Dirty Church

The church floor was filthy.  I had never seen such a dirty church floor.  Clods of black dirt covered the shiny white tiles and black bare feet stood on it or traipsed in more.  At first I thought, “Why don’t they clean this up and take more pride in their church?”

But then I looked at the eager devoted faces, then at their dress, then at their feet.  If they wore shoes they were all now left at the door and by removing their shoes at the door, they were showing reverence for God’s House.  This was the church at Bulolo in the highlands of Papua New Guinea.

The flower decorations were brilliant and vases of bright lilies and crotons filled the many vases at the front of the church.  Obviously the women had contributed and created these marvellous displays.  Besides, I had seen them preparing the church with flowers on a previous visit.

Hundreds of faithful church members had come from near and far to see and hear the important people from the church Union office in Lae.  They wanted to hear the news of the world church, to hear a sermon that would encourage them and to share their music with us.  A number of fine singing men’s groups sang their hearts out and the congregation joined in beautiful harmony  when we sang the old time hymns.  The deacons passed the offering bags along the rows and over the heads of the many children filling up the aisles.  They bags were bulging when they reached the rostrum.

When they were told that PNG had the highest offering/tithe percentage per membership in the South Pacific region, they were elated and broad smiles precipitated a loud applause.  They were justifiably proud of their church.

The divine service proceeded followed by the Sabbath School lesson because the electricity would be cut off at that time and no loud speakers would be available.  The teacher was an enthusiastic school master and many men responded to his proddings and questions.  The president of the Union, Leigh Rice and then Bob Butler, CFO, spoke after the lesson time with more news and current event stories from across the country of PNG.  Many men again asked further questions or asked for clarification about this or that.  Not one woman spoke although all had eager anticipation written all over their faces. 

I turned to the women near me and said,  “Why don’t you ask something?  You must have some questions.  Ask what the church is doing for women.”

They shyly looked at me and said “Oh no, the men can speak.”

I was disappointed with this lack of confidence but was well aware that these same women led the community with their activities of caring for their own homes, for the cooking and cleaning of homes and churches, for the flower arranging, for the teaching in the Sabbath School and the nearby church school, for the heavy gardening work they would do and the carrying of huge loads of firewood on their backs.  They were the ones who put together the exquisite flower arrangements in the church – put there to honour my visit and to bless me with their kindness.

I knew that ultimately they held the society together and without them, this church would be empty, the town would be wild, the streets dangerous for it is here that there has been big tribal tensions with men warring with each other.

But I wished that these same women might feel freer to stand up, speak out and be leaders in their church – equal with the men as Jesus taught us.  PNG has one of the highest rates of domestic violence and abuse in the world.  It is time for my church to help change that by demonstrating their acceptance and support of women in equal partnership in the church.

I thank God for the women of PNG who clean the church floors, arrange the flowers, care for the children, grow and cook the food and are wiling to sit back and let the men speak.  I suspect they might be just a bit too tired.

Written July 25, 2015

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Angie at Haus Clare

Every Thursday afternoon I visit the Haus Clare – a home for unwanted children. It is just up the road from my house opposite the SDA church I attend on Sabbaths. Here children are sent from the police or Social Welfare department to wait to be processed and sent back to parents or a safe place. Many are found on the streets too young to fend for themselves. Others are dropped off at the gate while some are delivered by the police. I go there to read or to be read to. Most of the children are poor readers mainly because of lack of opportunity, love and not being listened to.

They are very responsive to love and attention. Most want to sit close and touch me. They all want to be hugged and kissed. They range from babies to teenagers. Teen girls are there because they have wandered the streets, some have been raped or beaten and others chased way from their homes.

We sit in a community room which Iris and I decorated with paint last year – into a Happy Room. The brightly coloured walls are a reminder that there is beauty in the world and that these children are loved by someone, somewhere. Many children participated in the painting with Iris painstakingly and carefully guiding their hands and hearts. It was a labour of love.

Last week I met Angie. She is only 16 and comes from Goroka. She had only just arrived at Haus Clare. She is there because she had been packed raped by her biological father and his friends. She has grown up with adoptive parents in an Adventist home. That father is short tempered and beats the children when he wants to. She is not able to go outside the gate because her first father is looking to kill her if he finds her. She reported his crime to the police. She asked me for a Great Controversy to read and other Adventist books. She is beautiful, softly spoken and wants to be a lawyer so she can help sort out family problems like she has experienced. How can she ever pursue her dream I wondered?

Daniel is a gentle big boy, just 11 years old. He has been there for a few months and can smile freely now. When he first arrived, he was sullen and frightened and looked very sad. His parents had tried to hang him and the scars were all around his neck and face. He enjoys reading and I encourage him to help the young ones. As I hug and encourage him to trust in God I wonder what will become of him?

Sarah is a small pretty 8 year old girl, mostly full of shy smiles. She cannot read but loves to look at the pictures and speak out the simple words she recognizes. She craves attention and sits very close. Last week she fell over on the gravel and began to cry uncontrollably and loudly. I called her to come and sit on my knee. As I held her tightly she calmed down and although with a sad sullen face, we read a happy story. What parent could resist this beautiful child I wondered?

Every week there is someone new to love and read to. After the reading time they all go to their main meal of the day – usually rice or sweet potato. Their carers know them all by name and do their best to take the place of a parent. Many of the carers themselves come from broken or sad homes.

Every week my heart is broken again as I sit with these precious children and hear some of their stories.

Every week I wish I had a magic wand to fix all their troubles.

Every week I wish I had more money to bestow on their families and provide decent food and housing for them.

Every week I wish I could ease the heartaches of them all – the children, their parents, the helpers, the poor and suffering people in Papua New Guinea.

Unfortunately I don’t have the answers but I can help to bring a little love and friendship where it is so desperately needed.