Emuse

Thursday morning:

a group of casual laborers sit on the cement floor in front of me. They’re here to slash grass around the airport property, but right now one of them leads phrase by musical phrase in songs of worship, while the rest follow. I look around the airport, realzing how unique this sound is for an international airport.

A few minutes later we discuss two stories from Mark chapter 7. A syriaphoencian mother of a demon possessed daughter pleads with Jesus for help, saying “even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the table.” Then, back at Decapolis, “they” bring a deaf man with a speach difficulty. No interrogation, q&a or “go, your faith has healed you.” Nope, instead Jesus pulls the man out of the crowd, puts his fingers in the man’s ears, spits, then grabs his tongue. He sighs, looks up to heaven and states “Ephphathah” / “Be opened” (Fungua I joke in Swahili).

This morning I have more questions than answers. I hope the group understands Jesus has power over spirits and the conditions of deafness and muteness. And I hope they realize that the way Jesus heals almost never repeats. I can’t explain why He spits sometimes, why some are healed remotely, others have to be touched.

But the deaf man got a free pass. The poor gentile woman had to endure what seemed like a humiliating questioning, and then demonstrated her faith in Jesus with a profound answer that impressed the Teacher. But not so the deaf man. He just came, led by the unnamed “them.” Why?

Friday Morning:

Peter, our guard for the compound we live on, brings his family by so we can meet them. Peter wears a broad, contagious smile almost every time I see him. He wears an even bigger smile today. His wife sits nervously on our patio, surrounded on both sides by five children.

“Wait, I thought you only had three children!” Breanna says.

The other two they’ve adopted. I know Peter doesn’t make much. Not enough to put three kids in school, much less raise and care for five. It’s the beauty of this part of the world. I know orphanages do great things, but so many times the extended family picks up the pieces when the parents pass away. The children become part of this new family.

Breanna and I can’t take our eyes off of Emuse, an explosion of joy, with a smile copied from his adopted father. Bre asks about his one blue eye. Peter doesn’t understand, but says that he is completely deaf. I’m in disbelief. This amazing little guy can’t hear a word we’re saying?

I must admit I spent the rest of the conversation looking for signs passed from Peter’s wife to him. There were a few. But incredibly, whenever he was told no, he accepted it and moved on. No sign of frustration, no confusion about who the white people were… no fear.

It took me back to Mark 7. It seemed so important for Jesus to let people demonstrate their faith before they were healed. They carved holes in roofs, answered tough questions, carried their sick friends miles based just on rumors of where the Rabbi would be, even ran around a lake to intercept him when he crossed the lake by boat. But for our deaf friend, he came, brought by “them.” And the fact that Jesus healed a deaf man seemed to amaze everyone. I can only imagine his life was that of an outsider, lead from place to place, never sure why.

When I see Emuse’s eyes full of light, despite the fact he watches every scene unfold in unnerving silence, every new visit he makes must take an enormity of courage. He had no idea he was going to see white people, I’m sure, yet he came, and brought his joy with him.

For Jesus, there could be no questions asked of the deaf man. I’m sure Jesus knew the man’s heart, but for the rest of us we must realize his faith became obvious when he showed up, following the “them” leading him to the Healer, not sure where or why he was going, but hoping for something great.

I wish I could say Emuse’s future was as bright. Fortunately he’s enrolled in a school for the deaf in Lodwar. I’m not sure how Peter can afford it. I’m happy Emuse has a chance, yet I don’t carry any illusion that a school for the deaf up here in the far north will shatter any scholastic records. The regular old schools struggle enough, much less one that addresses special needs.

But I hope everyone who crosses this little guy’s path comes away just as shaken as I am, and sees that a challenging life is never an excuse to have fear, and joy can’t be contained inside any vessel. Joy outshines any need and it transcends uncertainty.