The April 2012 issue of Harper’s Magazine
has an article that is worth the price of the magazine: “Slipping Through the
Net: Cambodia’s border war against drug-resistant malaria” (pp. 39-47), by
Matthew Power, a contributing editor. (Don’t worry about the cost, since there
is more in the issue worth reading, including a short story by Alice Munro and
a thoughtful piece on the growing use of mercenaries around the world.)
It turns out that until recently the news about malaria has
been relatively good. Thanks to the generosity of the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation and dedicated professionals in the World Health Organization, the
fight against malaria has been progressing well. Rates of infection have been
falling, and in some parts of the world it appears the disease has been
eradicated. Besides, there are drugs available to treat the disease, and
efforts have been underway to educate people on the danger of malaria and to
make this treatment both widely and inexpensively available. Then, a team of
researchers discovered (and reported in the New
England Journal of Medicine) that the parasite that causes the disease has
developed resistance to the drug. The problem was uncovered in a remote area
along the Cambodian border with Thailand. It’s a crucial area in the fight
against the disease, since it has been shown that the disease in the past
migrates from there across the border into Myanmar (formerly Burma), then
across India to Africa, “where 90 percent of the world’s malaria cases occur.”
Mr. Power includes a paragraph in which he describes the process
of the disease: “Here is how it kills: the parasite enters the blood through
the slicing mouthparts and saliva of the Anopheles
mosquito. It finds its way to the liver, where for a week or a month it divides
asexually. Eventually, the swarm of parasites empties into the bloodstream,
where they colonize red blood cells and burst them from within. Then come waves
of fever followed by ebb tides of chills. The infected blood cells clump
together and stick to vessel walls to avoid being drawn into the blood’s
filters. Capillaries clog and hemorrhage; the whites of the eyes turn yellow,
the fingernails white, the blood itself pale orange. Anemia, vomiting, and
cramps follow. The spleen fills with destroyed blood cells and nearly doubles
with size. In the great majority of cases, symptoms clear with treatment, or
the victim recovers on his own, the disease little worse than a bad case of the
flu. But in severe cases, especially in pregnant women and young children, the
parasite overwhelms the host. The blood-brain barrier is breached, and cerebral
malaria ensues: coma, organ failure, and death can occur within hours. The
death of the host is of little evolutionary cost to the parasite. In the
fever-wrack, or the weeks of dormancy, a single Anopheles mosquito lands, gorges itself on parasite-laden blood,
and then flies away. A week later it feeds again, the falciparum [the malarial parasite] in its gut is transferred to a
new host, and the cycle begins anew” (p. 39).
Malaria used to appear in the United States but that day is
long past. Now it afflicts the poorest of the poor in a way that even when
recovery occurs their energy and productivity has been badly sapped. As I read
Power’s essay I reflected on how few mosquitoes I experience each summer, and
even when I do feel their bite I do not fear catching malaria. Those so
afflicted have far fewer resources with which to protect themselves.
I am not certain why I am posting this. I am grateful for
the Gates, because if malaria is to be defeated (as smallpox was), huge amounts
of funding will be required and I have no illusions that any donations I could
make to the cause would be miniscule. Nor am I in any position to do anything
directly. Once again, I am made aware of the brokenness of the world but can do
nothing about it.
I can pray, of course. Pray that drug-resistant strain will
be contained and eradicated, pray that more progress would occur beating back
the disease, pray grace on the many WHO workers who so selflessly give of
themselves to this work, pray that the King would return soon and restore the
mosquito to its rightful place in God’s good world.
Yes, I can pray—but it doesn’t seem like that’s enough.
A serious problem—OK, I am under no illusion that I have the
solution to this dilemma, but I have three modest suggestions.
My second modest suggestion: be grateful to live at a time
in history when technology allows us access to preaching that a few years ago
would have been out of reach. We can download and listen to sermons and
lectures that meet the need we have, and we should do so. This is not, however,
a replacement for church for it leaves out the graces found only there: the
sacraments, Christ’s spiritual presence, the communion of saints, and the unity
of the body. And since attending church brings us back to sermons that fail to connect
to life, I have one more suggestion.
My third suggestion is to listen more deeply. As you sit in
the pew, before you are a text of Scripture and a sermon. The same Spirit that
inspired the text is at work in the church today, but the text is primary—the
sermon seeks to explain the text but never exhausts it. I do not mean to
dismiss the sermon in saying this, but to properly honor the text.
You can even take this one step farther. Meet with a few
like-minded friends for lunch and listen deeply together. Talk about the text
and the sermon in light of the three questions I have listed. Process together.
Share each other’s creativity. And don’t be discouraged if you find this
process difficult at first—meditation is actually a skill to be learned and
mastered. That is why it is called a discipline. My third question—composing a
single intriguing sentence—might prove to be the most difficult. We tend to be
used to speaking in a dialect that has been birthed in the church sub-culture
and that actually sounds strange to outsiders. It’s a dialect designed to
repeat what we know in the terms we were taught to affirm we are correct. It
isn’t designed to find some creative twist or surprise in the text, though that
is exactly what the Scriptures are full of. You will probably add questions of
your own as you develop skill in meditation. The details aren’t as important as
the spiritual discipline itself: learning to listen more deeply to the text as
you listen to a sermon.
And let me know what you think of my three suggestions.
Father. I give up all my own plans and purposes, all my own desires and hopes and accept Thy will for my life. I give myself, my life, my all, utterly to Thee to be Thine forever. Fill me with Thy Holy Spirit, use me as Thou wilt, send me where Thou wilt, work out Thy whole will in my life at any cost, now and forever. Amen.
God, my Father.
You asked for my hands, that you might use them for your purpose. I gave them for a moment, then withdrew them, for the work was hard, inconvenient, and mundane. You asked for my mouth to speak out against injustice. I gave you a whisper that I might not be accused of being aligned with the wrong party or ideology. You asked for my eyes to see the pain of poverty. I closed them, for I did not want to see, choosing instead to believe the myth that all that really tried would be fine financially. You asked for my life, that you might work through me for your glory. I gave a small part that I might not get too involved, because I am busy.
Lord, forgive my calculated efforts to serve you—only when it is convenient for me to do so, only in those places where it is safe to do so, and only with those who make it easy to do so.
Father, forgive me, renew me, send me out as a useable instrument, that I might take seriously the meaning of the gospel.
For your Son Jesus’ sake, who withheld nothing.
Amen
Source: adapted from the Prayer of Confession in the liturgy of Trinity Presbyterian Church (Rochester, MN) on September 6, 2009.
I’ve never made New Year’s resolutions. Well, that’s not exactly true. I’ve never recorded any resolutions that I’ve made, and so have never felt particularly exercised when I’ve discovered (not that it was exactly a surprise, mind you) that I didn’t manage to keep them. I’ve always felt that failure is enough a part of my life without setting myself up for more.
In church the first Sunday of 2009 the prayer during the Eucharist came from The Valley of Vision, a rich compendium of prayers penned by various Puritan divines. The prayer is titled, “Christ Alone,” and contained a stanza that moved me:
Thou hast helped me to see and know Christ, / though obscurely, / to take him, receive him, / to possess him, love him, / to bless him in my heart, mouth, life.
It was the word “obscurely” that brought me up short.
Until he returns to bring his kingdom to consummation my seeing and knowing Christ will always be “obscurely.” We can see and know, by grace, his reflection in Scripture and Creation, but always as “through a glass darkly,” as St Paul put it so well.
Still, it is one thing to accept this necessary shadow, it is quite another to not be disciplined in waiting quietly, expectantly for the glorious glimmers of light that God’s revelation provides. Why am I too busy for unhurried prayer? Why do I find meditation on Scripture too inefficient in my productive day?
As we read that prayer as a congregation, speaking to our Father in one voice and one heart, that stanza seemed to invite a resolution. Resolved, that by God’s grace I will in 2009 make more regular use of the spiritual disciplines of prayer, Scripture reading, and meditation on God’s word so that I might see and know Christ a little less obscurely.
Several years ago two dear friends who live in Albuquerque, Bryan and Linda Charleton, decided to join the Anglican Church. Today I drove to the Post Office to pick up ten days of accumulated mail, and in the pile was a package from Bryan. Inside, nestled in little velvet bags were two Anglican Prayer Beads, hand-crafted for us by him, one for Margie and the other for me. (The one in the picture is mine.)
Unlike the Catholic Rosary, which involves the repetition of a set series of prayers, the Anglican version is designed differently. Each bead needs to be assigned some meaning by me—some aspect of prayer I want to be sure to include (confession, thanksgiving, etc.), or some category of request or praise, or some topic on which to meditate, or a reminder to be silent for a while. The Beads thus are meant to help provide structure, order, and regularity in the spiritual discipline of personal prayer and reflection, not to restrict the prayers that I say.
I was not aware of this aspect of the Anglican tradition, and want to learn more. Like all aids to the spiritual life, I am sure this one can be misused. But if anyone could use some help in bringing structure, order, and regularity to his prayer life, it is I.
The craftsmanship is delicate and lovely. The thoughtfulness is a deep grace. And the gift you have sent me, Bryan, is a sweet reminder of the grace we have experienced together as friends over many years. Thank you, good friend.
Oh, and Bryan—I also love the box of Nihilist Chewing Gum (We don't believe in flavor) you included. Very nice touch.