This is part 2 of a 6 part series of posts on the Amahoro Theological Intensive, held at Bethany Retreat Centre in Entebbe Uganda, in July 2010.
The idea of using Bethany was inspired by Emmanuel’s personal calling and journey, and the village of Bethany has become the lens through which he understands the gifts and challenges of Christianity in Africa.
The themes of restlessness and gift as boundaries of Christian life and leadership are something that he has experience personally and have intersected with his reading of the stories and events that happened in the village of Bethany, two miles from Jerusalem.
Emmanuel’s own story is one of existing at the intersection of various identities and stories and never fully fitting into any category; hence a persistent sense of restlessness and never fully belonging, but at the same time experiencing this not fitting as a gift.
His parents migrated from Rwanda; his mother was Hutu and his father Tutsi. Growing up in Uganda he was never sure what he was. Social forces try to force you into one category, but reality, especially African reality, doesn’t work like that. Emmanuel is now living in the US, but will never be truly American, and yet is no longer truly African. He is a professor of theology, but was trained in philosophy, so not truly a theologian! He is a Catholic priest, but teaching at a Methodist University with protestant, Evangelical students. Hence the sense of restlessness because there is no one home, and the gift is trying to cultivate life at the intersections.
He has often been inspired by the story of Abraham; a man who goes on endless journeys, never arriving. But in the journey, having left homeland and going through strange territory, Abram becomes Abraham, living into the covenant.
For Emmanuel Africa is still home: one can’t get Africa out of the African; one can’t shake the dust of Africa off one’s feet; one can’t polish Africa and something rough and unpolished remains within.
So Emmanuel started ‘Pilgrimages of Pain and Hope’, bringing Westerners to feel the dust of Africa (literally taking off their shoes and walking in the dust). Making a virtue out of his exile in the US, he sought to bring together different categories and create a new “we”.
He needed a place for this process and started Bethany House, a place of rest and learning. The name came to him one night chasing a mosquito around the room. He couldn’t sleep, so he read the story of the woman anointing Jesus’ feet at Bethany. He followed up other events that happened at Bethany and this village became a central symbol of his ministry: restlessness and gift.
Christian life is not a burden, it is a gift: scandalous and ambitious; more than we can ask for or imagine. In the African context, it means saying no the minimization of Africa. This is what happens in Bethany: the infinitely more than one can imagine.
Stories structure lives and many are hidden. We do not see them, but we live them. They are like air, and therefore have a greater hold on our lives than if we could touch them. There are many African stories that make us think small: aim low, don’t be ambitious, just try and get by. Part of Christian leadership in Africa is to identify and name those stories, to expose them and to liberate us from those diminishing stories.
Bethany names an alternative, Christian story.
Entebbe was the centre of the colonial administration of Uganda, so the location of Bethany House is embedded in the hidden story of that colonial heritage. The trajectory of modern Uganda is still driven by the history of the colonial story. Backward Africa, can anything good come out of it? The colonial story is about extraction; taking from Africa what is useful elsewhere. The themes of grabbing and extracting still dominate postcolonial political systems, because it is driven by the hidden colonial story.
There is great irony in Africa being the poor continent, as it is the most resource rich continent on earth. But the resources are extracted and the lies of the colonial story still determine Africans’ self-understanding and identity. Africa must be liberated from the negativity and helplessness of this self-diminishing story.
The name Bethany literally means the house of poverty or misery. In Mark 14 the story of the anointing happens at the house of Simon the leper. Lazarus dies in Bethany. It could therefore be seen as a place of illness and death. It is not the glittering Jerusalem with its palace and temple, but the forgotten and backward village outside the city walls.
But the name can also be translated as God’s house for the poor. So there is a choice when we apply the analogy to Africa: confirm that Africa is the house of poverty and misery and death, or one can define it subversively as God’s house for the poor and suffering. Contrast that to the temple at the centre of the city; a house of perfection and extravagance, or the medieval cathedrals with their imposing grandeur. God’s dwelling place is associated with the most ambitious and extravagant of human constructions. So how can we infuse God’s house for the poor with this ambition, excess, abundance – not as a kind of prosperity gospel, but as God’s excess and abundance? It is not for us (as Christian leaders) but it is for the poor.
Bethany is a village. Africa is one big village, but the village in Africa is also the most abandoned place. Africans want to leave the village behind and go to the city. The village and village life must be discarded to become developed and modern. Bethany exemplifies a calling back to the village. It is village hermeneutics, seeing the village as God’s house. Theology then becomes rooted in the everyday life of the village, the rearing of goats and planting of millet, “shady tree” theology that happens as the labourers rest in the shade after a hard morning’s work. It is a quiet revolution that emerges from daily life, rather than the drama of the intelligentsia’s fomenting in the city.