08 October 2009 | Kampala, Uganda
We stayed in Kampala for our third day of training. Once again, the threat of rain did nothing to keep people away. Folks from all denominations assembled beneath a tin-roofed church building surrounded by a row of neighborhood vendors. The aroma of chapatti, and other local foods being cooked outside, wafted into the building and mixed with the ascending sounds of praise. People outside the church scurried about, doing what they do everyday. As soon as the singing started, some stopped and peered in the windows.
As in our previous days of training, we divided the almost two-hundred people present into smaller teaching groups. Perhaps the thing that has impressed our team of teachers the most is the eagerness of the learners and the steady flow of questions. Everyone, it appears, comes prepared to take notes. Again, pastors told me how grateful they were that we had come to teach on the sanctity of human life. They asked for copies of our material, which we are providing through The Comforter’s Center.
After our first break, all of our groups reassembled for another time of worship. Only this time, the host pastor invited folks to come up and sing a solo, if they felt led to do so. This was the Ugandan version of the open microphone. Several people accepted the offer and blessed us with their renditions of familiar praise songs, others made up their own songs on the spot. Some of the singers were really good and others were painfully bad, but those assembled offered equally enthusiastic applause to all. Each singer started their song in the key of their choice. After a few bars the instrumentalists locked in on the key and improvised an accompaniment.
One of the painfully poor singers was a young man who walked to the front of the room and announced that God had inspired him with a song … just moments before! He reached into his pocket and pulled out the tiny model of a twelve-week old baby that we had distributed earlier. Looking at the model he said that he wanted for God to use him to help save babies threatened by abortion. “Like Noah,” he said, “I wanna build an ark to save babies from the floods of death.” And then he started to sing. The first few dissonant notes made it clear that he was not a singer. But, there was something about his heart that was infinitely more beautiful than his singing. His heart was heavy with concern and this was his way of expressing his determination to do something to help.
It’s easy to giggle or roll our eyes when we hear someone who sings so poorly. However, I’m glad that God does not respond to us in that way. The psalmist admonished us to “make a joyful noise” (Ps. 100:1). The singer who sang his heart out about building an ark to save babies did just that. And, God received his offering. This man will never record a CD or have his song featured on iTunes, but he will do something much more important. He will stand for life in Uganda and speak on behalf of those who have no voice. I’m glad that he had the courage to sing his song. He has inspired me to continue building an ark.
This afternoon we traveled a short distance outside of Kampala to the village of Jogoseeta. My friend Joseph, who I met on my first visit to Uganda, is the pastor of the Warriors of Christ Church located on the outskirts of this village. A narrow dirt road leads from the main highway to a gently rolling hill where a half-constructed church building stands like a lighthouse overlooking a sea of deep green fields. The building is framed with slender poles nailed and wired together. The completed portion of the building is sheathed with rusty corrugated sheets of tin. A single entryway leads into the building where white and blue plastic chairs accent the hard-packed and red dirt floor. The back portion of the building is completely open to the weather.
We divided the large group into smaller teaching groups. The thing that impressed me the most was the posture of everyone present. Without exception, every person in the group was sitting on the edge of their seat. They had come to learn. And, everyone sat close to the speaker, as if by doing so they would be able to soak in more of every word. Within a short time it started to rain. The tin roof of the building amplified the impact of every drop of rain. But, no problem! The participants just leaned in a little closer and urged their respective group leaders to keep teaching.
Proverbs has much to say about roads, paths, and ways. One thing that Proverbs makes clear is that roads are linked to destinations. To embark down a road is to embark toward a destination and perhaps a destiny. The decision to embark down a road should therefore be made carefully and prayerfully. God’s Word instructs us that certain roads should be avoided altogether. We read a father’s instructions to his son in Proverbs 4:14-15, “Do not enter the path of the wicked, And do not proceed in the way of evil men. Avoid it, do not pass by it; Turn away from it and pass on.” Here we see that some roads are clearly marked “Do Not Enter” and should be avoided. However, other roads are not as clearly marked. They seem entirely safe and inviting to the unsuspecting traveler but lead to a dangerous destination. Proverbs 14:12 (and 16:25) speaks of such roads: “There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads to death.”
Early Friday morning, 
As many as 40,000 of these poor people cross the border into Thailand daily to work as day laborers. These day laborers leave their kids alone all day — and sometimes for days. Their children do not attend school. And, because they are alone and vulnerable, many are kidnapped and taken to Thailand. Girls are sold to brothels and boys are sold as cheap labor to work at construction sites and brick factories. Some of these kids are used as mules to transport drugs. Those who control the lives of these kids treat them as disposable assets. There are rumors in the slums that if young Cambodian boys get sick or are injured on the job, they are tossed into the concrete mix and entombed in a building’s foundation. The poor here know that they are vulnerable and that their lives matter little to those with money and power.
I could write about many of the faces of S-21, but two in particular have haunted me over the past few days. The first is the photograph of a man staring wide-eyed into the camera. He was prisoner number 187 and arrived at S-21 on December 10, 1978. I stopped and stared at his photograph and noted the date that indicated when he crossed the threshold into Khmer Rouge Hell. What was I doing on December 10, 1978 while this frightened man posed for Pol Pot’s photographer? I began my journey into full-time vocational ministry in 1978. I was single at the time and looking forward to driving home to enjoy Christmas with my family. Life was good for me on December 10, 1978. And honestly, I was not thinking about Cambodia or even aware of places like S-21.
The second photograph that has haunted me is a side profile of a woman. Her head is leaning against a rod placed behind her head. This rod was positioned so that prisoners would not slouch while being photographed, but instead look directly into the camera. I looked at her face and noticed something I had not seen on my previous visit – a single tear streaming down her right cheek. I wondered about how many more tears she would shed in the solitude of her filthy cell, or while being interrogated and tortured. Did she cry for herself? Did she weep for family members she would never see again? Did she weep as she nursed her own wounds or as she nursed the wounds of others? Did she weep as she knelt blindfolded before a mass grave the moment before she was struck in the back of the head and killed?
Go Beyond 