Minutes for Mission

The Arrow That Flies By Day
In 1989, a UN convention declared all children should have these basic rights: the right to a safe place to play; the right to be cared for by their parents; the right to freedom of thought and expression, among others. Pretty basic stuff for most North America children. But for children in Sierra Leone, these rights are far from guaranteed. Because of a nine-year civil war, literally thousands of children have endured adult-sized suffering.

Thomas, now 15, was abducted by rebels when he was 12 and for two years was forced to carry supplies and haul weapons. When children of his age here were playing soccer or doing homework, Thomas was dodging grenades. His ever-present crutch is evidence he didn’t manage to dodge them all.

But Thomas did manage to escape his captors. Now he is enrolled in a school for internally displaced children in the camp town of Bo, Sierra Leone. This school, which has a faculty of seven and a student body of over 400, is one of many programs implemented by the Council of Churches of Sierra Leone and supported by gifts from Week of Compassion.

At Thomas’ school, there aren’t yet enough supplies for every child to have a pencil and paper — let alone a chair to sit in. Yet this school is a refuge. There is a chance here, and chances are hard to come by in countries ravaged by war. Additional funds from Week of Compassion will enable the school to hire more teachers and purchase more supplies — and, perhaps most importantly, hire psychologists to counsel the children who have been severely traumatized.

The Psalmist wrote: “You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day.” In a country where arrows never seem to stop flying, it is an act of faith to believe that things can change, and act of courage to dream of a better future. Thomas has both. He is studying hard, determined to be a doctor. All the children of Sierra Leone have that right, as well: the right to grow up and heal their wounded land. With your prayers and gifts to Week of Compassion, they will.

Acts of God
Brick, mortar, wood, nails — the elements of construction. The act of building is a remarkable one; simple materials used to create structures both humble and palatial. When the Indian province of Gujarat was devastated in last year’s massive earthquake, people’s homes, workplaces, places of worship . . . were reduced to rubble and debris. In the small village of Zidki, not a single house was left standing. This is not a figurative expression but a fact. And the facts of daily existence in Zidki were bleak before the quake: a three year drought in Gujarat had already destroyed nearly 90 percent of the region’s crops. As a result, the poorest inhabitants were living from hand to mouth even before the earthquake struck. When those who have so little are reduced to having nothing, how do their spirits survive intact?

Droughts and earthquakes are often referred to as “acts of God.” How much more so are gestures of relief. The incarnation as an “act of God” was also about suffering as it was also an act of healing. Jesus experienced the pain of being human even as he came to redeem that pain. We can follow his example in Gujarat by mourning with the people there while, at the same time, we seek to aid in their healing and recovery. And there are many ways to help. Gifts to Week of Compassion meet the immediate needs of food, water, clothing and temporary shelter, as well as support long-term rebuilding and economic rehabilitation projects.
Our gifts become in India and elsewhere in the world “acts of God” — acts of recovery and renewal, acts of healing and hope.

The Bread of Life
Remijia Dominguez has flour on her hands and a sparkle in her eye. Standing before the large outdoor oven in the tiny community of Quebrada Honda, Honduras, kneading dough with her fellow campesinsas, Remijia looks the part of the veteran baker. But who would guess that she and her friends were also this village’s first
successful businesswomen?

In Honduras’ smallest communities, jobs are hard to come by. As a result, subsistence farming is a way of life — a hard, uncompromising way. Without ready access to educational opportunities, rural Honduran people are often trapped in a cycle of poverty that is all too common in the isolated villages of Central America. But not in Quebrada Honda. There, the people are finding their own way out.

Through funds from Week of Compassion, the Christian Commission for Development is able to offer small loans to people in poor rural communities — people who would never qualify for a regular bank loan.These loans fund bakeries, gardens, sewing and weaving co-ops and other small enterprises and enable people like Remijia to use their skills like baking to create profitable, community-sustaining businesses. Working in rotating shifts, the women who run this bakery turn out large quantities of bread every week — not to mention cookies to keep the local children smiling. The money made from selling their bread allows the women to buy food, clothing and other essentials for their families.

At the Last Supper, Jesus instructed his followers to remember him in such everyday acts as eating and drinking, opening themselves to the power of his grace in their daily lives. As he often did, he spoke in metaphor: the bread as body. But what is happening in the village of Quebrada Honda is no metaphor. Christ’s redemptive presence is literally in the bread, in the hard work and pride of people working to bring new life and hope to their community through a little flour, water, yeast and salt.

Your gifts to Week of Compassion are an important part of the recipe!

Misery Loves Company
“Misery loves company.” Usually when people say this, they mean that the person who is down will try to make you feel the same way. But maybe there’s another level — maybe it can mean that for those who feel the promises of community have been broken, there is healing and hope in weaving together a new community with others who have had similar experiences.

You remember Westside Middle School in Jonesboro, AR — another name in a long litany of schools traumatized by shootings and violence. Yet, thanks to the vision of David Gill, director of Ferncliff Camp and Conference Center near Little Rock, AR and the support of Week of Compassion, the Westside story doesn’t end there.

In July 1998, four months after the shootings, when students came to Ferncliff they hardly knew each other and they were more than a little anxious about this camp organized on their behalf. The one thing they knew they had in common was something they were trying to forget. Yet what they discovered was that there were others who knew what jagged edges rubbed the raw places in their souls, that there was solace in sharing the pain of their experiences.

At the end of the week, the campers, parents and teachers alike felt the camp was a great beginning. But where to go from there? Deciding that “God’s love doesn’t exit with the media attention, nor will our commitment, Ferncliff, Week of Compassion and other supporters offered a long-term association with the Westside group until they finished high school. Since then, five more spring and summer camps at Ferncliff involving students not only from Westside — but also from Columbine High School in Littleton, CO, youth from All Peoples Christian Center in Los Angeles, even from Sarajevo, Bosnia, and other communities that have experienced similar acts of violence — have built on one another, encouraging the youth to assume leadership roles while working on their own healing process.

Unlike many of the ministries supported by Week of Compassion, the Connection 2001 ministry at Ferncliff doesn’t help rebuild destroyed homes or provide emergency food, water and clothing. However, like all ministries WOC supports, it rebuilds community at the most basic level: within a single household, within an individual human heart. Remembering that the place where this healing most often occurs is the point of connection with other hearts, let us open our hearts to the healing God can work in and through us — the healing we all need.