Stephen Christian once said that we could change the world, and strike a chord within people. Rewriting history - regardless of us being considered a “lost generation” by society. Today, Russ and I went to our friend Sean’s breakout session about his time in the Congo. His first question? Why are we here. What causes us to care. And, do people around us care the same. If not, how can we make them? We are now the largest generation in history. 70 million people strong. And, we have the most resources of any people in the history of the world to make a lasting impact.
Some facts. The Congo is the size of Eastern Europe. Bringing it home, if you were to take Mississippi, and draw a line that separates everything east - you would essentially have the country of Congo. This whole country - the size of England, Germany, Scotland, Spain, etc...only has 200 kilometers of road. Getting somewhere that only takes fifteen minutes by plane could take up to eleven days by moto (a bike).
1500 people die a day.
5 million have died since 1998.
It is the bloodiest war in history - the most rape and the second highest number of child soldiers.
He went in to gain knowledge about what was going on. He planned to stay for about a week and ended up there for almost two months, researching and talking to rebel leaders and meeting children ravaged by war. At one point, a rebel leader looked at him and said, “You can’t see them, but they can see you.” Sean asked him to clarify.
The guy responded, “There are hundreds and hundreds of kids in these woods with their gun pointed at your little white head.”
Still, he knew their story had to be told, so he stayed. Text messaging his family that he loved them, and beginning to chronicle his journey in a blog. (What I linked to in the previous entry)
One of the most riveting and gut-wrenching stories from his trip is of the falling whistles. You see, in the Congo, kids too young to hold a gun are given whistles to wear around their neck. Their job is to blow them as loud as possible while going into battle. They are the front lines. If they fail, their job then becomes to take the bullets and build a human barricade with their falling bodies. Hiding behind these kids, shot to death and piled on top of each other, the rebel army can fight. He heard this story and broke. That night, with tears streaming down his face, he wrote in his blog, “With falling whistles their only hope is to feign death or accept it. But fall they must.”
He’s telling this story, and it’s the second time I’ve heard it but just as powerful because he’s fighting back tears and the room full of people are wiping them from their cheeks, and I suddenly know. This is what makes us human. This connection. This urgency to act out on injustice - a sense of kairos that something has to be done. I could see it in the eyes of so many of the people in that room, and I got chills thinking about what would result.
Once he finished, I noticed a few people crowd around his table to talk with him. It was one man that stood out though. I noticed him when he walked in, unassuming with a gentle smile and eyes that held a deep knowledge. He approached Sean, and I heard him tell him something, and then Sean broke into tears. Weeping, his hands covering his face, the man drew him into an embrace.
It was then I realized. This man, who walked into this room on this day to hear Sean speak, is from Congo.
I’m crying as I’m writing this because I’m consistently humbled of how God moves. Be open. Be mindful.
God is working, and He’s quickening hearts and He’s waking up sleeping giants.
Be ready.
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