I love India.

Granted, I’ve only been here a week, but it’s now on my short list of favorite locations. Vivid colors are all around, the scent of spices fills the air and the Indian hospitality is unparalleled. Oh, and did I mention the lumbering white cows that walk the streets at will?

Last week, after spending 36 hours in airplanes and airports, I finally arrived in India. A group from India Rural Evangelical Fellowship (IREF) picked me up from the airport and drove me back to the main property. Just as we were pulling up to the entrance, our vehicle stopped short by a hundred yards or so.

My arrival, just before I was mobbed by all the kiddos.

“This is where we get out,” said the IREF staffer.

I was thoroughly confused and completely exhausted. After my long journey, all I wanted was a shower and someplace horizontal to sleep.

“Uuumm, you’re wanting me to hoof it the rest of the way, with my heavy backpack strapped on too?” I thought to myself, being the idiot I so often am.

As I exited the vehicle, the street in front of us was nowhere to be seen amid the bodies that filled it. Exhaustion? What exhaustion…

After meeting Rev. Rebba at the gate, I was graced with two flowered garlands.

Hundreds of boys of all ages filled the narrow road on all sides. The younger ones swarmed all around me, grabbing my hands and arms, smiling from ear to ear and giving me their best English greetings. The older kids smiled warmly too, but the self-consciousness of adolescence prevented the same candid outburst of enthusiasm. A few did take it upon themselves to clear the younger boys out of the way since their zeal nearly took me off my feet.

When we finally arrived at the front gates, I was greeted by Rev. Emmanuel Rebba, who runs IREF along with his wife, Deevena, and countless staffers. Next to him were two young girls, each holding a giant floral garland. I bent over as they placed them around my neck. We left the boys behind as we stepped inside the entrance gates. Hundreds and hundreds of girls filled the courtyard, and all eyes were on me.

They showed a more restrained enthusiasm than the young boys did, and due to gender customs, none made any attempts at physical greetings. But as I walked through the parting crowd, sparkling eyes and sheepish smiles surrounded me. They too offered English greetings, despite their insecurities.

The girls gather for evening devotions, which is followed by dinner and two hours of study time.

I was overcome by the scene, and all my fatigue melted away in an instant. Never in my life have I felt such an affectionate reception by so many. It was truly a special moment I won’t soon forget.

Roots

My first week in India has quickly become a blur. Just when I think I’m getting a handle on all that’s being done here by IREF, I see more. This organization is making ripples that travel far, and God is at the center of it all.

IREF was started by Rev. Rebba’s father, Prasada Rao Rebba, who had a momentous conversion experience back in 1950. After dedicating his life to God, he felt compelled to start walking from village to village here in rural India. He would share his faith with anyone who would listen, and soon, the seeds he planted began to grow. Others joined him in his Cause, and small flocks of believers began to form in some of the surrounding villages.

Change through Education

These humble beginnings have evolved over the years, and education now plays a pivotal role in IREF’s multi-faceted mission.

By the early 1980’s, Prasada Rao and his wife had brought a handful of orphans to live under their roof. They educated them spiritually and academically. As they reached middle-school age, the Rebbas realized they couldn’t let the kids return to government schooling, where Hinduism is still taught. So they decided to start their own schooling.

Nowadays, what started as small school for a handful of orphans has turned into an entire school system for well over a thousand, and nearly 30% of that population is still without mother or father. While many may not have biological parents, they have found family here.

Every single one of these kids comes from poverty, and one of every three is an orphan. IREF is providing hope despite the obstacles.

“Emmanuel, he is my father,” I’ve heard a few say. “Deevena, she is my mother.”

Hope is Alive

When I’m inside the walls of IREF, I have to keep reminding myself that I’m in India…that many aspects of Indian culture are still dominated by the caste system (despite it being “outlawed,” but I’ll get into that later)…that opportunities are scarce for so many.

The work of IREF is a decisive counter to these cultural norms. The folks here are educating generations of Indian kids to think differently about God, about themselves and about their place in this world. They are empowering lives, inside and outside the classroom.

You can see the Light shining through in these kids’ eyes. They are seeing the world in new and exciting ways. They have hope beyond the confines of the caste into which they were born. They have dreams that reach beyond a life of arduous labor that awaits so many others.

IREF is truly changing lives, and I’m honored to tell their stories in the coming weeks. I just hope I can keep track of them all, because every time I turn around, I hear another that blows my mind.

Every year we gather together to celebrate what God has done through World Next Door and to dream about where he might take us next.  We call it our Annual Celebration and Fundraiser.

But that name is sort of dry.  It’s better to think about it as a birthday party!

On January 26, we had our third birthday party and it was a blast!  Live music, amazing soups and breads, a really cool photo gallery and, for the first time, live social media engagement.

But I know that a lot of our friends weren’t able to make it last Thursday, so I’ve put together a photo gallery of the event by one of our amazing volunteers, Jeremy VanAndal (you can check out his work at www.jeremyvanandelphoto.com).

And be sure to check out the great video by Mike “Mighty” Chandler below!

I’ve spent nearly a month traveling around the West African nation of Senegal under the wing of a Peace Corps volunteer and the groundbreaking organization Tostan. And when I say I’ve been traveling, I mean it!

Whether on foot, by bus, bush taxi or bike, I’ve been moving. Getting out to the most remote parts of Senegal takes time and skill…and a lot of languages. And that’s just getting around! Once you’re settled, the real work begins. Village life demands constant effort

The most remote places of Senegal are home to hundreds of villages.

It’s a life completely different than what I’m used to, but these are a lot of the places where schools, healthcare and other basic needs aren’t being met. These are also places where cultural practices like early marriage and Female Genital Cutting put women’s health at risk.

How can we help in a context we don’t fully understand, and in places so inaccessible?

For starters, we can learn like Tatiana is trying to do during her two years as a Peace Corps volunteer. We can also support the work of organizations like Tostan that work with communities through local facilitators to promote women and children’s rights. Complex issues like those out in remote villages aren’t out of reach—they just require a little more leg work to understand.

10 Kilometers That Way

How many days, public transport vehicles and languages does it take to get around the West African country of Senegal? Read on to find out…

Click here to read this travel guide…

Bassari Life in Motion – Part I

I’m learning that although village life moves slower, it moves constantly. Watch and learn what it takes to be Bassari—from hut building to rice pounding!

Click here to read this culture guide…

Photo Gallery: Bassari Life in Motion – Part II

There’s more! Learn more about village life in Senegal from the residents of Ethiolo…

Click here to see this photo gallery…

Someone Else’s Village

What would it take for you to move to a remote African village for two years? Learn why Tatiana is happy to be doing just that…

Click here to read this article…

Says Who? – Part I

Female Genital Cutting is wrong…right? Read why we need to look deeper into this one before moving forward…

Click here to read this article…

Says Who? – Part II

Learn how Tostan works with villages to promote human rights rather than against them.

Click here to read this article…

This is Part II of a two-part article. To read Part I, click here.

Amidst the overwhelming challenge of addressing sensitive issues like Female Genital Cutting, the organization Tostan works with villages instead of against them.

To learn more, Tatiana and I headed back to Dakar to join up with Tostan employees. Before long, we hopped in the Tostan vehicle with Kalidou, the Tostan National Director of Senegal, and another employee to journey across the country to experience the work of Tostan firsthand.

Well…to experience a fete firsthand. Translation: party.

Yes, I was a little skeptical to hear that Tostan, promoter of human rights in nearly 10 African nations for 30 years, is busy throwing parties. But these are no ordinary parties—they are declarations.

How It Goes

To be a part of Tostan, a village participates in the three-year Community Empowerment Program—facilitated lessons on everything from accounting to health and hygiene to basic human rights. The facilitator comes from the same ethnic group as the majority of the village where he or she is teaching and is therefore familiar with local customs. Tostan hires a facilitator and provides training and support, and the hosting village provides housing, food and a place for the CEP classes to be held with a co-ed group of villagers.

Tostan meeting with local and national leaders, including Kalidou Sy (in green), Tostan Senegal National Director.

In addition to setting up a CEP class, the village forms a Community Management Committee comprised of nine women and eight men. The committee works in conjunction with the members of the CEP class to lead development projects in the village—they’re the link that helps turn ideas and discussions into action.

At the end of three years, some villages decide to hold a public declaration. They usually compose a written statement of how they will uphold basic human rights in their village—how they will move away from forcing girls to marry at an early age and drop out of school, how they will abandon practices like FGC that put a woman’s health at risk.

Once these declarations are composed, well…there is obviously reason to celebrate!

A Big Deal

I walked into the central plaza of the town of Bakel unsure of what to expect from such a grand Tostan “declaration.” People from the surrounding villages began pouring into the city the night before the event—69 villages in total.

These girls are learning about the basic tenets of human rights, including their right to an education and control over their own bodies.

That’s right. In this one area alone, Tostan programs run in 69 villages. At this event, 20 villages were to “declare,” or make their promise to uphold women and children’s rights in their villages as discussed during their three years as Community Empowerment Program participants. The other 49 villages in attendance were all somewhere in their three years of lessons.

Tatiana and I waded through the sea of women dressed in their best, most colorful dresses to the hundreds of chairs and accompanying shade tents surrounding the dirt plaza where drums were already starting. We situated ourselves in a spot barely inside the shade next to a girl with soft features wearing a sparkling white dress.

Meet Mariama

She introduced herself as Mariama from Gouniang. Mariama carries herself with the solemnity of someone much older than her 18 years. Perhaps her critical, attentive disposition is what made her a good candidate for participation in her village’s Tostan class.

Mariama, standing on her chair to watch the dancing.

She may have only attended three years of formal schooling, but Mariama is learning skills now through her Community Empowerment Program that will give her responsibility in the well-being of her entire community in the future. Hopefully, Mariama’s village will be reading their own declaration at an event like this one a year from now.

As the event began, Mariama leaned forward in her chair, soaking up the words of the local leaders as they shared congratulations with the community. She and her classmates listened to the speakers and nodded along, at one point shaking their heads and reiterating, “forced marriage is bad,” to one another in their local language of Pulaar.

What Went Down

Mariama watched over Tatiana and me out of the corner of her eye throughout the event. She even clicked her tongue assertively at me during the prayer to attract my attention and show me the proper way to hold my hands. I flipped my palms up and overlapped my fingers before I caused her any more embarrassment.

Some of the local girls performing a dance for the event. They came in wearing t-shirts and holding signs about ending forced marriage and excision.

As the event went on (and on and on…as is tradition with Senegalese fetes), we watched lively dances from one of the local ethnic groups and listened to poems and speeches, honoring the “positive” local traditions.

Everything about the event built up the local citizens—they came of their own free will to declare a better future for their children and daughters. They publicly declared to respect their girls’ right to go to school, to choose to enter into marriage, and to be free from the dangerous practice of FGC.

The Right Direction

We asked Mariama about her Tostan lessons so far. She told us about her new knowledge of money keeping, hygiene, counting and how now, at the age of 18, she can write her own name. She hopes the lessons will end forced and early marriage in her village.

Although the road may be a long one, Mariama is a part of discussions now that will hopefully create new standards for human rights in her village. It takes a moment to tell someone what is illegal, but it may take a movement, an entire community of heightened consciousness, to respect it.

Diairi, calling her peers and community to action!

We looked around at the event, girls holding signs declaring, “End Excision!” (FGC) in French, and decided we could ask the question.

“Mariama, what do you think of excision?” I asked through Tatiana.

“Not good. It’s illegal,” she asserted (what did I expect?)

But looking around at the entire community—men, women, local and regional leaders—all walking proudly into a collaboration to protect the well-being of their people, I believed Mariama was telling me the truth.

Disclaimer: This article contains some graphic content. It is intended for mature audiences only.

—–

I looked at Tatiana across our dinner bowl, scanned the face of her host mom next to us, then turned back to Kali, the ancient, sickly man asleep on the ground.

Kali no longer works and is without family or means to care for himself, so he wanders the village. He frequents the compound of Tatiana’s host family, curls up on a mat of reeds next to an equally lethargic dog and waits for a meal. Kali once held the title of village “excisioner,” the man who earned a living by performing Female Genital Cutting on the local girls.

Government laws and programs don’t necessarily make it all the way out to these guys in the village.

Broaching the topic is a struggle, even for Tatiana who is well incorporated into the village and her host family. She’s asked about it before, but she feels like people are still uncomfortable talking openly about it to her, a white person. She offered to ask her host mom again, for my sake, over dinner.

But when Tatiana casually inquired about whether or not someone had replaced Kali as village excisioner, her mom gave the expected, appropriate response:

“Of course not. That’s illegal.”

Some of the Facts

Girls grow up very fast in village life, but should FGC be part of “becoming a woman”?

True. The practice became illegal in Senegal in 1999, but just like public transportation and government schools, the law does not always reach remote villages.  And whether it’s happening or not, few people want to discuss it with an outsider. Female Genital Cutting, also referred to as Female Genital Mutilation or Female Circumcision, has traditionally been practiced in most African nations (as well as a few other countries).

FGC looks different in different cultures, but in general, the procedure involves removing some or all of a young girl’s external genitalia. This rarely occurs with any sort of pain killer, and conditions are usually less than sterile. A girl undergoes the procedure as a part of cultural initiation or to deter her from being sexually promiscuous (the idea being if sex is no longer enjoyable, then she won’t want to sleep around).

Some girls suffer from infection or hemorrhaging from the procedure itself or contract HIV through unsterilized knives and razor blades. Even if they make it through the procedure healthy, they are at greater risk of difficulty in childbirth later on, putting mother and baby in danger.

From the Outside

To be frank, just thinking about the subject induces a pretty strong gag reaction in me, a woman who has never lived in a culture where FGC (or anything close) is permissible. And I’m not alone; even the United Nations has launched strong action against the practice, looking out for the welfare of girls around the world.

FGC is perpetuated through the generations by men and women.

I couldn’t be happier about condemning FGC. I mean, it’s cruel, derogatory towards women on principle and obviously wrong…right?

Well, maybe obviously wrong isn’t so culturally sensitive. In fact, mine is the zealous stance that serves as a pitfall for many do-gooders who try to broach the subject from the outside. We jump into a village or country carrying laws and threats without acknowledging the deep-rooted significance of what we’re attacking.

For example, what happens when one village decides to abandon the practice, but the women of the village are supposed to marry men of the neighboring village where FGC is still practiced? They may be left without husbands and therefore without children—the social security system of bush life.

Moreover, how would you respond if the primary message you received from the outside was, “Stop! Your culture is barbaric,” when you were only trying to look out for the well-being of your children?

Where to Start

There’s an organization out there to promote a healthy future for girls in Senegal.

It’s a sticky situation. The risks to physical and emotional health from FGC are real, even if the people who still practice it are unaware of them, but many villages are leery about discussing such topics with those outside of their communities.

Where to start? How can anyone possibly begin to navigate the intricate fabric of culture, stigma and inaccessibility that surrounds the practice of Female Genital Cutting in remote villages in dozens of countries around the world?

Well, there’s one organization on the ground doing just that…

“Are there crocodiles in Senegal?” I inquired at the edge of the stream, blocking our way across the path.

“Yes,” Tatiana asserted as she ploughed through the moonlit water. I hardly had time to turn my flashlight on before she’d reached the other side.

Right. Why check? I splashed behind, shining my light around the water…just in case.

This is a termite mound growing inside of Tatiana’s hut. Just one of the many special touches of nature in her home!

I’ve never considered myself a worrier, but following Tatiana around Senegal has definitely pushed the limits a little. After living in village for over a year as a Peace Corps volunteer, some adjustments to perspective are expected. She doesn’t worry much about what she eats, and she doesn’t flinch when a neighbor gives her a live chicken as a gift to carry home over 7 km.

It’s all just part of life.

Uncomfortable

But other things are a little harder to stomach. For example, Tatiana has found no less than three Black Mambas (a deadly snake) in her hut. Her hair is thinning from malnutrition. She’s suffered multiple skin infections. And last year, she came down with a case of Shigella (a form of dysentery) during the hot season when temperatures reach 120 degrees Fahrenheit.

Tatiana gathering her beans from the fields.

“You know, as miserable as Shigella was, it was great to feel a chill. I had to cover with a blanket! I sort of hope I get a fever this hot season…” she told me, optimistically.

Well, at least she gets adequate compensation for her suffering, right? Not exactly. Upon arriving in Senegal, Tatiana received three months of training, a mosquito net, a water filter, a bike and one ride out to her village. Now, she receives a modest living stipend and will leave her service with a few thousand dollars to pay for things before finding a job.

Basically, there are a number of things a college graduate with a dual degree in economics and Spanish could do that would bring in more cash and involve far fewer mosquitoes. But despite all of this, there is no place Tatiana would rather be for these two years than in the village of Ethiolo.

Becoming Local

Tatiana was sent to Ethiolo as a Small Enterprise Development volunteer. Since arriving in village, she’s been learning about the women’s groups, community gardens, marketable local products, Bassari cultural tourism and more in an effort to figure out sustainable ways for the people to generate more income to send children to school, feed their families during the starving season and pay for important things like medicine.

Tatiana and a local teacher, Antoinette, preparing curriculum for the girls’ program.

But above all, her responsibility is to learn. She has been thrown into the humbling situation of living amongst an entirely new culture with people who survive by the work of their hands and reliance on one another.

Tatiana is not their savior; she is an honored guest in their home.

“It is good that she’s here,” her host mom told me (through Tatiana translating, of course) over our shared dinner bowl, “we can teach her many things she doesn’t know.”

And teach her they have. She helps farm, participates in food preparation and she’s learning more of the two local languages daily. Her mom even gave Tatiana her own plot of land to farm this year. Tatiana blends in seamlessly with her family as she sits around the compound and sorts peanuts or jokes with her host sisters about the local men.

Her Place

The adaptation is not without hiccups. Tatiana grows frustrated with little things like the practice of the entire village visiting the hut of sick person (it really cuts in on rest time). We also couldn’t help but shake our heads when her host brother intentionally cut his foot with a razor one morning at breakfast to “bleed out” his sprained ankle.

Antoinette and Tatiana meeting with the mothers in the village to discuss the upcoming program for their daughters.

Tatiana speaks up when something is dangerous, but in general, she is not in Ethiolo to change local practices. She waits for opportunities where her knowledge may be of use. She cites teaching her host mom how to document sales on market day as one of the most important contributions she’s made. And lately, one of the local teachers approached her with the idea to address important health and life issues facing young girls through a series of lessons.

When ideas like these come up, Tatiana helps gather resources, whether it’s finding markers, doing internet research or applying for a grant from the local World Vision office. She serves as a link between her village and many well-intentioned programs that sometimes don’t quite make it out to Ethiolo. Her work brings her in contact with the ins and outs of poverty alleviation efforts on the ground level.

Open Up

Tatiana probably won’t solve world hunger during her two year stint in Ethiolo, but the impact of her experience in her own life and the life of the village is unknown. Because of her willingness to let go of the familiar, she’s gaining an understanding unlike any other:

Tatiana and her host mom out in the fields.

What does sponsoring a child look like from the other side? How does corruption play into development work? How do local people feel about practices like female genital cutting, labeled by the international community as a human rights violation? What does poverty actually mean?

Tatiana’s commitment reminds me that to find out—I mean really strive to understand—it takes more than just asking the right questions or being in the right place. We must humble ourselves. We must be open to other paradigms, accepting that ours are merely a few among many.

Maybe we all need a year in someone else’s village.

This is the second part of a two-part culture guide. To read Part I, click here.

The Senegalese village of Ethiolo may only have 500 residents, but the unique lifestyle and customs of the Bassari people here could take years to understand. Continue to learn a little about life in Ethiolo from these images…

Life moves a little slower out in the Senegalese village of Ethiolo. The general pace lulls some visitors into thinking that not a lot goes on in these parts, aside from tea drinking and long conversations. But I’m learning that although life here moves slower, it moves constantly.

All day people work out in their fields, prepare meals, carry water, repair huts, walk to the market, visit sick neighbors and more. ‘Work time’ and ‘personal time’ flow seamlessly together in days full of activity, from sunup to sundown. But these activities aren’t exactly optional—many Bassari families in Ethiolo depend on the food they farm to survive, and their community structure is built on relationships that are nurtured by lingering visits between neighbors.

The village chief and one of his grandsons

I’m not sure if I’d cut it as a Bassari. But luckily, my friend Tatiana and her host family are helping me learn the ropes.

Have a look at some of the day-to-day happenings of village life.

This is the first part of a two-part culture guide. To read Part II, click here.

Bienvenue o Senegal—one of the formerly French countries buried in western Africa somewhere between Mali, Mauritania and Guinea (have a look).

Destination: village. My dear friend Tatiana is serving in the Peace Corps for two years in one of the most remote Peace Corps sites in the country. When we spoke about my visit before coming, Tatiana mentioned meeting me in Dakar (the capital) when I arrived.

“You don’t have to do that, Tatiana…I’m sure I can figure it out,” I said with the false confidence of a seasoned traveler.

“Ummm…no. I’m meeting you,” she asserted.

Now I know why.

Heading Out

I landed in Dakar before sunrise where Tatiana met me and led me out into the city. She expertly haggled taxi prices in French with a swarm of drivers outside of the airport before landing on a price underneath the toubab—or white person—fare. I was already lost.

Throughout the day, Tatiana repeated this bargaining ritual with drivers in French or occasionally Pulaar (a local language she’s learning). But sometimes they spoke neither, so she resorted to arm waving and figure counting until we received the correct price. I quickly realized it takes quite a few languages to maneuver around Senegal.

Outside of the major cities, many Senegalese people live in villages and rely on subsistence farming

We boarded an overnight bus for the region of Kedougou that stopped on and off in confusing “breaks,” that were just long enough to disembark and try to find a spot to relieve yourself before the driver started honking and rolling away. After 10 hours, we reached the regional capital of Kedougou.

Getting Closer

There yet? Not quite.

The next step is a nefplas, a low-riding station wagon with nine people (or sheep…) crammed in. The car doesn’t leave until it’s full, which takes anywhere from one to seven hours. But we decided to take a break for a couple of days—in part to rest, and in part because the funeral of a local dignitary diverted the passenger cars away from transport service.

Two days later, we bought our tickets and sat down to wait.

Ethiolo is just starting to dry up this time of year, but some of the green is leftover from the rainy season

Eventually, Tatiana and I hopped in the back of the vehicle with our knees squished to our chests for the 86 km ride over the dirt road to the town of Salemata, still not our destination. We stopped in the town briefly to eat some rice and mafe, a sauce made from peanuts, and hit the road on foot.

“We’re almost there,” Tatiana assured me, “we just have to walk 10 kilometers that way.”

On Foot

Ok. So I would probably not have found this place on my own. It felt like we were journeying to the ends of the earth. And so far, we had not found a single road or transport vehicle by any demarcated sign or schedule (not that I would understand it anyway, given it would be in French…).

How does anyone get to these places? I kept thinking.

The dirt road through the center of Ethiolo with some residents!

Tatiana and I walked 10 kilometers towards the border of Guinea, passing the occasional man on a bicycle or woman sauntering with a basket balancing on her head. Each would stop, extend a hand and begin the back and forth greeting ritual in Pullo futa, the regional dialect of Pulaar:

Tanaa alaa? (Are you without the devil?)

Jam tung. (Peace only)

Sometimes the greeting continued…are you healthy? How are the kids? How did you sleep? As we neared Tatiana’s village, the greeting changed to Bassari:

Kamara? (Are you ready to fight?)

Ba (Yes, I’m ready to fight)

Mochande? (Did you come out of your hut in peace?)

Mochaneme (Yes, I came out in peace)

Families in Ethiolo construct their own huts out of local materials

Though the translations are a little strange, these greetings passed back and forth naturally between us and every traveler we passed. Greeting is essential in these parts.

Off the Beaten Path

After four days of travel, Tatiana and I traversed one final hill, dusty and exhausted, into the Bassari village of Ethiolo.

Meet Tatiana’s neighbors, Hellen and Arno

We walked past the first few mud huts with thatched roofs towards the sparse village center where a group of kids were all gathered around a recently killed goat.

“Ugh. Sorry, Laura,” Tatiana said, looking at the goat before yelling an enthusiastic, “Kamara!?!?” at the kids. They diverted their attention from the spectacle to Tatiana and me and shouted, “Taki! TAKI!” (Tatiana’s village name) followed by the rest of the greetings.

Finally there. Oh, and did I mention Ethiolo is actually only about 500 miles from Dakar? Not usually a trip worthy of four days. Needless to say, Ethiolo remains far from the beaten path. The occasional visitor or cultural tourist makes the trek, but things like running water, cell phone service and electricity still haven’t found their way out to these parts…save one solar panel with questionable functionality.

Even though it took a little time to get here, it should be well worth the strain. These two weeks, I’ll be pulling water and sleeping in a hut like the rest of the Bassari villagers and getting a taste of what it means to be really—I mean, really—out in the bush.

As I sit and reflect on the time I’ve spent at Sanctuary here in Toronto, my mind conjures up a host of images and experiences. But the underlying theme that unites them all is the community found here!

Now don’t get me wrong, the Sanctuary community doesn’t mean a bunch of people are standing around a campfire singing Kumbaya. The nature of the community means that things can get messy at times. The problems that plague some “friends from the street” mean that nerves are often on edge, tensions can run high and arguments can get heated. You never know what the day may bring, and new challenges always arise.

Toronto, like any other city, contains a variety of people living on the margins. It's up to us, who claim Christ, to shed light in those lives.

But I also see the ways staffers approach their friends from the street. They foster community through a host of intentional means.

They purposefully don’t put many signs up in the place, as you might find in most public places. They want people talking to staff and each other, seeking information from people, not signs.

They serve food “family style” so that people must talk to their neighbor, asking for items and passing the plates of food. They want their friends working in the kitchen and serving the food. There is dignity in the activity. They even sing Happy Birthday once a month to all who have an upcoming birthday. This is dignity.

They go on weekly “outreach walks,” where seasonal supplies are handed out to folks they find on the streets and in the alleys. The items aren’t why they do it however, the people and the ongoing relationships are.

Whether I was at the Christmas concert or otherwise, I got a taste of the new model of the Church community...or better yet, a renewed model.

Even during their weekly staff meeting, they always partake in communion and underscore the collective effort shared by all. And that effort is recognized by those they serve.

“This place is so different from the others,” I overheard a woman tell another. “They don’t treat you like you’re below them. They treat you like a real person.”

“This place isn’t all stuffy,” said another man at another time. “You don’t have to have your ass-puckered up to go inside the place. It’s really different. I mean, no offense to them, but when I first came, I didn’t even know it was a church!”

Another man made a similar statement, even if he didn’t use words. During two different Sunday-night services, he was passed out just inside the doorway of the main sanctuary. Periodically, throughout each service, you could hear him snorting and grunting amid his deep slumber. But nobody seemed to care, and it was a wonderful thing.

“He’s adding to the service, whether he knows it or not,” said one of the staffers. “He’s contributing to the community.”

Wow. This is Sanctuary. And what a blessing it’s been to have the opportunity to spend time with these folks!

While many in the Church prefer to think of the body of Christ as being composed of a bunch of well-manicured fingers and pearly-white smiles, the fact is, it has many different parts. And Sanctuary treasures them all.

A Motley Crew

There were clean faces and dirty, combed hair and disheveled. There were designer clothes and tattered. This…this is the body of Christ.

Click here to read this article…

That’s God, That’s God, That’s God – Part I

By all accounts, Patrick should be dead. But the fact that he’s sitting here tells a different story.

Click here to read this article…

That’s God, That’s God, That’s God – Part II

There’s something special about being embraced and loved by a whole bunch of messy people.

Click here to read this article…

Camping in the Concrete Jungle

There’s no place like home… and this ain’t it.

Click here to read this article…

Photo Gallery: Community is at the Core

Day in and day out, week in and week out, Sanctuary is providing a variety of programs and activities focused on the heart of their mission…community. But it’s not just any community. Its essence is found in those overlooked by most. Many of its community members, those “friends from the street,” are living in the [...]

Click here to see this photo gallery…

Once a Stranger, Now a Brother

I was humbled and inspired by the prayer of this earnest stranger.

Click here to read this article…

Kingdom of the Broken

I’m not worthy, as I’m haunted by my own brokenness. But therein lies the blessing.

Click here to read this article…