David Cunningham and Kevin Miller have released their documentary about the infanticide of indigenous children in Brazil and the hope of a girl who overcame it. You can now watch or download the entire film at www.hakani.org. The movie serves to promote initiatives that protect the children but is facing opposition from elements of the Brazilian government who would like to shut it down.
Continue reading "Hakani -- Buried Alive: A Survivor's Story" »
By Jemimah Wright in Brasilia
From Telegraph.Co.Uk
Babies born into some Indian tribes in the Amazon are being buried
alive, a practice that is being covered up by the Brazilian authorities
out of respect for tribal culture. The tradition is based on beliefs that babies with any sort of physical
defect have no souls and that others, such as twins or triplets, are
also "cursed". Hakani, who lived in the forest for three years after being abandoned,
aged two, by her tribe. She was finally adopted by Marcia and Edson
Suzuki and is now attending an ordinary school
Continue reading "Girl survived tribe's custom of live baby burial" »
The Secret Message of Jesus: Uncovering the Truth the Could Change Everything
by Brian McLaren (Nelson, 2006)
Review by Kevin Miller
Just in time for the cinematic adaptation of The Da Vinci Code—Dan Brown’s scandalous, bestselling novel about the “secret history of Christ”—comes a new book by emerging church guru Brian D. McLaren that helps clarify why millions are intrigued by such unorthodox interpretations of Christ.
Rather than attempt to refute The Da Vinci Code, however, McLaren argues that the popularity of Brown’s book and the “shared frustration with the status-quo, male-dominated, power-oriented,cover-up-prone organized Christian religion” it expresses should prompt some serious self-examination among believers.
Continue reading "The Secret Message of Jesus by Brian McLaren" »
John Karanja was looking forward to supper. It had been a long day in the fields, hot and humid under unrelenting western Kenyan skies, with no one but his cows for company. Karanja had set out early in the morning with his tiny herd of skin-raggled beasts and roamed the hillsides all day searching out the few stray clumps of good grass that the neighbour’s cattle had left behind. His stomach rumbled like thunder now as he walked his animals down the winding trail home.
Breakfast had been a cold affair—a stiff lump of last night’s ugali, a potato-like substance made from ground corn, and some leftover greens. Karanja’s family was low on salt, and the food, which had been just bearable the night before, became a struggle to swallow this morning, even for John Karanja. He was used to hard times, to doing without. His thin, tatter-clad body came from a long line of similarly bony bodies that had tilled the fields in this lush, remote region of the country. Sometimes it seemed as if his whole life had been one big, cold leftover breakfast—someone else’s leftover breakfast. He had gone without lunch.
Life was not easy for anyone in the Western Province of Kenya where Karanja lived. The hilly region consisted of loosely spaced farms where the people tilled corn and raised a few skinny cattle for food. But the red earth never seemed to yield enough, and when the rains came every spring, rampant malnutrition gave way to malaria, and raucous funeral parties lit up the inky night.
At long last, Karanja sighted his thatched hut in the distance. Curiously, he saw no smoke rising from it, as there should have been at this supper hour. He tried to hide his displeasure as he waved a greeting to his closest neighbour, Ben Omundi. Karanja’s insides clenched tighter the closer he got to home and saw that there would be no supper waiting for him tonight. Worse, as he entered his compound he saw there was no fresh wood piled alongside the hut, no wash on the line, and only a few litres of water left in the barrel.
“Martha!” He called for his wife. No answer. “Maina!” He called for his eldest son. No answer. Karanja removed his water bottle from around his neck and took a long drink to calm his rumbling stomach. He wiped his lips and looked around his overgrown compound, clicking his tongue in disgust. “Stupid Mizungus,” he said.
The Mizungus were the white men. They had come to the village three weeks ago from America and immediately started into a flurry of activity. All at once they began constructing a chicken barn, a medical clinic, and a deep well to provide clean water for the village. All of these projects were good, even Karanja had to agree to that. But still, he did not trust these men.
Karanja’s mind flicked back to the last time a white man came to his village when Karanja was still a child. Wilson was his name, and he was also from America. He started a massive construction project, a school, and he told the people about all the great things the school would do for their village. He was right. The half-finished building now provided an excellent shelter for Karanja’s cattle during the rain, and the village children enjoyed playing in its ruins. Meanwhile, Wilson was nowhere to be seen. He had left over 20 years ago after he ran out of money. Before he left he took a collection from the villagers and promised to return soon with more supplies. He was never heard from again.
It seemed Karanja was the only person who remembered that betrayal. The other villagers welcomed the new Mizungus with open arms. Karanja’s own wife had taken a job hauling water and washing clothes for them. When Karanja protested, Martha just told him that if he didn’t like it, maybe he should work harder on the farm so she wouldn’t have to find outside work to support him and their children. “Humph,” was all Karanja said in reply. Now nothing else was getting done. Karanja’s clothes were dirty, but there was no one to wash them, and no water to wash them in, and—worst of all, no supper. That was the final straw. Karanja set out to find his wife.
As Karanja walked down the narrow lanes of his village, he noticed things were quiet everywhere. No fires burned in the huts, as they should at this hour, and no children played in the road. When Karanja drew closer to the village square, he noticed a line of women coming up the trail from the river with water jugs on their heads. His eyes soon caught sight of the familiar round shape of his wife amongst the other women. Karanja waited by the path for Martha to pass by. She talked and laughed with the other women as she trudged up the hill. But when she saw Karanja she fell silent, though the light of laughter still danced in her eyes.
“Well, my wife, it is good to see you finally tending to your husband and family,” Karanja said.
Martha laughed. “My husband, this water goes to the Mizungus, not you. You will have to fend for yourself today.” The other women laughed. Karanja grit his teeth.
“What about my supper?” he asked. Martha didn’t answer. She just kept walking while the women laughed again. Karanja did not want to risk embarrassment by chasing after her, so he fell in line behind the last woman and followed them to the square.
Stupid Mizungus, he thought.
When they arrived at the square, Karanja saw the whole village had turned out to watch the Mizungus work. Fathers, mothers, children, even the old folks, wearing ill-fitting glasses and leaning on sticks, were taking in the action.
“Hey look everyone,” shouted Karanja’s second closest neighbour, Thomas Waruta. “Karanja herds women just like he herds cattle—they lead and he follows!”
Everyone laughed, except Karanja. He tried to hide himself in the crowd and pretended to be interested in what the Mizungus were doing. Just then Karanja spotted his youngest son, David, age nine, laughing and pointing at the Mizungus with his friends. Karanja walked over and grabbed his arm.
“David, why are you here? Go home now with your sisters and cook your father some supper. The day was long, and I am hungry.”
David twisted away from his father and bounded away, laughing with the other children.
“Sorry, Papa. I’ll come later.” Then he called out "Mizungu! Mizungu!" in unison with his friends. One of the white men turned and smiled at the children and at Karanja. Karanja grit his teeth and ducked back into the crowd.
As Karanja watched the Mizungus he saw that a group of them were gathered around a long silver pipe that was held up in the air by a makeshift crane. The pipe appeared to be sunk deep into the ground. The Mizungus were trying to get in close so they could each take hold of the pipe. Once they all had their hands on it, a man called out a signal and the crane was released so now all that held up the pipe was the Mizungus. Another signal and they began lowering the pipe into the hole, bit by bit. The strain of its tremendous weight showed on the Mizungus’ white faces as they turned red and veined from exertion.
The crowd behind Karanja clucked their tongues anxiously as they watched the Mizungus lower the pipe. If they dropped the pipe, people said, it would sink down hundreds of feet into the hole and all their work would be in vain. If it falls, it’s just as well, Karanja thought. Then we’ll be rid of these Mizungus. He turned and started walking home when a cry of alarm rippled through the crowd.
“Help!” one of the Mizungus called out. Karanja turned back. As the pipe was being lowered, the Mizungus had let go of it one-by-one and backed away, there being no room left to hold on. But the few people left holding it were not able to finish the job on their own. The pipe was too heavy, and it was starting to slip.
“Help!” the Mizungu called again. This time he caught Karanja’s eye. Karanja looked behind him. The villagers all murmured and clucked their tongues, but no one made a move to help. He looked back to the Mizungus. Some were quickly wrapping a chain around the pipe so more people could take hold of it, but they needed help if it was going to work.
“Aaagh!” One of the Mizungus cried out, and fell away from the pipe. One of his hands had been mashed between the chain and the well’s cement pad when the pipe slipped. Karanja knew he must act, Mizungus or not.
He rushed forward and took the fallen Mizungu’s place, wrapping his hands around the cold silver pipe. He saw right away that they would need more help if they were to save it.
“Get over here and help, you cowards!” he shouted to his fellow villagers. Karanja’s words seemed to trip a switch, and they sprang forward as a group, some of them taking up the chain and others taking the Mizungus’ places around the pipe. They all grunted under the strain of the pipe’s incredible weight. Once they had it secure, a Mizungu rushed up with a metal collar to be fitted around the pipe to prevent it from sinking into the ground. He slid it over the top and down past each set of hands until he had it where he wanted it, then bolted it in place.
“Okay, you can let it down all the way!” the Mizungu said. “Slowly! Slowly!” The people eased it down until the collar came to rest on the cement, where it was bolted again. “Good, we’ve done it!” he said. Everyone cheered.
“Asante-sana!” The Mizungu said to Karanja. “Thank you!” He grabbed Karanja’s hand and shook it. “You helped us save the well. Now you can have fresh water to drink and your wife won’t have to haul it so far.” Karanja smiled shyly and nodded at the white man.
Karanja’s friends also came and clapped him on the back.
“Good job, Karanja. Friend of Mizungus now, hey?” They said, and laughed.
Karanja just smiled and walked away.
“Hey, don’t you want to see the well work?” The white man asked.
“Maybe later,” Karanja replied. “First, I must eat my supper.”
Martha was waiting for Karanja when he came home.
“You didn’t want to see the well work either?” He asked.
“I’ll see it soon enough,” she said. “I thought you wanted supper, my hero.” She gave him a hug.
Karanja smiled.
Two weeks after the Mizungus left, Karanja was returning from the fields once again, hot and tired from a long day in the sun, when he met his wife coming up the river path with the village women. They had jugs of water on their heads.
“What are you doing?” Karanja asked, and pointed to the water jug on Martha’s head. “Why aren’t you using the Mizungu’s well?”
Martha looked at the other women and laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Karanja asked.
“The children were playing with the well this morning and they broke the handle. Now no water comes out, and no one knows how to fix it.” The women chuckled as they filed past Karanja.
When they were gone, Karanja sat down on a smooth, flat boulder. He picked a piece of grass and chewed it thoughtfully for a moment. Then a huge smile crept across his face as he shook his head.
“Stupid Mizungus,” he said.
Sometimes God calls us to do big things for him. But most times, it’s the little things that matter most.
Take Elma Voth of Abbotsford, BC and her friend Diane Pohl from Chilliwack, BC, for example. Here are two women—grandmothers even—who didn’t really know how to sew. (If you can imagine that!) But when their children started having babies, they decided it was time they learned.
It all started with their desire to find some nice, soft, double-sided flannelette blankets for their new grandbabies. But although they searched high and low, they could find nothing like the warm, cuddly blankets they remembered from when they were young mothers.
“The best we could find was some thin, flannel thing that looked like a dish rag the first time it was washed,” says Diane with a laugh.
Realizing there was no way they were going to be able to buy such a blanket in a store, the women took matters into their own hands—literally—and decided it was time they learned how to sew their own.
“My husband doesn’t surprise me very often,” says Diane. “But when he heard what I wanted to do, he went out and got me a whiz-bang sewing machine with all the bells and whistles. You know, real idiot-proof.”
The two women started experimenting with different fabrics and designs, and before long, they had started their own little cottage industry.
“Some women get excited shopping for antiques,” says Diane. “We get excited shopping for fabrics!”
Soon the women had made more than enough blankets for their own grandchildren. But they continued sewing, giving blankets away to friends and family and even selling them to a few interested individuals. Diane has even become known as the “blanket fairy” in her church, because every time a baby is born, it is sure to receive one of her blankets. Diane’s handiwork has also traveled as far away as Africa, Ireland, and Germany.
“I love making these things, it’s like an obsession,” she says. “At any given time, I have about fifty of them on hand.”
Not long after Diane and Elma had perfected their product, Elma heard through her sister-in-law that there was a dire need at Evergreen, a ministry of Yonge Street Mission in Toronto, for some baby blankets to be given to new mothers who came in off the street. It turns out many of the mothers were so destitute that they were stealing towels from the hospital where their babies were born, because they had nothing else in which to wrap their babies. Delighted to find such a meaningful outlet for their creative handiwork, the two women immediately set to work sewing even more blankets.
“It gave us something positive to do with the one thing we knew how to sew,” says Diane.
But Elma and Diane didn’t stop there. In addition to each blanket, they also included a sleeper, an undershirt, a toque, and a face cloth—everything a new baby needs to get started in the world. To cap things off, Elma and Diane also prayed over each package, or layette, and inserted a personal note of encouragement for the girls. By the time they were all finished last year, Elma and Diane had sent 75 layettes to Toronto.
This past summer, Elma had the opportunity to visit Evergreen. “It was quite an emotional moment to see the other end of our work there,” Elma says. “They told me that word has now spread on the street that if you’re pregnant and you go to Evergreen, there will be a package there for you.”
While at Evergreen, Elma also noticed that blanket stocks were getting low, so when she got back home, her and Diane were at it again. They now have a new batch ready to send out this fall.
“It’s our little way of making sure these babies are taken care of when they come home from the hospital,” says Elma.
Diane agrees. “We didn’t think what we were doing was a big deal. We love making blankets, and to think that someone can use something we love to make is a thrill to me. I also enjoy the mystery: You send the blankets out there, and you have no idea who will be wrapped up in them.”
Anyone interested in purchasing or sponsoring a blanket or complete layette may contact Diane at 604-824-8669. All proceeds go to the making of new layettes for the Evergreen centre.
When retired dairy farmer Tony Vanderwal of Abbotsford, BC boards a plane for Vietnam this fall—yet again—no doubt many of his friends will tell him the same thing they’ve said many times before: “You’re crazy. Why don’t you just go to the beach or buy an RV?”
But to Tony, his work in Vietnam is worth much more than a vacation in some tropical paradise or a gas-guzzling retirement home on wheels. After working hard to establish his family and business, Tony is determined to invest whatever time he has left helping those less fortunate than himself.
“When I was a kid, I was awful poor. I only got a grade six education,” he says, and laughs. When Tony first arrived in Canada in 1951, all he and his new bride Nicki had was thirty-eight dollars. But the Lord blessed them richly over the years. “Today, to be honest, I’m well off. But who gave it to me? I always prayed like Solomon for God to give me wisdom, and God blessed me as such. So I think it’s more than responsible to use what he has given me to do his work.”
For Tony and Nicki, that work has involved everything from helping Vietnamese farmers learn better agricultural practices to, more recently, providing help for handicapped and orphaned children, who receive little or no help from the Vietnamese government. Right now, they are working in conjunction with Global Aid Network (GAiN) and the Abbotsford Rotary Club to provide school supplies for a school that will be built in Vietnam by the Lever Company.
The Vanderwals feel a particular call to help the handicapped, because, in Vietnam, they are often treated as second-class citizens. Says Tony: “When you’re handicapped, your wages are handicapped, too.”
But Tony has more in mind than simply helping to provide for people’s physical needs. He also sees his work with handicapped children as an ideal way to reach out with the gospel to their families, who are the children’s primary caregivers. As he helps minister to the children, their families are often drawn in, giving them a chance to hear the gospel as well. This is particularly important in a country like Vietnam, where 80% of the population are Buddhist. Trying to convert the older people is nigh impossible, says Tony. They’re too set in their ways. But with children, there’s still hope.
Working in a communist country that is antagonistic to Christians also presents some challenges. For one thing, Tony is constantly faced with crooked government officials looking for bribes. And when he doesn’t comply, things can get a little difficult, like when an official “lost” Tony’s visa at the airport recently, forcing Tony to pay a large sum of money to get it back. Tony also runs a risk whenever he hands out Christian literature, which he says he does “right, left, and centre.” But he’s not too worried about potential retributions.
“When they see an old guy like me, they don’t worry too much about him.”
But for the most part, Tony finds people in Vietnam are very friendly and thankful for the help, and he has no problem finding volunteers for the projects he is involved in. Some women will teach all day at their regular jobs and then teach for free in the evenings at a special school for handicapped children and orphans.
Prior to his first trip to Vietnam in 1994 (which was made at the invitation of a Vietnamese-Canadian friend) Tony was very active in his local church. He even served on the church board, where he took part in decisions to send money overseas, but he never got personally involved in missions. Since going to Vietnam, however, Tony has found tremendous fulfillment working hand-in-hand with the people he is helping. Over the past seven years, he’s been over to Vietnam twice a year, on average, and he’s not finished yet.
“You can only do so much in your life,” Tony says. Realizing this, he and Nicki have decided to focus his remaining years on Vietnam, where he knows plenty of work still needs to be done.
Verena Hoffman of Rose Bay, Nova Scotia keeps a lot of "stuff" in her car, because she doesn't always know where the Holy Spirit will lead. And for the past fifteen years, the Spirit had kept her pretty busy.
Since her immigration to Canada from Switzerland in 1985 and retirement from teaching in 1992, Hoffman has been the caretaker of a ranch in northern British Columbia, a caregiver to the mother-in-law of a pastor in California, and the manager of a restaurant in Ireland.
This past winter, she spent two months working at New Hope House in the state of Georgia under the auspices of Service Opportunities for Older People (SOOP), a joint program of Mennonite Central Committee (MCC) Canada, Mennonite Mission Network, and the Mennonite Association of Retired Persons.
"To people who don't know, it sounds strange to talk about how the Holy Spirit moves people to action," Hoffman says. But it’s become a fairly normal occurrence for her.
Hoffman heard about SOOP in 1999 through friends and wrote MCC for more information. The envelope she received sat in her car for nearly three years before she felt compelled to reply.
"I didn't feel the slightest doubt when I dropped the application form into the mailbox," she says. "I was filled with a deep joy, and that's when you know it's the right thing."
Within a few weeks, the application process was complete and Hoffman, in her 1995 Ford Escort, was on her way to Georgia for a two-month SOOP assignment at New Hope House. Located near the city of Griffin, approximately 90 kilometres south of Atlanta, New Hope House is a not-for-profit organization that provides lodging, along with social and spiritual support, for families of inmates on death row. Volunteers, many of whom come to New Hope House through the SOOP program, spend their time maintaining the organization's facilities or attending trials with the families.
Hoffman chose to spend her time in the courtroom, where she witnessed the trials of two young men. The first man was convicted and sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole. The second was convicted and sentenced to death. "I think it is terrible thing to cage and confine any of God's creatures, especially people," says Hoffman. "How is it possible that we can kill each other?"
This experience led Hoffman to question the ways in which people in North America define freedom. "Freedom is not about doing whatever we please. Real freedom has all the ingredients of caring, respect and responsibility—for others as well as ourselves. Real freedom liberates us into a joyful sense of belonging and unity."
Hoffman says she felt the dark nature of what was taking place when she first entered the courtroom. She compares her emotion to a ton of bricks suffocating her spirit. That’s why, initially, she fled the courtroom. "I had to go out. There in the sun, in the fresh air, I asked God what he wanted me to do. The answer was clear. LIGHT. So I went back and settled myself behind the defendant for the rest of the trial, calling on Christ and His Word. I was willing to be his channel."
When the verdicts were read, Hoffman says her world stood still. But in the following days, she says it slowly dawned on her that God's ways are not our ways. "God's values, and God's working cannot be comprehended and measured by any human mind," she says.
When Hoffman's SOOP assignment ended, she was back in her car and on the way back to her winter home in Rose Bay. She knows her presence in the courtroom didn't change the verdict of the jury, but that doesn't mean her efforts were in vain. On the contrary, she believes her contribution may have done something greater. "I don't think we should always expect direct results. I think there's a bigger impact and that there is more taking place than we see or realize. I don't know what goes on in the hearts of other people, but there's not the slightest doubt in my mind that God's presence was in that courtroom."
If you would like to know more about how you might become involved with SOOP, please visit http://www.mcc.org/getinv/soop/index.html.
Looking for a meaningful volunteer opportunity that will allow you to make new friends while earning a great return on your time? Then check out the Fraser Valley Gleaners Society (FVG), an Abbotsford-based, non-profit organization dedicated to sharing God’s compassion for the poor by addressing their need for food.
God has blessed Canadians with an abundant food supply. However, much of this food is either thrown away or left unharvested because it is unfit for today’s discriminating consumers. Rather than allow the excess food to go to waste, FVG takes the produce off the growers’ hands, dries it, and packages it as a soup mix. This soup mix is then packed into barrels and made available to various international aid organizations, such as the Mennonite Central Committee (MCC), that distribute it to the needy overseas. Through this process, FVG helps to alleviate both waste and need, making them one of the most financially responsible and environmentally sensitive organizations around.
Since FVG opened their new, 7,600 square foot facility in September 2001, the organization has produced over one million servings of soup. Their goal is to produce over three million servings of soup in 2002.
FVG survives solely on donations and volunteer help. Their facility contains a commercial food dehydrator that can dry up to 1,200 kilograms of produce a day. However, everything else in the process is done by hand—volunteer hands. This includes harvesting the produce, washing and preparing it for drying, and packaging it into bags and barrels. The work is not difficult, and it does not require specialized skills: only able hands and willing hearts. That’s where people like you come in.
According to FVG Treasurer Jack Friesen, 95 percent of FVG’s volunteers are seniors. Seniors make ideal volunteers, he says, because they have time on their hands, and they’re looking for opportunities to socialize while doing something meaningful to help the poor. Friesen, who is a retired BC Hydro employee, was drawn to the organization for precisely these reasons.
“If you’re retired and you don’t have a hobby, what do you do?” He says.
Apart from the fun working environment, Friesen says the best part about helping out at FVG is the sense of satisfaction you get that what you’re doing is really making a difference. FVG calculates that one hour of volunteer time generates the equivalent of 120 servings of food. Not a bad return on the time you invest!
As Friesen says, “We know we can’t feed everyone, but we can feed one person at a time—or one hundred and twenty an hour!”
If you’re interested in learning more about how you can get involved with the Fraser Valley Gleaners Society, visit their web site at www.fvgleaners.org or call them at 1-866-772-7070. You may also want to contact their sister organization, Okanagan Gleaners Society at 250-498-8859 or john_martens@telus.net.
Just Imagine…
You are sleeping in bed when suddenly an ear-splitting blast rocks your home. You look out your window and see airplanes bombing your neighbourhood. Bombs are pounding everywhere, and every time you hear another airplane coming, your stomach turns, and you fear the sound of the next bomb may be the last thing you and your family ever hear on this earth.
After somehow making it through to the next day, you take your three children—the oldest of whom is seven and the youngest two—and head for the safety of the border. None of your children have shoes to protect their feet from the rocky desert roads. Mile after mile, you carry the youngest one in your arms, close to your heart. But the feet of the other two are cracked and bleeding, and their faces are caked with dust and tears.
When you arrive at the Pakistani border, your heart sinks: It’s closed. You look around and see dozens of other families languishing on the side of the road without food or water. You have come so far, only to share their fate.
After a few days, a refugee camp forms, and all you can do is wait.
Eventually, winter comes and freezing temperatures move like a ghost from tent to tent, snatching 20 children every night. As you sleep, you hold your two-year-old son close, praying that he will not die from exposure like so many others. The cold bites like daggers into your feet, but your only concern is for your children.
Three months pass, and finally someone says it’s safe to return to your village. Everyone starts the hard journey home with the hope of peace in his or her heart. Along the way, these hopes are challenged by the sight of burned-out cars and buildings everywhere, which bear testimony to the danger that has only recently passed.
Finally, you arrive at your village. You turn a corner and suddenly all hope turns to despair as you see the burned-out walls that are all that remains of your home. All of your clothes, your dishes, your tools and your memories are gone. How are you going to survive? Where will you find clean water? Where will you get your next meal?
This is the reality faced by 2-3 million Afghan families who left everything they had, fleeing war and drought when the US launched its attack last year against Al-Qaeda fighters based in Afghanistan. But they are not the only people group to suffer such a fate. Far from it.
A Grim Picture
Every day, millions of refugees and displaced persons around the world seek shelter, food and refuge. Poverty in developing nations continues at unimaginable levels. Epidemics of AIDS, tuberculosis, sexually transmitted diseases, cholera and influenza challenge the already overburdened global health care system. Child mortality rates are increasing in many regions of the world. The United Nations estimates that ten million children will die from starvation in the next ten years. AIDS alone will create 40 million orphans by the year 2020!
While these statistics paint a grim picture of the future, the opportunity for action has never been greater. Prosperity in the West has brought abundant resources. Unity among various elements of the society has created working relationships unthinkable a couple years ago. Modern technology, transportation systems, communication networks and available resources enable us to reach new levels of effectiveness in bringing hope to the world's needy.
A Ray of Hope
Global Hope Network (GHN), a subsidiary of Campus Crusade for Christ, International, is one relief agency that is taking advantage of these new efficiencies to improve the way aid is delivered to needy people around the world. GHN is a compassionate humanitarian organization that provides resources, personnel and services to relief efforts, development projects, agencies and communities worldwide. By partnering with other organizations and plugging into an already established network of over 600,000 volunteers around the world, they efficiently provide resources and manpower to help alleviate the world's needs. Their main areas of focus at the moment include Africa and the Middle East.
“We’re dealing with desperate people,” says International Director Hal Jones. “They’re literally worried about where they’re going to get their next meal, not where they’re going to go to school next year.”
GHN’s efforts are divided among the following areas:
You Can Get Involved
Each one of these areas requires the efforts of dozens short and long-term volunteers to make them happen. Jones says people with medical, agricultural and ESL skills are in particular demand right now. But GHN is able to use anyone who is willing to help.
“People who are retired or who have taken early retirement from their work are ideal candidates to help out with GHN,” says Jones. “They have the skills, and they also have the time to put them to work in a third-world setting.”
But you don’t have to go overseas to get involved. GHN needs plenty of people at home raising funds, supporting volunteers and getting their churches involved in relief efforts. One way to do this is through GHN’s Friendship Box program, which offers “hope from home to home” by having people in North America provide people in Afghanistan with a box of essential items, such as clothing and school supplies. These can be packed and sent overseas by individuals or churches. Jones says GHN is also looking for churches that can help raise money to ship millions of dollars of food, medicine and other gifts in kind overseas.
Anyone interested in finding out more about how they can get involved with GHN should visit their web site at www.globalhopenetwork.org or e-mail Hal Jones at rephjones@aol.com
As if the horrifying images from the tsunami that hit Southeast Asia, India, and Africa on Boxing Day weren’t enough, viewers in so-called “wealthy” nations also had to contend with a little-known UN official accusing them of being “stingy” in the face of such disasters. It was enough to make you choke on that leftover turkey and cranberry sauce...
Predictably, US Secretary of State Colin Powell and other spokespeople for the American government bristled at the accusation, made by the UN’s Under-Secretary-General for Humanitarian Affairs and Emergency Relief Coordinator Jan Egeland. Standing on their record, Powell, and more recently, President Bush, argued that the United States has given more foreign aid in the last four years than any other nation or combination of nations in the world. As for this current crisis, Powell stated that America’s contribution to disaster relief and rebuilding would likely run into the billions of dollars.
So what was Egeland talking about then? Clearly, the US is the star player when it comes to foreign aid. According to 2003 figures released by the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD), the United States government budgeted nearly $16 billion to foreign aid. That is nearly double what the next largest contributor—Japan—earmarked for such causes ($8.9 billion), and four times what Canada budgeted ($2.2 billion). So, taken on a raw dollar level, Powell and Bush’s claims cannot be disputed. When it comes to disaster relief and economic development, the United States is the undeniable leader. And remember, these figures do not even include the billions of dollars given by individual citizens through private charities and foundations.
But the dollar figures begin to lose some of their dazzle when you examine foreign aid spending as a percentage of Gross Domestic Product (GDP). This brings us closer to what Egeland was trying to get at. When rated according to this criterion, the United States plunges to number 22 on the list, contributing just 0.14 percent of its GDP to foreign aid. Japan doesn’t do much better at 0.2 percent (placing it at number 19), and even Canada’s 0.26 percent contribution fails to place it in the top ten (they’re ranked at number 13). Leading the pack is Norway (Egeland’s home country), which contributes 0.92 percent of its GDP to foreign aid. Still shy of a single percentage point, but, proportionally speaking, well over six times what the United States gives. If the American government decided to match the Norwegians next year, their foreign aid giving would leap to over $100 billion—about half of what it is costing them to fight the war in Iraq. And if all of the 22 richest nations in the world gave just one percent—never mind the 10 percent Egeland suggested they give when he appeared recently on CNN’s Anderson Cooper 360°—the globe would literally be awash in foreign aid dollars. In fact, there may even be a surplus!
While Egeland’s comments have probably inspired more feelings of bitterness than generosity among Americans (further souring the already tepid relationship between the US and the UN), no one can dispute the validity of his criticism. When the world’s governments met at the Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro in 1992, they agreed to a program, known as Agenda 21, which called on the world’s 22 richest nations to meet a foreign aid target of 0.7 percent of their GDP. As of 2003, only six nations had met or exceeded this target, including Norway, Denmark, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and Sweden. With countries like the United States and Canada giving only one-fifth of this amount twelve years after the agreement was signed, it only makes sense that someone would point out our failure to meet such an important obligation. Such comments may make us angry, and they could have been delivered in a more diplomatic fashion, but that does not mean they are without truth. I do not believe that Americans, Canadians, Japanese, Norwegians or citizens of the other 22 richest countries in the world are stingy people. A little self-involved maybe, but not the type to turn a blind eye to a brother or sister in need. That said, I think we could all get by on a little less and give away a little more. That includes both governments and individual citizens.
So, rather than become angry and defensive when confronted with this fact, why not take up Egeland’s challenge and prove him wrong? I am sure nothing would make him happier. After all, we are facing one of the largest humanitarian disasters in modern history. The priority right now should be on helping those in need, not pointing fingers or defending ourselves. As nations and as individuals, we would all do well to search our hearts and ask if we are truly doing all that we could be doing in the face of such pressing needs.
I do not believe there is not some magic number or percentage of our personal income or GDP that, if reached, will alleviate us of all further responsibility. How much or how little you give is a matter between you and God. So while you are busy searching your own heart, take some time to search God’s heart as well. Don’t worry: I highly doubt that He will accuse you of being stingy, as Egeland did. God is much more likely to inspire you with a vision of what the world can become if we contribute even a little bit more than we do currently. I would like to inspire you with that same vision as well.
You may already contribute regularly to one or more global relief organizations. If so, we encourage you to channel your extra relief funds through them. If not, you may want to consider contributing to the Global Aid Network (GAiN), a relief organization that demonstrates the love of God to hurting and needy people around the world through relief and development projects.
In addition to increasing your own personal giving, I also encourage you to contact your local, state, provincial, and national government officials, urging them to increase the amount of money your nation contributes to foreign aid and development. If we all work together like this, even the little bit that we do will add up to a whole lot.
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