I think at this point, most people are at least mildly aware of the social justice issues around access to water (if not, it’s likely you have consistent internet access- Google it). For many of us, it’s a given that when we open the faucet or press a button in our kitchen, bathroom, shower, washer machine, dishwasher, toilet, garden hose, etc. water will come forth. It’s that simple. In most cases, this water is also clean and drinkable. Now, by no means do my community mates and I lack access to water- we are still privileged in this context, but we do have to think much more about our water. We have a water tank in our compound that gets filled with rain water and during dry season by pipes from the city. We then fill buckets from this tank for multiple uses. One bucket stays in the kitchen for dishwashing, cleaning vegetables and boiling and filtering for drinking water. Other buckets get filled for laundry. The dirty water from laundry is then used for flushing the toilets. Other buckets get filled for bathing. Again, remember, we are still privileged in this context. Most of our neighbors do not have a water tank, most of our neighbors have to carry their buckets to communal tanks and pay per bucket of water. So, water is not a given, it is a sacred resource.
Water has a complex identity- it’s necessary, yet commodified; life-giving, yet destructive. Before coming to Tanzania, I intimately witnessed the destructive powers of water as I rummaged through 20 years of summer memories with my brother and dad as we cleaned out our bungalow which had taken on about 3 feet of water in Superstorm Sandy. It was emotionally draining, smelly, and physically exhausting. And we were lucky. We were really lucky. Many others lost everything- all of their memories, not just the summer ones, all of their belongings, not just the beach-themed ones. On Palm Sunday, as we were preparing to leave for retreat, parts of our Luhanga neighborhood and parish experienced the destructive power of water. Rainy season began a few weeks ago and since then we’ve had periods of consistent and heavy rainfall pretty much each day. The river near the parish was quite full already and it couldn’t take any more when the rains poured down for about two hours straight, so it overflowed and flooded the surrounding area. This same area experienced a historically destructive flood last year, thankfully this one was not of the same caliber, but it caused damage nonetheless and as is frequently the case, the poor were the ones most affected.
Now, I realize this next part might upset some people, I acknowledge that, but I want to challenge you . . . Superstorm Sandy got weeks worth of media coverage. People in Tanzania knew about it; they knew about a storm that was happening thousands of miles away from them in a land in which they could only dream of stepping foot, and yet, this river, right in their backyard floods pretty much every year and destroys homes, schools, businesses and regularly disrupts daily life. Did you know about it? I wouldn’t have. There weren’t any news reporters donned in parkas and galoshes covering the “Great Luhanga Flood” and I’m pretty certain that other small towns and villages throughout the world are regularly affected by these natural disasters which no one hears about. Now, one could argue that this flood was not of the same caliber as Superstorm Sandy, there wasn’t as much at stake, not as much money and resources destroyed, not as much valuable time was lost. In doing so, though, we are neglecting the years of back breaking work that went into accumulating just enough money to secure the small home by the river; we would be placing a value judgment on one person’s life and livelihood over another’s. We are saying, “One person’s time is worth more than another’s. One person’s health and safety is more important than another’s.” Some people might be comfortable with that assessment, but I’m not comfortable with it, it makes my heart break. In being comfortable with that, we’re saying, “Yeah, it’s ok that some people get all of the news coverage, all of the resources, all of the opportunities to create a stable, happy life for their families. They deserve it more than others.” When frequently, not always, but frequently this ‘worthiness’ is determined by an event over which we have absolutely no control- our birth. And the variety of situations into which a baby is born throughout the world varies about as greatly as the possibility of careers I have the opportunity to pursue. I am implicated in this dilemma, we all are, but that implication is cause for hope, not despair, because that means that each one of us is enabled to:
do something and do it well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest. We may never see the end results, but that’s the difference between the master builder and the worker. We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own. (prayer attributed to Archbishop Oscar Romero)
Now, we each just need to figure out the unique way in which we are called to do something.
Just before the flood on Sunday, the congregation of Luhanga Parish raised their palms to be blessed by Holy Water. On Monday evening, I ran to the ocean and instantly felt rejuvenated and closer to home. In September, my nephew was baptized by Holy Water, a symbol of his ‘death to an old life of sin and rebirth in Christ,’ in January my grandfather received his Last Rites and his casket was blessed with Holy Water, a sign of his transition from one life to the next. If we look closely enough- God is in everything, a glass of water, a flood, a birth, a death, a shower, an ocean, a cup of tea.
