What did the African sisters teach me? What did they give me? Probably a lot more than I gave them. They taught me some of the most important lessons of life. And they always teach, learn, and live in the context of community and family. Zambian poverty, disease, death, touch every single life. It is widespread-- all over. There is no escape. So, where is the hope? The hope for a bright future for their communities, families, and country? The hope and joy they have and demonstrate come from their love for one another. This is a love born out of suffering. They all suffer.

Because of the poverty, the country's debt, oppression of women, the AIDS epidemic, etc, they lean on God and each other for strength -- They pick each other up with every slip, with every fall. I saw it and experienced it as I watched them. They listen, hug, and carry each other. As Regina, whose sister was in the hospital dying with AIDS, walked into the refectory with a sad face, the community embraced her, talked to her, and comforted her. 

And I was blessed to witness and experience this outpouring of love then and at other times. This love that was so full that it spilled over on us from the U.S. and on the African people all around us. A love that gave them strength, courage, and compassion, to face another day of teaching poor children who yearn to learn, while their bellies cry out even louder for food. To face the victims of malaria and AIDS-- especially the AIDS-- and to reach out and love them as Christ would. These sisters could never do this on their own strength-- They rely on God and one another.

Yes, they all suffer. We all suffer. It's part of life. No one escapes it. 

And that's the first part of the Good News! For escaping it means missing out on the Paschal Mystery-- and on entering into the true peace, love, and joy that only the Resurrection can bring. So, what did the African sisters teach me? Well, I, like so many other Americans, have a way of trying to avoid or escape pain whenever possible. I can learn from the Africans not to run away from the pain.

And as compassion grows inside of my heart and I later hear another's pain, maybe I then will be able to authentically say, "I know and understand. Let me walk with you. Let me bear some of the pain with you." For that's exactly what Jesus tells each of us. Jesus, who accepted his suffering until death, so he could say, "I know your pain. I've been there. Let me comfort you."

Yes, I need to take in the pain. I need to pray about it, feel it, reflect on it, learn from it, and accept it. And then I need to celebrate being alive! These sisters have a way of immersing themselves in praising God with song, dance, drums, and movement. A lot of movement-- hands, arms, legs, feet, abdomen, shoulders, and more! And sometimes they do all this while balancing pots or baskets on their heads! I can just imagine our brother Dominic, with his nine ways of praying, our sister Catherine, with her passionate Italian blood, and our sweet, loving Jesus himself all weeping with joy at the sight of their African sisters, their children, praising, blessing, and preaching with such energy, fervor, and passion! It was truly a sight to behold. Pain and suffering transformed by love into the joy of being alive! Yes, the African sisters taught me a lot. But most importantly, I learned from them that the Paschal Mystery lives in and around each of us. And that's our most important common bond.

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