A true shepherd

Creating contacts that would allow travel into southern Sudan is a difficult process. There is no office to call to gain permission from those who control this war-torn region.

It was decided instead that we would go to a town in northern Uganda called Adjumani. In Adjumani there is a small town but there are also about 100,000 refugees that have fled the south taking cover from the government’s onslaught.

Adjumani takes the appearance of thousands of people who decided to go camping for the weekend but then, after forgetting their stuff, decided to stay for 10 years. We met pastors who in the face of great sacrifice have remained to shepherd their flocks. Many of these men have other options but have decided to stay -- demonstrating they have obtained the status of shepherd rather than being mere hirlings. One of these men we met was Pastor Augustine of an African Inland church. We traveled with him through refugee camps preaching, praying and sharing in both Anglican and African Inland Church congregations.

On a visit to one such congregation, I was offered a gift. As we were leaving, I was presented with a goat. I tried, unsuccessfully, to graciously not accept the goat. I explained to them that I could not take the goat with me on my return to the United States. They seemed perplexed, not understanding how a man could travel without his livestock. In the end they would have it no other way. I was to take the goat.

We laughed as we departed in our Toyota Land Cruiser at the thought of going back to our guest house with our goat on board. We laughed at the gift of droppings our goat shared in the back seat on the way. Nothing harmful or malicious -- just laughter at a humorous event. Pastor Augustine reminded us that the goat came by way of a great deal of sacrifice on the part of an undernourished congregation and was the equivalent of a year’s salary. To be honest, I felt shame at his gentle rebuke, knowing that some would miss a meal because I had just accepted their goat. I finished the ride in silence while pondering what to do with the goat.

As we arrived at our destination, with great ceremony I asked Augustine if he would care for my goat in my absence. He assured me that the goat would be cared for and he seemed happy knowing that I would have to return -- if for no other reason than to get my goat.

We managed to find ways of accessing southern Sudan on that trip and were moved by what we saw. The people in the town we visited, Nimule, were hungry. We decided our first step was to return with a shipment of food. I was to take it in so we could be sure all the food got to its intended destination.

Eight months later all the arrangements had been made and I found myself again at the guest house in Adjumani waiting for a couple trucks of food to come and then be escorted across the border into Sudan. As I reluctantly awoke from jet-lagged induced sleep the next morning, I was greeted at breakfast by my friend Pastor Augustine and my goat.

We exchanged greetings and pleasantries; it was so good to see him. He presented me with my goat that had remained under his watchful care for the past eight months. I accepted the animal and tied it up outside the guest house. I sensed a certain heaviness in him and began to probe, wanting to understand what was bothering him. He began to sadly recount the story of his 5-year-old daughter who had died of malnutrition only a month previously. We cried as I began to realize that his daughter died of malnutrition while he was taking care of my goat.

I excused myself as quickly as could be socially acceptable and returned to my room in a state of denial and unbelief. That his daughter could die while my goat was tied up outside her hut was incomprehensible to me. I never left my room that day. I tossed and turned, longing for sleep so that I could awake to realize it was only a bad dream. I looked for something to distract myself with. In the barren room with no TV, music or books, none was to be found. It was one of the worst days of my life and I was alone with no one to share it with. I prayed but it was too late. I cried but nothing changed. I even cursed Augustine that he had not killed my goat to feed his daughter but realized quickly that for him it was about honor and integrity. There was no way he could repay me for that goat.

I live with the memory of that day. I have been to Africa many times since and each time I arrive I think of Augustine and his precious daughter.

I also live with the knowledge that in southern Sudan thousands each year continue to die from malnutrition. I was recently in an area there called Gogrial County. The relief organization that works there anticipates that this year alone as many as 50,000 will die in that place.

I also live in the midst of great blessing, knowing that “to whom much is given much is required.”

I’m trying God, help me!