you will be known [by the love]

oh we Christians can be a hated bunch. and rightly so in way too many times and spaces [although almost always when we say or do things that aren’t particularly Christ-following in nature]

this week i was called a ‘reprobate’, told i have no spiritual teeth [i am not quite sure what that means but i think i was meant to be offended] , a ‘coward pastor’ and i think there was an insinuation that i am evil [when i said i was going to watch a movie with friends, the response that followed was ‘Even the evil love their friends and family.’ [and all this from someone who calls herself a ‘fellow believer’] all because i mentioned on facebook that i didn’t feel i had the authority to share effectively on the situation in Gaza because i am not up to speed on everything that is happening there.

³⁴ “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. ³⁵ By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” [John 13.34-35 New International Version]

this did not feel like that.

last nite, tbV and i attended a wedding of some friends of ours in Americaland… this is four days before we leave the country where we have been living and working in non-profits and return to South Africa… also about two months ago they weren’t even engaged… there was an engagement and then a sense of ‘You’re leaving when?’ and then a scurrying to make a wedding happen so that we could be there before we left for SA. i was invited to MC at the reception after the wedding and we just got to spend a fun and fondu-filled evening with church friends and especially be there for a significant life event for some friends we have gotten to know and love over here.

³⁴ A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. ³⁵ By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” [John 13.34-35 English Standard Version]

this felt a lot like that.

on the way home from the wedding, my beautiful wife Val told me a story of the way that some friends of ours really went above and beyond in terms of showing love to another friend of ours who was in a really bad place and feeling completely low. a welcome at the airport with some of her significant and favourite things and a week of just showering her with love and friendship and special attention. in a completely tired and shattered state, driving us home after the wedding and just so ready for bed, this story lifted my spirits immensely and gave me huge hope and was really not the hugest surprise knowing the people in question.

³⁴ A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another; even as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.

³⁵ By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another. [John 13.34-35 American Standard Version]

arrive home from the party and discover an envelope that a friend and someone who had worked alongside me in the youth ministry had slipped into my hand at Friday’s farewell party that other friends of ours [that we hadn’t even spent crazy time with] had offered to throw for us – open it and read amazing and encouraging words in a card but also an immensely generous gift from someone who had spent so much of last year out of a job… catch a glimpse of the photo/message book that another friend of ours [again, someone who we hadn’t spent a lot of time with] put together for us to map out significant parts of our journey in Oakland and remind us of the people we loved and who loved us along the way… close my hand around the wad of cash my bossman gave me towards buying a new computer when we get home [before this one completely catches fire and burns up from overheating] and smile again at the pics of our visit to a place called ‘Bacon Bacon’ which could only be the best place to take me to celebrate the end of working for him…

^34-35 “Let me give you a new command: Love one another. In the same way I loved you, you love one another. This is how everyone will recognize that you are my disciples—when they see the love you have for each other.” [The Message]

all of those things felt a lot like this.

don’t get me wrong. there are definitely times to call people out and to challenge people when they are not living up to the message they are proclaiming. Jesus had a field day with the Pharisees and the people in the temple and on many occasions even His own disciples. there is a time for harsh words and sometimes even harsh actions.

But the first 3 verses of 1 Corinthians 13, remind us of this important principle:

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. ² If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. ³ If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Which is followed by this reminder of the kind of choice Love that often takes a little bit more effort, and personal cost, and perseverance, to achieve:

⁴ Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. ⁶ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. ⁷ It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

⁸ Love never fails.

If the person or the thing or the event, does not have love, then it is not of God.

The Love of God is the tattoo of the Christian. It is the mark by which we will be known and recognised.

It will hopefully do the job of helping attract other people towards God.

Who is the Source of all that is Love and Good and Right.

Thank you to all of those who have loved us well in the whole of life, but especially in these last few weeks and days… it has been muchly appreciated!

My new heart tattoo.

Okay, so i don’t have a heart tattoo. Or any tattoo. And time is running out for me to get my first one before i leave Americaland [have the money, don’t have the right design!]

But i just started reading the book, ‘Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion’ by Father Gregory Boyle [who i heard speak at CCDA last year in a deeply moving session] and already it is breaking me up into tiny little pieces… in a good way.

And being hardly into the book at all, i can tell you that you should just go online and order as copy right now because it is going to be that good. And it is a simple to read book containing many stories and some thoughts and reflections.

As well as sharing some meditations and poetry from others along the way:

‘Find the real world, give it endlessly away, grow rich flinging gold to all who ask. Live at the empty heart of paradox. I’ll dance with you there – cheek to cheek.’

[the poet Rumi, quoted by Father Gregory Boyle in ‘Tattoos on the heart.’]

And then a bunch of stories, but this one smacked me across the face, forgetting to remove its medieval styled iron gauntlet in the process:

From the Introduction: Dolores Mission and Homeboy Industries

The original bakery [set up using former gang members as employees] was hugely famous from its first week. News crews would visit us almost daily. Articles were written with photos of enemies working alongside one another. Tour groups came from all over the world. Busloads of Japanese tourists dropped by. Even Prince Charles’s’ business advisors swooped down on us. “Pip Pip Cheerio” meets the Homies.

Our foreman at the time was a man named Luis, in his mid-twenties, who arguably had been among the biggest, savviest drug dealers our community had ever knows. We knew each other for more than a decade, and any offer of a job was always, graciously, but surely, declined. Luis was as smart as they come ad quick-witted.

He used to say, “When we were kids, we would play Kick the Can but so did the cops. You know, they’d play Kick the Mexi-Can or Kick the PuertoRi-Can.”

He never got caught. Too smart. If the cops rolled by and he was standing with me, he’d mumble, “Beam me up, Scottie.”

But when his daughter, Tiffany, was born, things changed. He wanted to work at the bakery, and his natural leadership abilities soon moved him up to foreman. Not only did he work with former rivals, he also supervised them, which is a great deal more difficult.

One day we received an odd request for a tour from farmers from the central valley of California. They want to see the bakery. It’s part of Luis’s job to greet the busloads and the film crews. He hates this part of his job, and his whining could make your teeth ache.

“Do I gotta?”

The day the farmers arrive, he and I are waiting for the bus to pull up, and I’m swinging at his whiny complaints like a bunch of pesky gnats.

Finally, the bus drives into the awkward bakery parking lot and I wave and direct it to its reserved spot. It’s one of those ultramodern buses, sleek and slick, equipped with a microphone at the front of the bus for the tour guide.

Luis pretends he’s the tour guide. “Welcome to Homeboy Bakery,” his voice nasally drones with tour-guide disinterest. “Observe gang members in their natural habitat.”

He is holding his fist up to his mouth, for greater amplification. “Please keep your hands in the bus at all times. Do not attempt to feed the homies. They are not yet tame.”

“Cállate, cabrón,” I say through the part of my mouth not smiling, welcoming our visitors from the farmland as they get off the bus.

Later in the day, I visit the bakery several blocks from my office. Seeing Luis triggers the memory of his earlier tour.

“Oye,” I ask him. “How’d the tour go?” 

“Damn, G,” he shakes his head. “What’s up with white people anyway?” 

I was actually curious as to what was up with us.

“I don’t know, what is up with us?”

“I mean, damn,” he says, “They always be using the word GREAT.”

“We do?”

“Oh, hell yeah. Watcha. This buncha gabachos stroll in here and see the place, and it’s all firme and clean and machines workin’ proper, and they say, “This place is GREAT.” And then they see the homies, tú sabes, enemies working together all firme, and they say, “You fellas are GREAT.” Then they taste our bread and they go, “This bread… it’s GREAT.” I mean, damn, G, why white people always be usin’ the word ‘GREAT’?”

I tell him I don’t know. But, trust me, every opportunity I could find after that, I tell him how ‘GREAT’ he is, just to mess with him a little. 

Some four months later, it is nearly closing time, and I arrive at the bakery in the evening. Luis sees me in the parking lot from inside the building and rushes outside. He’s excited, and yet “enthusiasm” is not ever the card with which Luis leads. He’s too cool for that. He barely lets me get out of my car.

“Hey, G,” he says, thrilled to see me, “You not gonna BELIEVE what happened to me yesterday after my shift.”

He proceeds to tell me that, after work, he goes to pick up his four-year-old daughter, Tiffany, at the babysitter’s. He puts her in the car, and they drive to their tiny apartment, where, fr the first time, Luis is paying rent with honestly earned, clean money. He unlocks the front door, and Tiffany scurries in, down the hallway, and lands in their modest sala. She plants her feet in the living room and extends her arms and takes in the whole room with her eyes. She then declares, with an untethered smile, “This… is GREAT.”

He tells me that he lowers himself to her eye level, placing his hands on his knees for support. 

“What’s great, mija?”

Tiffany clutches her heart and gushes, “MY HOOOME!” 

Luis seems to be unable to speak at exactly this moment. Our eyes find each other, and our souls well up, along with our eyes. We can’t stop staring at each other, and tears make their way south on our faces. After what seems like longer than I’m sure it was, I break the silence.

I point at him. “You…did… this. You’ve never had a home in your life – now you have one. You did this. You were the biggest drug dealer in this town, and you stopped and baked bread instead. You did this. You’ve never had a father in your life – and now you are one… and I hate to tell you this… but… you’re great.”

And I hate to have to tell YOU this, but the first time I retrieved this story from my memory bank was to tell it at Luis’s funeral. He wasn’t doing anything wrong on the day he was killed. He was loading the trunk of his car, in the projects, readying himself for a camping trip with friends. Two gang members, with their faces covered, entered their “enemy’s” territory, looking for “fools slippin’.” They saw Luis and must have thought to themselves, “He’ll do.” They walked up to him and executed him.

I told the “Great” story at Luis’s funeral largely because of the questions I had repeatedly been asked by his friends and homies during the week that spanned his death and his burial. 

“What’s the point?,” they’d ask. “of doing good… if this happens to ya?”

It was a good question, worthy of a response. I told the packed church that Luis was a human being who came to know the truth about himself and liked what he found there. 

Julian of Norwich, a fourteenth-century female English mystic, saw the life struggle as coming to discover that we are “clothed in God’s goodness.”

This became Luis’s life’s work. He embraced this goodness – his greatness – and nothing was the same again. And, really, what is death compared to knowing that? No bullet can pierce it.

WITH THAT MOON LANGUAGE

Admit something:

Everyone you see, you say to them,

“Love me.”

Of course you do not do this out loud;

Otherwise,

Someone would call the cops.

Still though, think about this,

This great pull in us to connect.

Why not become the one

Who lives with a full moon in each eye

That is always saying

With that sweet moon

Language

What every other eye in this world

Is dying to

Hear.

[Hafez]

[To read another extract, ‘The Smell of Feet’, click here]

[To read the post i wrote after listening to Father Gregory Boyle speak at CCDA, click here]

The Character Equation – part Speaking the Silence

 

As i have been looking at some aspects of a person’s life that i see as defining them as being a person of good character, the last two posts i did focused on Living out the Words you Speak and Speaking out the Words you Live. I see both of those as powerful indicators of the character you have as a person and both areas that are good to focus on or invite the accountability of others into if you are trying to become a better person.

But a third related aspect comes to mind when it comes to speaking, and that is being able to realise the times and moments when you shouldn’t. Sometimes offering someone the gift of silence can be the very best thing you can do.

Sometimes all that people need is your presence, to know that you showed up and are there for them and if they need to talk and get something off their chest or if they need to share their emotions [be it grief or anger or confusion or despair] that you are there to give them the opportunity to do just that. You aren’t going to challenge or rebuke or give answers or make light of whatever it is they are going through, but you are going to be a someone who cares enough to be around.

i do think, however, that this is not a blanket rule and so it requires a certain amount of wisdom and often a large amount of relationship. Because some people really do want the words in some of the same situations and so this requires a certain amount of knowing to be able to pick the moments when you should speak and when you should listen and also when you should just be.

BE SURE TO TASTE YOUR WORDS BEFORE YOU SPIT THEM OUT

I used this quote with the last piece in terms of advising us when we need to speak what we live. But they apply equally well here. Sometimes you will take a moment to taste the words you are about to spit out and realise that they taste bitter or foul and so to be a person of good character in that moment is to hold them back, or swallow them and keep the bad taste to yourself.

Sometimes someone realises that they are jerk and don’t need yet another person confirming it to them.

Sometimes someone is painfully aware they have made a mistake and does not need your enthusiastic announcing of the fact.

Sometimes, just keep them to yourself.

Proverbs 18.21 ²¹ The tongue has the power of life and death and those who love it will eat its fruit.

Or ye olde, ‘If you don’t have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all.’ [which doesn’t necessarily apply always, because sometimes we do need to speak out against injustice and cruelty and more, but it is a good default go-to setting for those times when we are not sure].

A last point to consider is that we live in a world of noise and activity and instant gratification and speed. I believe it can be so helpful and healing for a person to be able to step away from that for a moment, for an hour, for a day or even longer, and embrace the silence. To not need the noise/activity/connection. To be able to switch off and unplug and step away and be still and know and meditate and remember and consider and dream…

Let Silence be something you carry around with you, and bring out when necessary and helpful, both for yourself and for others. 

 

[For the next post in this series looking at Character, focusing on saying and being “Sorry!” click here]

Be the Significance

a short while ago i stumbled on to this link about these 2 college students who snuck into an empty classroom and then did some incredibly creative stuff.

i can only imagine the effect it would have had on the students. the anticipation that it would have built up in the whole school of which class is going to be next, what saying is going to appear, how is it going to look and all of that.

a very simple act yet i imagine it had a deeply profound effect on the majority of people in the school – bringing smiles and inspiration and energy to add to whatever is already going on in that school.

THERE’S A NEW GANG IN TOWN

sadly, i have only joined them three times since being in Oakland, but yesterday i was connected once again to the amazing work they do through this article. tbV and i live in East Oakland in 61st Ave which has its fair share of gunfire outside our apartment, but it is closer to 80th and 90th where things get a little more shady. It’s called the Oakland night walk and happens every Friday night where a group of roughly 50 people from different churches and community groups [and many not from this part of Oakland] gather at one of four rotating churches and then head out on the streets to walk in two big groups to promote piece. no specific agenda or message for the people they encounter along the way, except to say we care about this neighborhood and we want the violence to stop. presence on the streets – and the murder [and i think general crime] rate in the area, has dropped considerably since they started in October two years ago.

 WHAT CAN I DO?

i read some stories from South Africa yesterday of violence which has become all too ‘normal’ and it is so easy to become disheartened and leave like so many people have. it is hard to blame them, when there are countries they can go to [especially if they have children] where they and their family can feel safe and not have to live in constant fear that something might happen.

i get it. that is a natural response.

but another response, especially for those of us who feel a special pull towards South Africa [and believe me, despite living in Americaland for the last three years doing non-profit work, the pull has always been to South Africa] is to seek to be a part of the change we want to be. a significant change. in both the movies Antz and ‘A Bug’s Life’ the majority of small, weak bugs are being bullied by the minority of larger, more aggressive bugs and in the end, the smaller ones win simply through strength of numbers and through standing together.

i am convinced that those who want South Africa to be a great country are in the majority. but we feel small and weak and powerless and something significant will only happen once we band together and figure out what that looks like. i don’t believe that violence to curb the violence is the answer [or even military or police force or weapons or anything like that] – i believe it is creativity and unity that will help bring about the difference.

looking at the two examples above, one is an example of incredible creativity and gifting – i cannot for the life of me draw like that, and if it is up to my artistic creative skills, South Africa is doomed. but i can walk. as can most of the people i know. but i also know an incredible amount of people who can draw well. and so maybe it’s both. the incredibly creative and gifted and skilled… and those who just show up and say, “I am here!” if we can figure out what it looks like for these South African ants to rise up in peaceful defiance against the bullies and the violence and the corruption, then maybe there is a lot of hope for my country.

how are you being significant? what stories do you know like the ones mentioned here of things already happening in South Africa? we need to be hearing more of these as they will bring hope and help rally the troops and inspire and life and give ideas and together we can see it start to happen. 

New [to me] songs that are rocking my world…

music played such a huge role in my visit back to South Africa that we have just returned from.

the first was a gift within a gift. we were given the use of a car by two people [only one of whom i actually knew before the trip and hadn’t been in contact with for about 15 years til a week before i posted a ‘looking for a car’ ad on Facebook] who decided that for a month they could work with one car and so gifted us their other one.

as much as that was the hugest gift ever [thank you Kerstin and Carl Fourie – Kerstin used to be one of the youth girls at the church i worked at about 15 years ago] they left a worship cd [a mixed cd they had made out of other worship cds they own] in the car and until we realised there were other cds in the cubbyhole which took a few days, i listened to that one again and again and really loved the opportunity to be immersed in worship, especially when it was just me driving alone.

two songs in particular stuck out and i kept on meaning to Uncle Google the lyrics and kept forgetting and the one time i remembered the only thing that came up was Belinda Carisle’s ‘Heaven is a place on earth’ which it very definitely wasn’t.

finally i remember to write the lyric on my arm and discovered pretty quickly that it was a song called ‘I will be blessed’ [anyone that knows my feelings to the word ‘blessed’ will appreciate the irony] off the extended version of his album ‘Every Kingdom’.

i’m not sure if there is an official video to the track because this is all i found, but i find it completely haunting and mesmerising and it just really stuck in my head and heart:

 

the second song, i still don’t know what it was and will have to bug Carl and Kerstin someday to list every song on that album so i can track it down…

the second occasion was when i was invited to a Christian Arts presentation by my friend Nurden Cross who used to be from Sarepta during my Newsong Festival days…

i got the chance to watch clips from a number of upcoming christian songs and movies and there is definitely some good stuff to be getting excited for. the band and song that particularly moved me was by a band called The Rend Collective Experiment and this song and video called ‘Build Your Kingdom Here’ off their album, ‘Homemade Worship by Handmade People’ which i just LOVE LOVE LOVE for the energy and enjoyment that these people exude as they worship God:

 

so yeah, two great experiences with two great songs [well, three if i could remember the other one] and actually on the last day i was driving back from tbV’s folks having dropped something off and trying to find these songs and came upon ‘You are holy’ [You are Holy] which i think is by Michael W. Smith of all people and it just completely reduced me to tears – i find that song so powerful, but just the happening of ongoing worship music happening around me was such a strong and precious memory of my time in South Africa. Was given an iTunes voucher for my birthday and am definitely going to hunt down both those albums when i have a moment.

thank you South Africa, and South Africans for those gifts…

 

 

The Greatest Man Who Ever Lived? A tribute to Nelson Mandela.

So Nelson Mandela is dead.

And while it is a time of sadness and mourning in many ways, it is also a time of huge relief for many of us who watched him get really really old and then really really sick and we just wished him moments out of the spotlight and a time of finally being able to rest.

It has been interesting experiencing this time of his passing – like a Twin Towers moment, the question of ‘Where were you when it was announced that Madiba had passed on?’ will no doubt stick in many peoples’ minds and be the source of stories for years to come, especially as parents try to give their children a glimpse of who this man was and what he did for our country, and even the world.

WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE NEWS OF MANDELA’S DEATH BROKE?

I was sitting on our bed at home and Val came in and shared the news and we quickly found the CNN commentary and sat for a couple of minutes which became hours listening to stories and watching pictures of his life and of those gathering outside his house dancing as a united group and heard people from around the world paying tribute.

Part of it seemed quite surreal being so far away and yet I felt strangely reassured by comments and status updates from other friends of mine from South Africa who are in the UK or Canada or some of my improv mates who are doing shows in Reunion Island – we formed part of this unspoken group, brought together by the fact that we experienced the moment and the occasion while not being close enough to see the effect around the country.

So many extreme reactions and statements and experiences and reflections flying around cyberspace and the social networking arena has also added such a eclecticnicity [it should be a word!] to the proceedings – from profound remembrances like this one of Bono sharing about the man who could not cry and this one by my friend Cara sharing about her experience of meeting Mr Mandela and the reminder that there is work to be done -to more insightful challenging ones like this one titled ‘Mandela will never, ever be your minstrel’ – through subtle yet honouring messages like this one by traditionally satirical website, The Onion, which tongue-in-cheekedly claimed that Nelson Mandela would be the first politician to be missed – through to the unfortunate and ridiculous of other less known satirical websites running stories as if they were reporting real events of Kanye West claiming he will be the new Nelson Mandela or the hoax tweet allegedly posted by Paris Hilton that Nelson Mandela’s “I have a dream” speech had been a huge inspiration to her – and to the horrific yet not-too-unexpected news that the Westboro Baptist ‘church’ are at it again and are looking to picket his funeral [which honestly feels like a life-shortening endeavour] to go alongside their ‘Mandelainhell’ hashtag.

Just so many thoughts and reactions and commentaries and sights and sounds.

THE LEGACY OR THE EXAMPLE?

A lot of people have spoken of the legacy of Nelson Mandela. While others [particularly in the comments sections of various articles – seriously that is where all the troll-breeding happens – comments sections are the modern day bridges of the village path that is the internet] have taken much delight in pointing out that we are still at or near the tops of the charts when it comes to murder and violent crime and rape and so on. And that certainly doesn’t feel like a legacy worth celebrating.

I guess there was definite legacy in the fact that Nelson Mandela, released from prison after 27 years, came out in such a humble, peaceful and forgiving way and that our first all-inclusive elections which historically should have been in the midst of a civil war, were so relatively peaceful and that the transition of government took place fairly seamlessly. Mandela’s attitude and stance seemed to play such a huge role in terms of transitioning in peace. So definitely some legacy there.

But when I think of legacy I think of the idea of inheritance, of what has been left behind. And while that does include a lot of good, it also includes a lot of mess. Unfortunately, for the most part, the politicians and presidents that followed Mandela do not seem to be a huge part of that legacy. Stories of corruption, greed and nepotism break almost weekly and threaten to send South Africa the way of so many other countries.

When I look at those things, I imagine a lot of them must have made Nelson Mandela sad. I wonder how much hope he had for the nation when he watched as those, he stepped quickly out of the way of power for, did not seem to follow a lot of what he was about…

And so that is why I think I would rather choose the word ‘Example’ over that of ‘Legacy’ because that is really what we are hoping the current government and future leaders and the younger people growing up in South Africa will take on. And just like any analogy is only as strong as the point it is making, so it is important for us to remember that Nelson Mandela was not perfect, he was not a saint [which he said countless times himself [‘I am not a saint, unless you think of a saint as a sinner who keeps on trying.’] and he certainly was not a Messiah [there has been and only ever will be one of those] but we can learn so much from the aspects of his life that were worth celebrating and definitely worthy of emulating in our own.

When I think of Mandela, what stands out for me was the joy with which he seemed to embrace life and freedom and leadership. He really seemed to be such a huge figure who was just able to be. His almost naughty-at-times sense of humour, his powerful and mesmerising laugh, the way he reached out to people and gave them time and attention and looked them directly in the eyes. His dancing. That stands huge as a memory of him I will hold on to for a while. The Madiba sway – hands in fists, African shirt, side to side motion with a huge smile on his face as he commanded the rhythm of the music.

THE GREATEST MAN WHO EVER LIVED

Was he the greatest man who ever lived? No, I don’t think so. Firstly because I believe that title goes to Jesus Christ. And secondly because I strongly imagine that the majority of the greatest men and women who ever lived, hardly anyone will ever know about – because they served and they loved and they gave their lives quietly behind the scenes, out of the spotlight, with no recognition, simply because they knew it to be the right thing to do. Did Nelson Mandela do some great things and demonstrate an incredible example and achieve a whole lot of good? Absolutely. We should never forget that, but we should also always hold that in perspective. Whenever you put a human being on a pedestal, at some point it is bound to crumble and crash to the ground. Because we are all flawed and messy. And therein lies what is worth celebrating – that despite his flaws and brokenness and messiness [and there was definitely that- both before and after prison] he was able to inspire and give hope and make some bold moves and express a whole lot of love.

Which, after all, is the greatest thing anyone can ever do. Love, and love well.

Rest in peace Mandela. Thank you for the example.

Mandela… a time to remember.

Yes, he was just a man, and should never be seen than anything more than that [and just like all of us he was flawed and would be the first to admit it] but having said that he demonstrated with his life so much more than most men do and so he was a very special man and it is fitting that we take some time to celebrate and mourn and remember the legacy that MUST cause us to examine ourselves and see where each of us can live better.

Some images of some of the different aspects of Nelson Mandela’s life to remind us of his smile, his charisma, his life and humility…

Followed by some testimony from U2 lead singer Bono who in this article gives tribute to Nelson Mandela, specifically to his focus on poverty:

Mandela saw extreme poverty as a manifestation of the same struggle. “Millions of people … are trapped in the prison of poverty. It is time to set them free,” he said in 2005. “Like slavery and apartheid, poverty is not natural. It is man-made and it can be overcome … Sometimes it falls on a generation to be great. You can be that great generation.” It certainly fell to Mandela to be great. His role in the movement against extreme poverty was critical. He worked for a deeper debt cancellation, for a doubling of international assistance across sub-Saharan Africa, for trade and private investment and transparency to fight corruption. Without his leadership, would the world over the past decade have increased the number of people on AIDS medication to 9.7 million and decreased child deaths by 2.7 million a year? Without Mandela, would Africa be experiencing its best decade of growth and poverty reduction? His indispensability can’t be proved with math and metrics, but I know what I believe …

Reminding us of his humour and humility:

He had humor and humility in his bearing, and he was smarter and funnier than the parade of world leaders who flocked to see him. He would bait his guests: “What would a powerful man like you want with an old revolutionary like me?”

He finishes off the article by explaining why Nelson Mandela was the man who could not cry:

Laughter, not tears, was Madiba’s preferred way—-except on one occasion when I saw him almost choke up. It was on Robben Island, in the courtyard outside the cell in which he had spent 18 of his 27 years in prison. He was explaining why he’d decided to use his inmate’s number, 46664, to rally a response to the AIDS pandemic claiming so many African lives. One of his cellmates told me that the price Mandela paid for working in the limestone mine was not bitterness or even the blindness that can result from being around the bright white reflection day after day. Mandela could still see, but the dust damage to his tear ducts had left him unable to cry. For all this man’s farsightedness and vision, he could not produce tears in a moment of self-doubt or grief.

He had surgery in 1994 to put this right. Now, he could cry.

Today, we can.

I want to close this post with a tribute sung by Johnny Clegg and Peter Gabriel at the 46664 concert and one of my favourite African songs: Asimbonanga