THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Forty-Eight

Entry Forty-Eight:

The Egyptian Queen has not yet set her perfumed foot on Benjamin’s land. Aaron will not speak to me. He avoids me as best he can. But my trusted source of information, Elizabeth, tells me, Herod is not comfortable with what Mark Antony has done and is cautiously trying to persuade the queen to allow him to lease the land from her…here in Jericho as well as in En Gedi.  Apparently, she appears to be willing, but for quite a large sum of money. Will he impose yet another tax on us to pay this fee? This is the talk of the town, she tells me. I am appalled. I can well understand why they hate me so much. I set this in motion by agreeing to Benjamin’s request. His unexpected actions have brought calamity upon us. I can see that now, and I am grieved.

O Benjamin, my Benjamin. What have you done? What were you thinking? Your one selfish action has spiralled downwards alarmingly, and the consequences threaten to overwhelm me. I find that anger is rising in my heart. How could you do this to me? You have brought shame on our family. We were once respected in this community…but now we are humiliated. My name is mocked in the town because of you. 

I find myself at war within. My anger threatens to quench my love for you. I ponder this thought. Am I wrong in being angry with you? No, my anger is justified. You deserve the full brunt of my wrath. How have I failed you that you repay me in this underhanded manner? Like the God of Israel gave us a well-watered land overflowing with milk and honey, so I gave you only the very best. But you have given me evil for good. But then another emotion surfaces…my deep love for you. Is it an emotion? No, emotions are unpredictable things. No, this is a choice I am making…a conscious choice to love you in spite of my righteous anger.

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Forty-Seven

Entry Forty-Seven:

The royal chariot of Cleopatra arrived sometime during the night I am told by Elizabeth. Where was she that she was able to get here so quickly, I wonder. In Jerusalem? Herod’s loyalty to Mark Antony has clouded his judgement, it seems. Roman soldiers are posted everywhere in and around Jericho, making sure there is not trouble. The Queen and the General are apparently being entertained in the Royal Hasmonean Palace. Elizabeth tells me the Egyptian is not the striking beauty many have claimed she is. How does she know this? I ask. The servants of Herod have been talking, she replies. Will they be coming to inspect Benjamin’s land? I enquire. She does not know, but she will ask. She has quite a network, this Elizabeth.

I send a message to Levi. Would he favour me with his presence? His conversation is a source of comfort to me. He comes. We sit on the balcony, listening to the moderated sounds of the disgruntled people of Jericho. They are not pleased, but they are afraid of the soldiers and of Herod. I would expect Levi to feel uncomfortable with me especially since I am the target of many hostile glances from those passing by…but he is not. He seems resilient and unaffected by the opinions of others. How is it that he has managed so well?

He tells me of our communities’ reaction to the death of Asaph. I am embarrassed to hear him tell the story as, while I was not involved, I failed to comfort him then as he is seeking to comfort me now. I was too busy living my own life. He tells me that in spite of their needing to grieve, he and his wife were vilified by the so-called righteous. His brotherhood of priests rejected him…he was no longer fit to serve as a priest, they said. Asaph was denied a proper burial. The crowd would have cast his body on the dung heap had Levi not taken care of the arrangements himself. He and his wife washed and prepared his broken body. Alone. He weeps afresh.

Strife

I want 

What you want

But can’t have

Cause you have

And won’t give

Less I give

What you want

That I have.

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Forty-Six

Entry Forty-Six:

Our clandestine meeting was delayed. Rumours that Mark Antony has given Benjamin’s land to his lover, the Egyptian Queen Cleopatra are spreading in the town. The smitten Roman has already heaped many gifts on this queen. It is said that he has bequeathed to their illegitimate children the whole of the eastern Roman Empire. Julius Caesar’s beneficiary, Octavian and the Roman Senate, are not happy about this. Apparently, the couple are on their way to Jericho…Cleopatra wishes to inspect her gift. Herod is in town preparing for their arrival. Again, our community is in uproar. How is it possible that my land could change hands so many times in such a short space of time? For our community, the nightmare has gone from bad to worse. Herod was enough to make them disown my son. Mark Antony had them calling for my stoning. What will they do now? The Egyptian Queen is dangerous and fickle. Those who know, say that Herod is concocting a plan to lease the land from her, just to keep her away from his backdoor. 

Levi and I retreat to my home. It is safer. He tells me more about his son…how, in spite of their care to have him instructed in the way of the God of Israel, he had been intent on making the wrong decisions even from an early age. At first, he was a star pupil in Hebrew School. He learned the alphabet in record time and was way ahead of his class as far as memorization of the Torah was concerned. But then something went wrong. Levi says he has wracked his brain to find out what happened…when it happened…to no avail. What happened happened…that is all he can say. His son, Asaph by name, chose the wrong path and was soon surrounded by the wrong people. Levi and his wife prayed and hoped that this would be a passing phase. Any attempt at discipline only seemed to exacerbate his bad behaviour. They were grieving parents long before that awful night when the news no parents wants to hear came bursting into their lives. 

No!

NO!

When I was a child

I dreamed of being someone

Someone other than I was

Greater than I was

Someone worthy of love and respect

As a child

I lived each day as it came

Dreaming

Scheming

Without fear of being no-one

But then as time went by

The dream began to sour

In my teens

The dream became a nightmare

And there was a shift in my thinking

Fear became my daily companion

I would never be anyone

Other, greater, worthy

Living, I became nothing

A cruel reality mocked me

I was nothing more than mediocre

And yet

From the dungeons deep within me

Came a voice that cried out, “No!”

But today

Life still delivers nothing

Nothing but empty dreams

Broken plots and plans

That endless cycle 

Of wake, eat, work, sleep

Pointless

Senseless

With not enough sense 

To stop and ask why

So many all around me

Began their lives with hope

Hope that some day

They would find that corner

And a new vista would appear

But that was denied

Not for lack of trying

They died without having touched 

Something

Anything

Still the voice cries out, “No!”

There must be more 

More to life than living

Breathing

Moving

To simply exist

From day to day

Night to night

Content with the average

Is far removed 

From my childhood dreams

But one by one

The days go by

And nothing changes

It is said that hope does not fail

But hope unfulfilled

Makes the heart sick

And dead

But still the voice cries out, “No!”

Is death the goal of life?

Release

Relief

And then oblivion?

Or is one condemned

To relive mediocrity

For eternity

Or

As one beholds the beatific vision

Are missed opportunities revealed?

The corners one walked by

The dark alleys

That may have led to light

Now gone forever

No recompense for striving

Yearning

Longing

Waiting

No reward

No well done

No rest

Still the voice cries out, “No!”

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Forty-Five

Entry Forty-Five:

I walk down the road in the cool of the morning. At this time of year, Jericho is busier earlier in the morning and later in the afternoon because of the heat. But I mostly walk alone…the crowd parts before me like the Red Sea. Are they afraid to touch me? I see many of my one time friends…they look away, embarrassed. Even though they have declared my Benjamin to be dead, they keep him alive with their revulsion and disgust. 

But as I think about this shunning, an older man comes up to me, takes me by the arm, and leads me to a place where there is less noise. He wants to talk. I recognise him. It is hard to live in a small town like Jericho and not know everyone. But he was never one of my closer acquaintances. He introduces himself to me. His name is Levi. “Are you a priest?” I ask. “By descent, yes,” he replies. But he says he wants to talk to me about my son, Benjamin. I am astounded anyone wants to talk about my son. 

He tells me to be strong. Unlike him, I have hope, he says. His own son is dead…has been dead for years. For him there is no more hope. I remember him now. I attended the funeral. It was a drunken brawl that killed his son. The shame such a death brought on the family added to the crushing grief. They too had felt rejected…many people avoided them…others slandered them. Yes, they too were told they were bad parents. If they had raised their son in the fear of the Lord, this tragedy may have been averted. He speaks freely of his grief and tells me that I will learn later that grief can bring blessing…that in the utter devastation, we find the strength to live…but more. We find the strength to grow. Grow? How does one grow when life itself is being drained from you? But he assures me that the time will come when I will see he is right. 

He asks if we may meet again. Yes, I say…and we arrange a time and a place.

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Forty-Four

Entry Forty-Four:

I remember my father. He was a kind-hearted man who was devoted to his mother. My grandfather had died long before I was born, and my grandmother came to live with us. She was always happy and filled with joy. We loved her dearly and cherished each moment with her. Then one day, everything changed. We found her seated in a corner of her room…her eyes wild…a bewildered look on her face. She didn’t seem to recognise anyone of us and appeared to be afraid. From that moment on, my father entered into a time of deep grief…like me…grief for a person yet living, but not present. 

I still don’t know what happened to my grandmother…why one day she was cheerful and carefree and the next scared and easily startled. She still looked the same…she still was the same…and yet was not. My father took her to the rabbi…to all the best physicians. They offered no remedy and no hope. In the end, we had to accept the fact that she was gone forever, even though she was living with us. How my father wept…but he never gave up trying to reach her. Every day he would be the first to greet her. Gently he would touch her and reassure her that he meant no harm. He would remind her that he was her son and that he loved her. He would feed her, all the time telling her stories from the past…happy stories. And before she went to sleep, he would remind her that in dreams, she would find herself once more. Who knows if she ever did? A year later, he found her asleep forever. She looked tranquil…and at peace.

I remember his grief before and after…while she was and yet was not, his grief was intense and unabating. But after her passing, the grief seemed to diminish…as if dealing with the second loss was easier than the first. I can see my grief in his…I grieve for one who is here and yet not here. In that we are similar…

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Forty-Three

Entry Forty-Three: 

Grief is like eating…if you consume too much too quickly, the food is harder to digest. I must learn to deal with my heartache one small piece at a time…I must chew it well, and then swallow. 

But why am I grieving? Benjamin is still alive. But that makes my grief all the more difficult to bear. There is no body for me to bury. There is no closure…no conclusion. It is as if the burial cave is standing wide open, its mouth agape in an awful yawning grimace. If I do not force the past into the present, I have nothing to hold onto. 

But that is why I must discipline myself to deal with only one portion of my grief at a time. If I try to gulp down the wall of pain that confronts me…a barrage of memories…of what ifs and should haves…then I will choke. I find that if I keep an image of Benjamin in the forefront of my mind at all times, I am able to slice through the tough meat of my internal agony and separate one bleeding, pulsating piece from the rest. Perhaps that is why the Scriptures say that the life is in the blood…it is the bleeding of my heart that causes the most distress…my grief drains me of life like a slow bleed.

I paint a mental portrait of Benjamin…laughing, loving, living. He stands before me every moment of every day. Like God kept the walls of Jerusalem before Him even while our forefathers were still in captivity and while the city still lay in ruins  so I keep Benjamin before me. He may be in exile…his reputation may lie all about me in ruins…but his image I will keep before me continually. 

Then, when reality rises up to accuse me of living a fantasy…living a life built on a foundation of groundless hope with bricks made of dreams and an anticipative imagination…then I remember that God also kept faith…and that faith was no fantasy. 

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Forty-Two

Chapter Four: Fear and Fantasy

Entry Forty-Two: Isaiah 30:18

I talk to Benjamin in my mind. I laugh. I cry. I shout. I rage. He never replies. But then, at night, he comes to me in my dreams…there he stands and responds to everything I said to him. Now it is my turn to be silent. I wonder what life would be like if we all communicated this way. Talk. Listen. Wait. Respond. Listen. So much misunderstanding could be avoided if we could just listen. Really listen…

I spend most of my days watching the road now. Is that not what God does with us when we stray? Does He not wait for the rebellious all day long…is that not what He says through the mouth of the prophet?  I have not been down to the river for two days…it is too hot anyway…but I am afraid that if I leave my vigil, Benjamin may return when I am not attentive…and I want to be the first to greet him. If I am not the first, he will surely be driven away. 

I think of the governor, Nehemiah. In spite of adversity, he never gave up. They tempted, they threatened, they feigned friendship, they accused…but he remained steadfast. I am encouraged to emulate his bravery and his resolve. If he wavered, those who were yet to return may have continued in exile. He pressed on…resilient…and he was satisfied in the end. I too will stand firm and wait…I will wait to prevent a further calamity.

But what if they find him on the road further afield? What if our family in Galilee see him before he even takes the road down to Jericho? Will they be like Tobiah and Sanballat? They will surely not want him to reach me…they will not want me to rebuild my family. How can I stop them when they are so far away? Am I becoming paranoid? I have no proof that they would do such a thing…and yet, I am preoccupied with this fear. My sleep is fitful.

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Forty-One

Entry Forty-One: Psalm 34

Miriam stands before me, smiling a tender smile. “No,” she says. “No, my dearest husband…you are not Eli.” “Then what am I? Who am I? Help me find myself again,” I plead. “You are a father and you are a mother,” she says softly. “You love as a father loves, but you also love as a mother loves. Deeply, unconditionally…without limits…without boundaries. You are not Eli. You are willing to sacrifice yourself for your child…that is not Eli…that is God.”

I awake. I am calm and filled with a sense of peace. “Thank you,” I whisper. Dear God, when you made man and woman…did you divide your love between them, so that only when the love of both father and mother are combined, are we able to see Your love? Yes, I think that is so. You reveal Your love in the holy Scriptures as that of both male and female. You comfort as a mother comforts her babes.  Indeed, You who gave birth to us  are the same one who calms and soothes us like a mother quietens her suckling child.  But my most beloved Scripture of all is that of the prophet Isaiah…where You say clearly that even if a mother would forget her child, You will never forget us.  

Miriam is right! Or, at least, my dream of her was right. Is it not the nature of God to love as a mother? As such, it is not bad parenting…it is an unfathomable, unqualifiable, unreserved love that makes Him wait patiently for us to return to Him. He watches…He hopes…He anticipates our homecoming. I am not Eli. I am not a bad father. I am a father and a mother. I am a reflection of God. And so, I too must wait. I must wait, in spite of the relentless pressure to forsake my Benjamin. Dear God in heaven, reward me for my steadfastness…requite my love…fulfil my yearning…answer my prayers. Bottle up my tears.  Be my comfort in this time of comfortlessness. Be close to me. Share my broken heart.

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Forty

Entry Forty:

Am I Eli? Why does this bother me so much? If I am at fault…if I am the one to blame…then would I not know? Is it because I am too proud to admit the truth? I have been humbled more than any other time in my life…is there any pride left in me…hiding deep down inside? 

I sit by Benjamin’s pool and talk to him out loud. It helps to verbalise my thoughts. I ask him. Am I Eli? He does not answer. Of course he does not answer…he is not there. His absence overwhelms me once more and I weep unashamedly. Who will hear my sobbing? Being alone allows me to give my emotion free reign…I let it run amuck…it wracks my body in the process. I ache all over…my throat burns, and my lungs beg for more air. I lie in the dirt and I let my sorrow sweep over me like a storm. 

It is not only the absence of my son that brings on such deep distress. It is Aaron…the rabbi…my community…my friends…my family…Miriam’s family. They have all turned aside. Each one has gone on with their lives and they have spurned me. If it were not for Elizabeth and for Benjamin’s friends I would be completely isolated in my grief. I feel so alone. Lost. 

It costs nothing to be kind. One can be kind even if you do not agree. Does it not take more energy to be harsh, I wonder? When you live each precious minute, controlled by the misdeeds of others…is that not exhausting? Just because you are angry, it does not follow that you must be cruel. It is at times such as this, that the truth emerges…I have no friends...I never had any friends. I had many acquaintances…people that I thought were friends…but friends stay true to each other, especially in times of need. 

Oh, Miriam, how I miss you…how I need you, now more than ever. But why would I want you here to bear this pain with me? That would make me cruel and unkind. 

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Thirty-Nine

Entry Thirty-nine: Lamentations 3:22-23

Am I Eli? I cannot escape the question…I cannot avoid it. It must be answered. I think back on the many times I should have corrected Benjamin but chose not to. But, in my defence, it was because of his youthful ignorance at the time…I chose to overlook his behaviour because of his age…he would not understand. Yes, also because he did not have Miriam. He only had me. But was I not being merciful? I want only the best for him…for both of them. In that respect, I love them equally. While my blessing for them is different, it is not less for one and more for the other. 

Am I Eli? No, I conclude. If I am to be compared with any one of those we read about in the holy Scriptures, it is Isaac. He also had two sons…one left the other stayed…but in the end, which one remained? Jacob, the supplanter returned…Esau never left, but who wounded the father more? Who became our father, Israel? Not Esau…

“A son honours his father and a servant honours his master. If I am a father, where is my honour?” The words of our Lord to his people recorded by the prophet Malachi.  Aaron says all the right things…does all the right things…but his heart is far from me.  Surely, we all are preserved because our Lord is merciful…that is why we are not consumed for our misdeeds and transgressions. Because His compassion never fails. Every morning his compassion is renewed…every morning His faithfulness keeps growing. We cannot live out the truth of the law without love…that would be an empty life and an empty law…and, ultimately, an empty God. If God is not merciful, then why does the sun rise and set each day? Our continued existence on this earth testifies to His mercy, His grace, and His forgiveness. 

If Aaron, his rabbi, and our community represent the God of Israel, then we of all people are to be pitied the most. Then our God is an emotionless tyrant.

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Thirty-Eight

Entry Thirty-eight:

“You are Eli!” Like others Aaron believes I am a bad parent. I pretend I do not understand. “Eli? How am I Eli?” I look at Aaron’s face. Hatred has hardened his eyes…the lines on his face are severe. Hatred has a way of removing all beauty…from a face…a body…a life. “He refused to discipline his sons!”  Aaron is shouting now. “And look what happened! Israel lost the Ark to the Philistines, just as we have lost our land to the Roman.” He glares at me, nostrils flared. “But you too are my son, Aaron,” I reply. “By that token you too ought to be rotten.” At first, he says nothing. But then he digs the knife in deeper. “Mother was still alive when my character was formed.” I am overcome and cannot help but weep. For a moment, it seems as if he cares…as if he wishes to reach out and console me in my agony. But then he turns and leaves the room. 

Am I Eli? I meditate on this question endlessly. Am I to blame for the calamity that has befallen my household? The Ark was lost, true, but it was recovered later. Dear God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, grant that the land now lost may be recovered too. You are skilled at turning bad things around…just look at what You did with Joseph. He once was lost too…presumed dead by his grieving father…but they were reunited…in the land of Egypt, no less. All those years, Jacob believed his son to be dead. All those years, he grieved for him. He did not have hope as I have hope. My Benjamin is still alive. I know it. If he were not, would I not feel it in my bones? Did Jacob feel that Joseph was alive? But he was shown proof that Joseph was dead. Did his mind overcome his heart? He had no reason to believe his son was alive. But do I have reason to believe Benjamin is alive? No word has come from him since the day he left.

Am I Eli? Do I stand condemned before You, my holy God? Do I love Benjamin more than You? More than what is right? Have I failed You…and him?

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Thirty-Seven

Entry Thirty-Seven:

The events of the past few days have proved to be a distraction for me. I have neglected my Benjamin. In spite of the protestations from the servants, I go to the pool by the river. I must keep him alive, if only in my heart.

On the way, a man accosts me. It is the fist-brandishing man. He spits at me, throws dust in the air, and curses me. It is my doing that this has happened, he yells. My bad parenting has now borne the fruit of evil. His face contorts as he screams out his rage. Others stop and stare. Their presence seems to energize him. His arms flail in the air and I am aware that he is about to attack me physically. I close my eyes, readying myself for the first blow. But then I feel a body come between us…no, not one, but a few. I look. Benjamin’s friends stand between me and the angry man. Their arms are folded, their faces set like flint. They will not move. Soon, his shouting ceases and he moves on, muttering threats under his breathe.

The young men apologize. They attempt to take me home. I protest. I must go down to the river again. They try to dissuade me from my decision, but at last they agree on condition that they go with me. I say no more. O Benjamin, how could you have walked away from such true friends? True friends are rare and ever so hard to find. Do you have friends wherever you are now? These men are closer to me than your brother. I owe them my sanity. We sit by the river and talk about you. They tell me they pray for us…they tell me they pray for your return…they miss you. They ask if I have received any communication from you. I tell them no. They are surprised. But they do not speak ill of you. They say you must be too busy trying to acclimatize…learning new ways, new customs, perhaps a new language. One asks if there is a country where Greek is not spoken? We laugh at our own silliness…but inside we are weeping.

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Thirty-Six

Entry Thirty-Six:

There is an uproar at our gate. People throwing dust in the air, others casting stones at our compound wall…all are shouting. Are they calling for my stoning? Do they wish to kill me because I refuse to give up on my Benjamin? “No, no,” Elizabeth says. “It is because of Herod. He has given the land as a gift to Mark Antony, the Roman General. Herod, they did not like,” she says, “but at least he pretended to be Jewish in his ways. This Gentile would defile the land and bring shame on our community…or so they say.” “But is not all land God’s land,” I reply. “Our land as well as the lands occupied by others? Is the earth not the Lord’s with all its fullness…the world and all who live in it? Is it only a Jewish foot that consecrates the land? No, surely it is the presence of God that hallows the ground. Besides, can God not bring good out of this as He has before…through the likes of Nebuchadnezzar, and Cyrus, and Darius? God can turn any heart the way He wishes…is Mark Antony beyond the reach of His mercy?” She makes no reply.

Now the rabbi comes…trying to settle the mob. He reasons with them pointing out that the sins of the son cannot be visited upon the father. Aaron looks up and sees me staring from my balcony. He scowls and makes a motion with his arms that seems to say, ‘You see? You see what your son has done?’ One man follows his eyes, but his gestures are violent. He shakes his fist at me. The rabbi berates him for it. Ah, so the man has a heart after all. 

Finally, the crowd disburses. The servants urge me to remain inside the compound for the day. Will my own community harm me? For what sin will they stone me? Will they bring blood guilt on their own heads because of my love for my erring son? Perhaps. When one loves rules more than mercy, anything is possible. No doubt, there will be more said about this once the Roman arrives to take possession of the land. But for now, I stay inside.

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Thirty-Five

Entry Thirty-Five: Jeremiah 29:10-12

Are all the odds stacked against me, dear Lord? Will there be no return from this exile…the exile of my son, Benjamin? The land is no longer ours…it is gone forever…no jubilee year will bring it back to us. But surely Benjamin is more important than land? This is a life…a human life. There is no way I can recreate him into an abstraction that can be added or subtracted. He is and always will be a part of me…a part of Miriam…a part of Aaron. That is the way God intended it to be…the same flesh and the same blood. If we cut him off, do we not cut off a part of ourselves too? 

Does it really matter who owns the land? Are they afraid that the breath of the Gentiles will foul the air they breathe? With their hearts filled with hatred…are they not already contaminated? Do they not see that by sustaining their loathing for Benjamin, they are most unlike the God they profess to believe in? God is love…and hate is the opposite of love. How can one hate what He has created? I cannot feel hatred for this Roman General. Is he my enemy? Is he the enemy of Israel? Is he not merely a small part of a larger machine we call Rome? 

Yes, Benjamin betrayed my trust. Never would I have imagined he would sell the land to anyone…Jew or non-Jew…never would I have imagined that he would leave without saying goodbye. But his errors do not justify mine. To be righteous surely means being a better person…not sinking to the levels of those who sin against us. No. Benjamin did not love enough to stay…I must therefore love even more for him to return. If I do what others have done, I slay my own child…and I make his return from self-imposed exile impossible. 

I must love more than all the hatred radiating from those around me…those who call themselves by the name of the God of Israel…my own people…my own son, Aaron. I must love as God loves.

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Thirty-Four

Entry Thirty-Four: Nehemiah 1:9

I go down to the river once more. The level of the water has dropped, and the pool seems less formidable. I undress and wade in. The coolness of the water is refreshing and restorative. It is getting hotter. I sit in the shallows and watch the river flow by. Life. Passing me by.

I am startled by voices…youthful voices greeting me. Benjamin’s friends. They enquired after me and Elizabeth directed them to this place. They are a welcome diversion. They are boisterous and their energy rejuvenates me. The scene transports me back to a happier time. Laughter is like an elixir. I breathe in deeply and find a simple joyfulness rising up from within…and hope…hope that the nightmare may yet end.

I watch. I listen. The many internal voices that have assailed me the past few days are rendered silent for the moment. Once more, these young men bring my Benjamin back to me…he is present in their presence. They speak his name. 

Then I notice the strain. There is something they are not telling me. I see the nervous glances they share with each other. I rise, dry myself, and dress. I am suddenly aware of my age. They come to sit with me in the shade. The conversation turns serious. There are rumours in town that Herod has done the unthinkable…he has gifted Benjamin’s land to the Roman, Mark Antony. They tell me I ought to be ready. The community will be in uproar.

Is it possible for this hurt to go any deeper? I feel strangely numb. This is one more barrier…if Benjamin does return…even in sackcloth and ashes…will they receive him? Will they allow him to re-enter that from which they so eagerly cut him off? Will the discarded branch be regrafted into the olive tree? One by one the young men take their leave, promising to visit me again soon. They tell me they pray for me…pray for Benjamin, I say.

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Thirty-Three

Entry Thirty-Three: Hebrews 2:14-18

Pain has certainly caused me to delve into the deepest, darkest depths of my being. When my Miriam, may her soul rest in peace, was taken from me, I was too involved in caring for my sons to spend any time thinking about myself. Survival forced me to suppress any emotion I may have had until now. Now, it is as if all my emotions from years ago engulf me and drag me under like a gigantic surge of water…like a flash flood…one moment I think I am on solid ground and the next I am swept off my feet by an anguish that takes my breath away. And there is no warning. It has happened to me at home, at the river, in the marketplace…that was the worst…to have my raw, wounded heart exposed before those who scorned me and who hated the one for whom I was mourning.

Pain. It is not a physical pain…yet why does it make me double over as if I have been hit in the abdomen by a giant? Or torn open by a raging wild animal? I have, at times, felt like I was trapped in the midst of a pack of ferocious wolves, each snarl an accusation against me as a failure, and every snatching bite a tearing away of an invisible part of my innermost being. Am I a failure? Is that what I am? I examine my life. What has become of me? My confidence lies in tatters…my dreams shattered…my hopes cruelly crushed.

Oh, Benjamin, Benjamin. What have you done to me? You have taken away the thrill of being alive. Are you what they say you are? Are you irreparably evil? They say you sold your soul to the devil. Did you? Where is the accuser of our brethren that I may lay myself on his altar…repay your debt with my own life? I would gladly substitute myself…your life for my life. But it is not Satan who must be propitiated…it is the God who made you…the God to whom you ultimately belong. He must be assuaged…let me stand before Him, so that you may return.

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Thirty-Two

Entry Thirty-Two: Isaiah 49:1-6

Is there a sin that cannot be forgiven? If there is, it is surely the sin of self-absolution…a stubborn and wilful refusal to see yourself as you are before a holy God…a defiantly blind unwillingness to see yourself as a sinner in need of grace and mercy from one who has no sin.

If I am to love as Aaron wants me to love, then I must love him and hate Benjamin. How can I do that? How can he want me to do that? What if the tables were turned and he was Benjamin and Benjamin was him? But this is what the rabbi teaches him…to love those who are like us and to hate those who are not like us…to love your neighbour, but only as long as your neighbour is a mirror image of yourself…everyone else is considered an enemy to be hated.  But does Moses not teach us differently? That if our enemy is in need, we must love him enough to help him?  God is a God of love…and love covers a multitude of iniquities.  

Or am I the one who is blind? Am I blinded by my love for my son…so much so that I would dare to go against the teaching of the holy Scriptures? Is that what I am doing? I search my mind…I search my soul…I search my heart. I bring to memory that which I learned in Hebrew School…that which I learned in the Torah. I cannot recall a single place where God commanded us to hate our enemies. Isn’t the very reason we exist as a nation, to display His love for the whole world? Is the law not there to attract those who live differently from us? Is our moral and ritual distinctiveness not meant to reveal the heart of God…to make the nations jealous of His goodness and righteousness and mercy and grace and forgiveness? What will they think of a God who chooses some and rejects others for no other reason but His own capriciousness? Would such a God not be unreliable? Untrustworthy? What He chooses today, He may reject tomorrow. 

God is love…and God is consistent. If He loves one, He loves all. God loves all in His world.

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Thirty-One

Entry Thirty-One: Daniel 9:4-11

But what of Benjamin’s sin? Is there a sin that cannot be forgiven? Hate can distort everything…we cannot bear reality, so we invent an alternate reality…a reality of our own, in which we see ourselves in a more favourable light. Not as God sees us…but as we want Him to see us. Here we may justify our every action and absolve ourselves from all blame. Here, we alone are righteous. Aaron has done this…the rabbi has done this…the community has done this.

How is it possible to erase a life…a whole life…because of error? Did God erase Adam and Eve? Did God erase the Patriarchs? Did God erase Israel? No. He disciplined them, yes, because He loved them. He sent them into exile and brought them back seventy years later. But He did not erase them. How could He? He says that He has indelibly inscribed us on the palms of His hands.  Our kings, our princes, our fathers…our nation…we are all covered in shame as we have all rebelled against Him. Are our thoughts always His thoughts? Are our ways always His ways?  No. No, even our best deeds are like rotten rags before Him in whom no evil dwells.  

The Lord God…at least, the Lord I believe in…He is merciful and gracious…He is forgiving and kind…even though we have rebelled against Him. All Israel has transgressed His laws…all Israel stands in need of forgiveness. Which one of us can say we have not done what Benjamin has done? 

Reality can only be viewed through the lens of love. Love is the great leveller of all…it is by love that we understand that we are all in need of mercy, forgiveness, and grace. Moses tells us that God chose us, not because we were a special people, or a great people, or a righteous people…indeed we were the least of all people…we were slaves! No, God chose us because He loves us.  So love teaches us to forgive as we have been forgiven…to love as we have been loved.

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Thirty

Entry Thirty: Psalm 14:2-3

“And what if he returns? What will you do then? He will never be welcome here…never! My brother is dead! We have mourned him dead! He is dead to me. He is dead to our community. He is dead! Dead, I tell you!” The words of Aaron…shouting at me as we sat at the table last evening. The dried date stuck in my throat…I could not swallow.

What if he returns? What will I do? This is still my home…my son is still my son…I am who I am. What has changed? Nothing. Nothing, other than Benjamin’s absence. Is it not strange that even though he has been mourned as dead, he lives on in their resentment…in their hatred? If Benjamin must live on in our memories, why not keep a less angry image…surely a negative image will continue to distress them and result in a bitterness of the soul. 

But it is a question I must consider. What will I do? What will I do if I see him walking back down the road? I search my heart. I find a place where his memory is lovingly embraced. If he returns, will his return not produce life? When I come to the Temple in Jerusalem to offer my sacrifice for atonement…my sacrifice for sin…will God not accept me? 

Benjamin is a sinner. But then, so am I. So is Aaron. When God looks down from heaven and looks into our hearts, does he not see fault in every one born of woman? Does the Psalmist not say that there is no one that does good? Not even one? Is it possible for one man to be more righteous than another, when we all stand on the same ground before God’s holiness? What separates us is not our goodness, but His mercy and grace. This is what Aaron and others like him do not understand. We are equally guilty…we are equally dead in our trespasses and sins. Not one of us can condemn another. That is God’s prerogative alone…and God accepts us each time we return to Him. What kind of a parent would I be if I do not do the same?

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Twenty-Nine

Entry Twenty-Nine: Psalm 25:7

Have I been singled out for a life of misery? Was it a sin from my youth? I cannot think of one that was not confessed…that was not brought before the priest on the Day of Atonement…that was not laid on the head of the scapegoat…that was not cleansed, after the deaths of my parents and my beloved Miriam, with the ashes of the red heifer? What is it that He has refused to blot out?

O God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, show me Your record of my iniquities…show me your books, that I might know how to redress my offences. Did I grieve my parents that my abominable behaviour has been visited back upon me? May I stand before You with my questions? I am not accusing…or am I?

Or am I asking all the wrong questions? Should I not be pointing a finger at myself rather than at the Almighty? Was I a careless parent? What did the wise author of the proverbs say? The parents who neglect to discipline their children do not care for them properly. If they loved them, they would discipline them.[i] Am I like one of those bad shepherds exposed by the prophet Ezekiel?[ii] Did I not care for my lamb that he is now lost? Was I too preoccupied with my life or with the estate? Did I disregard his real needs?

Am I the cause for his absconding? Did I offend him? Hurt him? If I did, I cannot recall the affront. Will You not speak to me? Idols have no ears…they do not hear. Do you hear me? They have no eyes…they do not see. Do you see me? They have no mouth…they do not speak. But You who made the mouth, do You have no words to address my anguish? You spoke to Job out of the whirlwind…you spoke to Elijah in the silence. Will You not look upon my pain and pity me? 

---

[i] Proverbs 13:24

[ii] Ezekiel 34

THE UNTOLD STORY: PART TWO: Deliberation - Chapter Three: Questions - Entry Twenty-Eight

PART TWO: Deliberation

Chapter Three: Questions

Entry Twenty-Eight: Genesis 37:35

I watch the road, but Benjamin’s friends do not come. They are no longer children, free to go as they please…they are working men now…bound to the same drudgery of subsistence since the rebellion of Adam. 

In my mind’s eye, I begin to imagine Benjamin walking towards me on that road. I can see him as clear as day. My heart begins to beat faster…I jump up and raise my hand in greeting…but the image vanishes like a mirage in the desert. I sit down heavily, feeling more foolish than disappointed. The longing in my heart is so intense that it deceives my muddled mind.

Am I to be eternally separated from my son? Dear God, is this the path I must walk now…must You bring my head down to Sheol in grief? May I ask You questions…questions for which You may have no answers? Have I loved my Benjamin more than I have loved You? Have I broken Your commandment? Have I made an idol of my child? Is that why You have taken him away? Did You take him away? 

Do You reign over us as a benevolent dictator? Or are You jealous, cruel, and vindicative. Vengeance is mine, says the Lord. Have You exacted Your anger by removing him? Or are You perhaps merciless, callous, and sadistic? Do You take pleasure in hurting us? When You look upon my despairing defencelessness, are You entertained? Am I a plaything in Your hand? Will You squeeze me until I break? Will Your appetite for retribution then be satiated? 

What is my sin? How have I offended You? Have I loved too greedily? Will You not answer me? I sit in silence and wait…but all I hear is the wind.

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Twenty-Seven

Entry Twenty-Seven: Proverbs 18:24

In the morning, I seek out Benjamin’s friends in the marketplace. I cannot find them. Where are they? I dare not ask for fear of betraying their confidence.

The townsfolk do not speak to me. They turn away…some uncomfortable, some aggrieved at my reluctance to follow their Rabbi’s callousness. I was once a respected member of this community…all in Jericho knew me and sought my counsel…now they turn from me as they would from a leper. 

I return home, downcast. Elizabeth greets me and whispers that the young men have been there…how did I miss them on the road? She added, nervously glancing from side to side, that they are at the river waiting for me. I hasten to the pool…the pool that once saved me from insanity…now it is become a meeting place…my Synagogue. They are there…laughing…splashing each other in the shallows where the water is not moving too quickly. Their liveliness resuscitates me. They see me and come to greet me…unashamed…like my own son, Benjamin. 

They are garrulous. I sit and listen. At times I hear things about my son that I did not know…not bad things…but things he had not told me about. Perhaps he thought I would not approve. They turn to me…they are concerned for me. I am grateful. I tell them about my experience in the marketplace. They fall silent. One says they have been instructed not to have any dealings with me…the threats are serious…even excommunication. Why do the people hate me so? For hoping? For loving? For not being willing to throw away a life. A life, I say! They agree…and make an innocent pact never to abandon me. Each one is a true friend, who sticks closer than a brother…or an older son…or even a community. My heart is overwhelmed. Is this joy I feel beating within my breast? My sleep is sweet…

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Twenty-Six

Entry Twenty-Six: Ecclesiastes 4:12

Elizabeth tells me there are some young men to see me. I tell her to bring them to Benjamin’s house. If they cross his threshold, I will welcome them.

They file in, one by one, looking sheepish…embarrassed…awkward. One appears to be quite agitated. They greet me…touch me…kiss me on either cheek as is our custom. They sit but they say nothing. The agitated one speaks first. He tells me he cannot believe we have mourned Benjamin as dead. I am struck dumb by this outburst. The other young men look away…they are mortified by their friend’s lack of tact and decorum. But the young man weeps freely…openly…he is honest…and I love him for his honesty. I reach out to him and smile. He suddenly realises that I feel the same way and he falls to his knees before me. He is shaking with emotion…they all are.

Now they begin to speak, first one then the other. They speak about Benjamin in the present tense…they speak his name. I am drinking greedily from this refreshing fountain of brotherly love. They make my son come alive to me. They tell me stories of their antics together with my Benjamin. Their energy revives my soul and rekindles my hope in humanity. I am not the only one to question the behaviour of my community…our community…I am not the only one to question the harshness of their rules…their interpretation of God’s law…their interpretation of God. 

I am aglow with life tonight. Benjamin’s friends have become my friends…no, more than friends. My lifeline. I will seek them out again. Together we will keep the flame of faith burning brightly…the preacher said that a threefold cord cannot be easily broken…first it was only me…then it was me and God…now it is me, God, and Benjamin’s friends. Surely, nothing can break this cord of hope.

THE UNTOLD STORY: Entry Twenty-Five

Entry Twenty-Five: Jeremiah 31:16-20

Eight days after Miriam left us for the bosom of Abraham, we took Benjamin to be circumcised…the sign of our covenant with God…the sign that we and our children belong to God and to His people. Strictly speaking, it was my traditional duty to circumcise him, but I did not trust my hand that day. Aaron and I took him in the early morning…the dew was still wet on the ground. Elizabeth was with us…someone…I forget who…had recommended her as a nursemaid. She stayed on, long after Benjamin had been weaned. She is more family than housemaid to me.

Miriam’s brother served as godfather. I have not seen him since Benjamin left. Does he think of his godson too? As Miriam was not present, I placed Benjamin into his arms myself. I remember his eyes…always moist…yet at different points of the ceremony, overflowing…deep pools of love spilling over and washing his tiny head…a covering of love. There was a pause in the prayer before the rabbi spoke his name for the first time. Miriam had chosen the name as she breathed out her last breath…like, yet unlike, Rachel.[i]

The celebratory meal was difficult…mealtimes always reminded me of Miriam…for years after, a well-prepared meal could bring me to tears. Many things brought me to tears then…as they do now for Benjamin…they are just different things for Miriam and different things for Benjamin. 

The law tells us that the uncircumcised male is to be considered cut off from his people…and so we believed…but Benjamin’s own people have cut him off anyway. They say he is uncircumcised of heart.[ii] But a knife has cut off a piece of my heart…then I am doubly circumcised…for me and for him. If a ram could serve as a substitute for Isaac, surely, I can be a substitute for Benjamin.[iii] Israel returned to the Lord, will Benjamin not be allowed to return? 

---

[i] Genesis 35:16-19

[ii] Jeremiah 9:25

[iii] Genesis 22:13-14

THE UNTOLD STORY: Day Twenty-Four

Day Twenty-Four: Psalm 103:1-12

Not the owner…a farm manager…but still a Gentile. He was respectful and did not approach me or attempt to embrace me as is the custom. Nor did he attempt to stop me from speaking about Benjamin. He seemed to welcome the conversation. But alas, he tells me that Herod is thinking of gifting this land to a Roman General by the name of Mark Anthony. This will only serve to exacerbate the hatred felt towards Benjamin. The gossips have it that Mark Anthony courts the unfaithful Egyptian queen, Cleopatra. I never thought that things could get worse…but I must leave the future where it is…to drag what may never happen into the present would be a grave mistake for me at this point. 

I spent the rest of the day in Benjamin’s rooms…touching his few remaining possessions. Aaron wanted to burn it all, but I said no. He cites verses in the law about the uncleanness of objects handled by the unclean…but we both know that he quotes these laws out of context. Besides, is it for us to make an error of judgement a permanent stain on the soul of another human being? Is there no forgiveness with our God? Surely God does not deal with us according to our errors…His mercy is higher than the highest heavens…if God removes our sins from us as far as the east is from the west, then who are we to chain down the sins of others? 

The fragrance of my son yet clings to his belongings. I bury my face in his robe when I sleep at night. It helps me to raise him in my dreams. I wonder if Jacob kept his son’s many coloured robe…even though it was covered in goat’s blood.[i] Did it serve as a touchable reminder of a happiness that once was his? He vowed to go to his grave mourning his son…and yet Joseph was still alive…and they were reunited many years later. Perhaps God will be merciful and grant me the same reunion. Ah, perhaps this thought was a sign from Him…?

---

[i] Genesis 37:33

THE UNTOLD STORY: Day Twenty-Three

Day Twenty-Three: Genesis 3:9

Apparently, the Rabbi wanted to see me today. I said, no. A man who will not speak my son’s name will rob me of my fragile unreal reality. It is scarcely held together by dreams and remembrances. No rabbinical logic will steal away my precious moments with my Benjamin.

Aaron seems exasperated…when he sees me, he shakes his head or rolls his eyes. He scowls at me during dinner. I am an unpleasant reminder of a brother he wishes to forget. Does his god only love the righteous? His god would not have called for Adam in the garden…his god would not have given them the promise of the seed to come…his god would not promise anything…his god would turn his back and walk away. 

My God sends sunshine to our land as well as the land that now belongs to Herod…without distinction…and He will send rain in due season too. I catch myself thinking that in this I am not unlike Aaron and his rabbi…I have been too harsh…perhaps I ought to walk over and speak to the new owner. Is he not God’s creature too? Lost, like Benjamin, yet loved still. Am I a heretic?

Perhaps I will walk in what was Benjamin’s orchard of palm trees in the cool of the evening…as God walked in the cool of the evening in the garden. Perhaps I may find an Adam of my own…an Adam who needs to be found. An Adam who may be like my Benjamin.

But for now, I sit at the river and talk to my Benjamin. Yes, I find that I can talk to him here…he makes no reply…but perhaps if I speak long enough, he will hear and come home to find me. Would he know where to find me? Would he remember this place as I do? What if he returns while I am gone? Would he not flee the home that has now become inhospitable? I must return.

THE UNTOLD STORY: Day Twenty-Two

Day Twenty-Two: Genesis 15

It was about at this time that Joshua crossed over the Jordan. The priests who carried the ark walked to the edge of the river, and as their toes touched the water, God stopped the flow of the river…even though it was flooding, as it is now.[i] Were they afraid as they advanced? The whole company crossed over, as on dry land, and entered the Promised Land…their wilderness wanderings were over…this crossing was the beginning of the fulfilment of the promises God made to the patriarchs many years prior to the actual event. About five hundred years of delayed hope lay between Abraham and Joshua. Five hundred years! How did they keep the flame of hope alive when the winds of doubt were blowing?

Moses tells us that Abraham believed God.[ii] Believed, in spite of his doubts. And yet he died without experiencing the fulfilment of the promise. Yes, he had a son, but no land…the land could only be seen through the eyes of faith. But if hope fails, does faith fail also? Not with Abraham…not with Isaac…not with Jacob…not with his descendants…not with Moses…not with Joshua. Why then does hope and faith fail with me? Is my faith that small?

I cannot think on this now. Such deliberations crowd out Benjamin…and I must keep him before my face. I am afraid that if I do not think on him, that I will forget him completely…that I will move on as the others have moved on…consigning Benjamin to an unrecalled, bygone era. I sit by the river and conjure up images…some are fleeting, others stay a little longer…but they all move on far too quickly. 

Why didn’t he stay? Why did he leave me? 

I hear his laughter…I look up, expecting to see his smiling face peering at me from behind a rock…but there is no one. Is there a promise for me to believe? If there is, what is it? 

---

[i] Joshua 3:15

[ii] Genesis 15:6

THE UNTOLD STORY: Day Twenty-One

Day Twenty-One: Psalm 42:6-7

The Jordan is even higher today than yesterday. The pool is no longer tranquil…to the contrary…it is now a dangerous sucking whirlpool. How the river mirrors my life. Twenty-two days ago, my life was flowing along pleasantly…now I am in danger of being overcome by life…of being pulled under by the sheer force of my overflowing distress.

I cannot live in my present. It is too painful…too empty…too full…uninhabitable. It feels like drowning in a barren desert. Therefore I create another existence for myself. An existence that does not exist, but one where I can breathe without pain. I must do this if I am to survive.

Benjamin is my constant companion…a pervasive presence. I seek him at the river more so than any other place…there where no one can drag me back to where I do not wish to be. Like the river, his life rushed past me all too quickly. And yet, had I tried to snatch at any event to keep it, it would have trickled out like water between my fingers. One cannot catch a moment in time and keep it…not in a physical sense. No…such things belong to the world of light and shadow…

But I am coming to learn that the mind is at once wonderful and dreadful. I can bring back the most tender moments with a mere thought…a sound…an aroma…only to have it dwindle and fade before I am ready to let it go. And my memories play tricks on me too…they are not always accurate…some events are easily confused with other events. Unpleasant memories are dealt with by my heart. My love intervenes when a negative thought comes to the surface…like the river that sucks under a broken branch only to spit it out on the bank further downstream. 

My unreal reality may only contain joy-filled moments. This is what makes the real reality bearable…spit it out or be overcome in the depths of the surging tides.

 

October 2020 Newsletter

Johann and Louise: Training Disciples to Make Disciples in Southern Africa And so he died. Alone. Asleep. Agnostic. My brother was not a believer in the strict sense of the word. But he had more of a problem with the Church than with the Lord. His life was an unhappy one and most members of the flock he met were wolves in sheep's clothing. And yet the Good Shepherd is relentless in searching for His lost lambs and I do believe that He pursued Eldon with an unfathomable love up until his final breath. So I entrust my brother to the mercy of our gracious Father.  The road trip to and from Durban where Eldon lived, was, in many ways, restorative for both Louise and myself. The lockdown prevented us from travelling for most of the year and we needed to refocus. While the reason was tragic, sad, and very stressful, the change of scenery gifted us a better perspective on many things. Like many before me, I have come to realise that suffering ought to be embraced as a tool in the hand of a benevolent Creator and that life in general is a classroom with every lesson carefully designed to bring us closer to our Master Educator. The sooner we learn to hold transitory things loosely, the more content we will be in life.  Lockdown has not been all bad. Louise and I have discovered and nurtured different spiritual gifts as we have tried to minister to others within the reality of confinement. Louise is now very involved with a local organisation called Tools 4 Life...a group that reaches out to the marginalised and disenfranchised, but more specifically to those who have special needs, both children and adults. In certain cultures, special needs are often viewed in strongly negative terms, as a curse on the family, or as punishment for wrongdoing. Consequently, the special needs folks are often rejected and alone. T4L reaches out to them and helps them cope with their many challenges.   We are also involved in an Alpha Premarital Course with 5 young couples...we are the support couple...which is fun as we are to have the couples around to our home for a meal during which we help them understand the course and alert them to areas they need to work on. All before they are married!  Johann continues to preach at the local Anglican Church and also teaches a class on the Gospels on Sunday evenings. We are still both involved in the lives of our disciples and they, in turn, are proving to be excellent disciple makers themselves!  We received news that Johann's book, Breakfast on the Beach: The Development of Simon Peter, will be published by Langham Publishers sometime mid to late 2021. He has completed the sequel to this book, For Us, For Our Children, For the World, and will send it to Langham as soon as he has done more editing work on it. He is busy writing another book based on the parable of the prodigal sons and researching the life and ministry of SPG Missionaries to South Africa during the late 1800's and early 1900's. This is the undiscovered gift he has found during lockdown.   The Covid numbers are still high, but seem to be tapering down somewhat. Crime, unfortunately is still rampant, as are instances of farm murders. But for the most part, I am convinced that the majority of Southern Africans simply want to live in peace and get on with their lives. It is sad to see racial fires stoked by a few vocal folks.   The Queen is still locked in her castle, but we do hope that these restrictions will soon be lifted. Louise and I have decided that if they are not lifted by Christmas, we will take her out temporarily so that she can at least spend the holy days with us.    You are a blessing to us. We pray for all our SAMS-USA staff, all our supporters, and all our missionaries on a daily basis. And we know you all pray for us.    Thank you for your ongoing support. We are so grateful to each one who prays for us and supports us financially and otherwise. As usual, our SAMS support account could be better, but then again it could also be worse. The Lord knows our needs and we leave that in His hands. Bless you and thank you.   All our love Johann and Louise Support Us Johann and Louise spent two years helping to develop the St. Frumentius Seminary in Gambella, Ethiopia. At present, they are mostly working in Southern Africa where they are serving in seven southern African countries, although they continue to work with the Diocese of Egypt, North Africa, and the Horn of Africa as well as other southern and northern African countries, through engaging in a disciple making movement in order to grow the body of Christ. They are partnering with J-Life and other like-minded ministries. This ministry is massive and has the ability to reach thousands. We are sent  through the Society of Anglican Missionaries and Senders, a missionary sending community, engaging in building relationships with the worldwide church to experience the broken restored, the wounded healed, the hungry fed, and the lost found through the love and power of Jesus Christ.  Support SAMS Copyright © 2016 Society of Anglican Missionaries and Senders, All rights reserved. www.sams-usa.org      Our mailing address is: PO Box 399 Ambridge PA 15003 Attention to: Johann and Louise van der Bijl Want to change how you receive these emails? You can update your preferences or unsubscribe from this list