With just three weeks and a few days standing between me and my trip to Malawi, the preparations are in full swing. I spent nearly 2 hours on the phone with my boss this morning, planning our 3-hour seminar on health, healing, and wholeness for the community of Mzuzu. We'll be engaging local health advocates and of course, the attendees will drive the conversation. We're really just going to be there to help facilitate a conversation. But, what an opportunity.
I had a moral crisis about this trip a few weeks ago. I was standing in line at the Target pharmacy with a prescription for Malarone, a very good anti-malaria pill. My right arm was covered in bandages from injections--tetanus booster, Hepatitis A, and typhoid. The travel clinic didn't take insurance, so I'd put the $300 bill on my AmEx. The Malarone pills cost more than $100 for a 14-day supply. Again, I swiped the AmEx, and made sure to put the receipt in a safe place--not because I'd be filing an insurance claim, hoping I'd get some if back, but because my work would be reimbursing me in full. I'd simply code the injections and pills to my "travel account" on my next check requisition form.
When the pharmacist handed me the bottle of little white pills, it hit me: damn, that's some privilege there. Just a phone call to a doctor's office, a Metro ride, and an AmEx got me a prescription to prevent a disease that kills 2 people every minute. And even though I don't have to pay for it myself, I could if I needed to.
I'm still not quite sure what to do with this guilt. I know that not taking the pills does not do me--or anyone else for that matter--any good--no sense in me acquiring a disease and having to seek medical attention while I'm there. That's why I've been doing all of my routine check-ups and getting in good shape before I leave; I want to be completely and totally there to experience it all at my best. But, it's the fact that I have access to quality care and others do not that's got me in a metaphorical headlock.
So, let's do something. $10 buys a bed net to protect a family from the disease. You can go visit Imagine No Malaria to donate. I'm going there now.
Showing posts with label Theology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Theology. Show all posts
The Good Earth (Friday)
I am trying a different kind of post, one that speaks to an area I rarely have discussed here. I know it's a shift from my usual post, but as some have suggested, I am trying something new here. Would love to hear your thoughts!
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Interesting that Good Friday and Earth Day fall on the same day this year. I wish I had some deep enviro-ethical thing to say about this, but my theology brain has gone on what seems like a permanent vacation. Unless it pertains to maternal health, in which case I can usually whip something together.
From the looks of things Earth Day is getting a lot more coverage. This makes sense on many levels. The environment is just beginning to get some of the much-deserved attention it requires. It's mostly non-sectarian, unless you think Earth doesn't deserve its own holiday. And, as for Good Friday, who really likes talking about ancient torture, humiliation, and death?
Answer: seminary students. Apart from them, not really anyone. But, I digress.
Easter is a holiday that one can't really jump ahead of time to celebrate. The 40 days (plus Sundays) of Lent leading up to Easter are marked by introspection, sacrifice, and centering. In my case, it has involved abstinence from all forms of alcohol (and I'm counting the hours down until my first mimosa at Sunday brunch with Katie at our local gay bar.) Basically, it's a whole lot of un-fun. But not pointless un-fun. Really, really important un-fun.
On Wednesday I got to lead a small chapel service in song. I started with "Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child." I almost got choked up. It's a spiritual I almost feel unfit to sing; it carries with it the weight of suffering I've never felt. And yet, there is part of me that can connect with the feeling of being "a long way from home." Lent is a time of journeying into the wilderness, of being far away from our "home," our comfort and familiar routine.
Good Friday is the beginning of the end of this journey. It's been a long one for me. And, I'm ready for some Easter joy to cast out the darkness again.
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Interesting that Good Friday and Earth Day fall on the same day this year. I wish I had some deep enviro-ethical thing to say about this, but my theology brain has gone on what seems like a permanent vacation. Unless it pertains to maternal health, in which case I can usually whip something together.
From the looks of things Earth Day is getting a lot more coverage. This makes sense on many levels. The environment is just beginning to get some of the much-deserved attention it requires. It's mostly non-sectarian, unless you think Earth doesn't deserve its own holiday. And, as for Good Friday, who really likes talking about ancient torture, humiliation, and death?
Answer: seminary students. Apart from them, not really anyone. But, I digress.
Easter is a holiday that one can't really jump ahead of time to celebrate. The 40 days (plus Sundays) of Lent leading up to Easter are marked by introspection, sacrifice, and centering. In my case, it has involved abstinence from all forms of alcohol (and I'm counting the hours down until my first mimosa at Sunday brunch with Katie at our local gay bar.) Basically, it's a whole lot of un-fun. But not pointless un-fun. Really, really important un-fun.
On Wednesday I got to lead a small chapel service in song. I started with "Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child." I almost got choked up. It's a spiritual I almost feel unfit to sing; it carries with it the weight of suffering I've never felt. And yet, there is part of me that can connect with the feeling of being "a long way from home." Lent is a time of journeying into the wilderness, of being far away from our "home," our comfort and familiar routine.
Good Friday is the beginning of the end of this journey. It's been a long one for me. And, I'm ready for some Easter joy to cast out the darkness again.
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