go either.

I stopped tapping.

When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. So he began teaching them many things.

By this time it was late in the day, so his disciples came to him. “This is a remote place,” they said, “and it’s already very late. Send the people away so they can go to the surrounding countryside and villages and buy themselves something to eat.”

But he answered, “You give them something to eat.” (Mark 6:34-37, NIV)

For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich. (2 Corinthians 8:9)

I have no illusions that I can solve the problems of Rwanda or that I can ever rescue or provide all that this young man and his sisters need. I am no hero, and in fact, my experience in Africa is showing me how small and weak I actually am.

However, I am not completely powerless.

I’m still not sure how well I truly can handle the harsh realities I am starting to face in Africa, but I can try to face the truth of the suffering of others. I can choose not to avert my eyes. I can open my heart and mind. I can embrace at least this one relationship.

I can commit.