idelette

I have shifted. Truth has pierced and done an inner work. My word for now has become “together.” It’s not a rallying cry. It’s an ahhhh…

I don’t have to do it alone any more.

At a very young age, the Spirit of Segregation had leached in. Now Truth swept in, washed out the old agreements. It’s fresh. I feel different.

I am different.

Shift happens.

1 Corinthians 12: 27
Don’t you realize that all of you together are the temple of God and that the Spirit of God lives in you?

Question: I’m curious. Is “together” natural for you? Do you automatically lean in to do things together, rather than alone? Or alone, rather than together?

A recent survey conducted by Professor Rachel Jewkes of the Medical Research Council (MRC) claims that one in four men in South Africa admitted to committing rape. She says: “I think it is down to ideas about masculinity based on gender hierarchy and the sexual entitlement of men. It’s rooted in an African ideal of manhood.”

The Mail & Guardian article smacks somewhat of sensationalism which I don’t appreciate and apparently many readers don’t either. However, we can’t deny some of the facts: “South Africa is notorious for having one of the highest levels of rape in the world. Only a fraction are reported, and only a fraction of those lead to a conviction.”

Read the full article in the Mail and Guardian here. (Thanks to Lisa Thompson for the heads up.)

It didn’t help that I read Chapter 4 in “The Shackled Continent; Africa’s Past, Present and Future” by Robert Guest this morning during my centering time. It’s entitled: “Sex and Death.” (Will have to write more on that soon.)

Then when I opened my email tonight, I clicked on the link for a girl who is now following me on Twitter. Apparently she’s looking for a husband. I just felt so sad.

Honestly, I want to cry, but I am going to pray:

God of the Universe,
Your women are broken, shattered, raped
Beauty is ravaged, distorted, twisted.
Her life force is being drained out of her. Her last ounce of dignity robbed from her.
Fragments of a bride, scattered across the earth.
Gather your girls.
We’d like to start telling the different story.
Amen.

I wrote this piece on Journey into Forgiveness two years ago. In the light of the recent Amahoro conference in South Africa, I am re-posting a slightly edited version here:

South Africa is where my Story was born.

I grew up in an all-white school with a rich heritage, but in those years I never had any friends of other races. Black and white never connected.

Then, in 1994, South Africa experienced its first democratic elections and Nelson Mandela became president. Overnight South Africa emerged as the Rainbow Nation, a place of hope, holding out the possibility that people could live together in freedom and democracy. We became the “new” South Africa, but not without its challenges.

About four years ago my Canadian husband and I visited Robben Island, the place where Nelson Mandela spent many years of his life in prison. A former political prisoner walked us through the stone building that day and shared his story. I was overcome with emotion.

The very earth was heavy with the burden of Injustice and I felt it in every step. The load was too heavy to bear. At the end of the day, as we walked away to catch the ferry back to the mainland, I sobbed: “Look what my people have done!”

My husband held my hand as we walked. My body shook with the tears, ripping away at years of injustice, guilt and shame.

“I’m so sorry,” I cried. To God, to the earth, to the people of the land. “I’m so sorry.”

And the broken whisper: “Forgive us, Lord. Forgive us.”

Desmond Tutu writes that there is “No Future without Forgiveness.” My heart knew this. There is so much to forgive—not only across racial and economic barriers, but also within myself.

Back home in Canada, while writing about the Robben Island experience, I was suddenly confronted with the question: Idelette, can you forgive your forefathers?

Wham.

My heart immediately responded: “No! They don’t deserve it.”

But, the Voice of Grace reminded me that even the perpetrators of injustice deserve forgiveness and grace.

I breathed and I cried and finally I said, “OK, God. OK. I forgive them.”

Years of Ugly fell off as the tears streamed down my face. I also remembered how years before God had said to me, “Leaders mess up, but My purposes will prevail.”

I thought we were done there, but then the imploring continued: Do you forgive yourself? You, daughter of Apartheid?

Again I had to breathe deeply. And say, “Yes. I forgive you, Idelette.”

I was reminded of our boat ride back from Robben Island. I sat next to a woman who had journeyed there from the South African east coast. As we talked and shared some of our stories, Afrikaner and African hearts connected. We were both mothers.

Sitting on that same boat, skin against skin, with our lives rubbing shoulders, we became a beautiful picture of the South Africa I had always–but so many years unknowingly–ached for.

We watched “Nights in Rodanthe” last night. There’s a scene where Diane Lane is having a conversation with her teenaged daughter, Amanda. I wish I could play this for every young girl and woman yearning for a relationship. Here’s what she says:

“While your father and I were apart, I met a man. I know you’ve only ever known your father and me. And I loved Jack because he’s your father.

But there’s another kind of love, Amanda.
The kind that gives you the courage to be better than you are; not less than you are.
One that makes you feel that anything is possible.

I want you to know that you can have that.
I want you to hold out for that.
I want you to know that you deserve it.
Do you hear me?”

Selah.

Yesterday, while entering into the story of the Prodigal Son through the latest Henri Nouwen book “Home Tonight: Further Reflections on the Parable of the Prodigal Son,” my heart took off to South Africa, the land of my birth, and my hopes for true reconciliation. It surprized me, at first. Why go there now, with this story? There was something for me to see and learn. Now I invite you to enter into some of what unfolded for me. May some of my story become a gift for your story.

In the first chapter of Home Tonight, Nouwen instructs the reader as follows: “Find a quiet space and become comfortable. Look at Rembrandt’s painting and gently step into the painted scene as an invisible guest. Situate yourself in the place in the room where you feel most comfortable as an onlooker. Close your eyes and become aware of the sounds in the room. What noises are you hearing? What voices do you hear? Take time to listen to the unfolding scene–from within.”

I found myself sitting on a couch, watching the scene between father and son unfold in front of me. I could only hear the father’s voice: “My son, my son. My son.” His son kneeled at his feet, wrapped in the father’s embrace.

At first I watched the scene, as if from a distance. I observed the story as a somewhat disgruntled spectator, removed from what was unfolding.

I had my justifications and objections: These were male characters. I am female. There’s no place for me in the story, God. Where’s the prodigal daughter?

But, noticing my distance, the father then took a moment to invite me in. He said: “Idelette, this moment is so significant. You have been assigned here as a witness. It is no coincidence. It is God-ordained.”

Immediately, with such a personal welcome, I checked in. I entered into the room, no longer a spectator, but a participant. I felt honored to be there.

The vertical communication continued: “Why am I here, Lord? Simply to revel in the moment? Simply to be a witness?”

Then the response came: “This is the story of reunification. This is the story of homecoming.”

A Story of Reunification

Suddenly my perspective shifted to my growing up world, to my South Africa that I still love and ache for.

I now watched the story between father and son very differently. I saw black and white embracing. I saw offender and offended embracing, coming home to each other. I saw all South Africans as the prodigal son, the offenders. I saw all South Africans as the father who extends forgiveness. This beautiful, intimate moment now shone with new hope beyond the story of the father and son, to the story of a nation.

The circle widened and the story began to shine with hope for other nations as I thought of walls that came down in other parts of the world.

I saw the beauty of possibility. Reunification is possible, I smiled. We can come home. And even nations can come home to their original Divine intent.

The Third Choice

Then I was reminded of the elder son. The smile faded. This too is a reality. He chose to remain distant from the reunification. He chose to remain distant and offended.

The elder son stood on the sidelines and watched. He stood in what he had lost and what he now required. He stood in demands. He stood, looking only at himself. The elder son chose to remain distant; segregated.

A Prayer, then

It broke my heart, because I believe in the beauty of forgiveness and healing. My deep deep desire for the brokenness on earth then became a prayer, for everyone one of us–Offenders, Forgivers and Distant Observers–to live conscious of these three choices in each of us. Where do I stand? Where will I stay?

And I pray especially for the elder brother in all of us, that someone would continue to invite us in until we can graduate from our humanness. May we lay down the weapons of yesterday and join the embrace of today.