“That’s normal here.” Missionary in Zambia

“There is no poverty in the United States.” So said our dear friend, Percy Muleba, during his first trip to the USA in 2012. He’d just been driven through the projects in Charlotte, NC where he saw cars, air conditioning and cable TV at every apartment. Of course, he knows there are individuals in the U.S. who are poor, sick, broken. But, when you grow up in a village of mud huts eating the corn meal scraped from the mill floor and have no shoes for school, well, you get the idea.

In 2023, the poverty level in the U.S. for a family of four was $30,000. The average per capita income in Zambia is about $1500 per person, including all strata of society. That’s about $6,000 per household, including the doctors, lawyers, chiefs, IT specialists, politicians, diplomats, etc. In the bush villages, it’s far, far less than that, of course. And, currently, the Zambian kwacha is worth 1/25 of an American dollar or 4 cents. So, you see, Percy was right. We have no poverty in the United States. Not really. At least not in comparison to a typical Zambian village.

Some years ago, I was visiting such a village, and was walking around taking photographs. It was a beautiful day, with blue skies and temperatures in the low 80’s. I could hear the happy sounds of children playing. After an hour or so, I couldn’t help but notice three children, two girls about five years old and a little girl about two or maybe three years of age. They were beautiful children.

Suddenly, and without warning, the littlest girl pulled up her skirt and began to do her business in the middle of a sandy area. Surprised, I couldn’t help but look, although I wish now I hadn’t because bloody and yellow diarrhea flowed from her like a river. It was brutal. Her older friends waited patiently, almost casually, until she finished. Then they all walked off together to continue playing as if nothing had happened.

Shocked, and concerned that she was very sick, especially since the HIV infection rate among kids was climbing at that time, I tracked down a dedicated missionary from the West whom I had gotten to know and liked very much. Very worried, I shared what I had observed. The missionary listened, and then said in a matter of fact tone of voice, “Oh, that’s normal here,” and then just looked at me. “Nothing to be done, then?” I replied. Sadly, she shrugged her shoulders and that was that.

I’ve thought about that little girl a thousand times since, but I’ve thought even more about the missionary’s chilling words, “That’s normal here.” Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t stand in judgment of that missionary who was living in the midst of a truly overwhelming health crisis, except to say that resignation to suffering at that level is never a good sign. I’ve known that feeling as a pastor from time to time through the years. Burnout can happen to anyone who works in obscene circumstances for too long.

On the other hand, and in her defense, there really wasn’t anything to be done, at least not then and there. And that little girl was one of many, very many. I often wonder if she survived. It’s unlikely.

So, what’s normal? In this fallen world, sickness and death are, in a very real sense, normal. The entrance of sin into the world due to our rebellion has complicated everything. See Genesis 3. Even Jesus pointed out that we will always have the poor with us this side of heaven. Still, I think about that little girl. And that missionary. And, I grieve.

And, I am grateful. Grateful for my warm home and full stomach. Grateful for the privilege of knowing so many amazing Zambians and Namibians who faithfully push on through grinding poverty. Grateful for frontline missionaries who pay the price for years. And, grateful for those three little girls who awakened something in me that has never died, a deep awareness of my own brokenness. And, my blessings. And, the Cross. The Cross. And, above all, the empty tomb and the promise of Jesus’ return in history to make all things new.

Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,” for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. ‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” (Revelation 21:1-4)

This Easter, may the truth and hope of the resurrection of Jesus remind us that this same Jesus will one day return in history to make all things new!