Be imitators of God

I leaned over to hear my friend’s words, words that took great energy to speak, as my friend lay ill in the hospital bed, words that took great effort for me to hear, as the other 11 patients in the small room all had numerous visitors. I got even closer, squatted down in the small gap between the bed and the wall, as he repeated the words of the missionary Paul: “Be imitators of God”.

We are in the middle of many adjustments here in Tanzania; it is as though we are having to relearn how to live. Water is different (not drinkable out of the tap, and sometimes not available from the tap). Shopping is harder. Cooking a simple meal can take several hours. Driving here (town and bush) requires complete attention and focus. And I have already disclosed the power situation.

Perhaps the biggest challenge is the loss of control we are experiencing. In America, many things aren’t as they should be, but if something is wrong, there is somebody to call, a change to be made, a complaint to be filed. And when things do not go as planned in America, our schedules and plans may be delayed, but here, our schedules and plans are often soundly defeated by the chaotic nature of Tanzanian life.

As was the case this weekend. John, a church leader here, sent word through a family member to our friend, Urbano, that his leg was in such pain he could not even walk, and he had been confined to bed for a week. Urbano borrowed a cell phone (in his village without electricity or phone lines) and called me, begging for help.

This weekend I was planning on going to a leadership training meeting, a meeting to work through issues of conflict resolution, grace vs. legalism, what it means to be a church, etc.. I wanted to be there, wanted to contribute my opinions, wanted to spend this time with the other missionaries and the leaders emerging in the church movement here. But my plans had to change.

Helping people here rarely requires great financial sacrifice, but usually requires a great amount of time. Getting John to the hospital consumed two days of time, lots of driving, getting lost in people’s cassava fields, lots of waiting. This began on Friday. It is now Wednesday, and the hospital still hasn’t examined John (the hospital is running on generators, so diagnostic tests like X-rays are greatly hindered). So I return daily, checking on him, bringing food and drink, despising the hospital, but enjoying John’s company.

John is in an advanced stage of AIDS, so it is hard to know what is going on. This could be a simple leg injury, or it could be one of the myriad ways in which HIV cripples and kills people here. So his words are even more significant, even more reflective, almost prophetic.

I squatted down at his side out of convenience, lowering myself to hear his words. “Be imitators of God,” he repeated. I yearned to hear his words, his stories, and his heart, and I found great personal clarity. I am called to imitate a God who chooses love over control, who defines greatness by service, and who humbles himself, not out of convenience or necessity, but as an outflow of his endless compassion.

Be imitators of God. A scripture now impossible to forget.