Hope For the Next Life

We pulled up to the church on a motorcycle. A plume of red dust followed us from the road and enveloped us from behind. Hopping off the bike, we were greeted by hundreds of eyes. By the look of things to me, the service either had yet to start or was already over. Dozens upon dozens of people were gathered outside the church building. Everyone was already outside- or so I thought.


I had been summoned by a pastor friend while staying in Sudan to come and photograph his in-laws' wedding. As we walked towards the church building, I could see that the service was not over. The woven grass roof stretched down from the top of the church building to just a few feet off the ground, allowing me to see there were lots of people inside. I ducked my head to get under the grass roof and crouched inside. I looked up from the mud floor to see over a hundred people filling every inch of every bench. The service was in full swing.


Looking around I realized the people outside were outside only because there was no room left inside the church building.


I was prodded to go to the front of the building and take photos. Hesitantly at first and more confidently with each step, I moved forward down the aisle. The church floor was hard-packed dirt. Despite my efforts to avoid being conspicuous, almost every eye turned from the preacher and stuck like a magnet to my figure. I bent down to one knee and snapped a few photos of the couple up front.

I felt bad because I was some tall white kid taking pictures. My skin, my clothes, and my camera were different. I was, in the most real sense, a distraction.

Afterward, the people stood up and soon I was surrounded by strangers. Some greeted me with smiles, some stared at me, and others went about their own way. I felt like a celebrity as my pastor friend wiggled through the crowd to get to me. He brought me to his in-laws and asked me to take their photo outside. After a few shots, he wanted a photo of the entire family. They began rounding up their next of kin and, after their efforts, random kids started adding themselves into the family. The kids walked into the front row of the family and the less bold simply stood on the edges and leaned inward. I debated about whether or not to include the kids in the photo. Maybe they just wanted to be in a photo but what if they are family members?

No sooner had I finished taking the family photo before other people were escorting me through the crowds to their families. There were adults laughing and cheering. The kids studied my every move, hoping to be noticed or, better yet, photographed. Finally, my pastor friend grabbed me and told me we should leave. His tone expressed urgent concern for me. I smiled and waved to the people around me before turning to walk away. It was then the pastor told me it is a dream for most Sudanese to have a photographer at their weddings. He told me that, simply by coming and taking photos I had bumped his status way up.


As we rode back on the motorcycle I thought about life in Sudan. Tin shacks whizzed by and I studied street life. The people did not have much; they were, by most economical standards, poor. The road was dry clay, cracked from the unrelentingly hot African sun. Sunscreen, mobilized from sweat, mixed on my forehead and bled into my eyes. I tried to blink it out. An oncoming truck drew up clouds of dust from the earth. My face was moist from sweat as we drove into the cloud of dust. When we came out of the other end, tiny specks of clay clung to our sweat, masking our faces in a layer of orange grit. Since there were no mirrors anywhere to be found, I can only assume we looked liked Oompa-Loompas.

There we were, two Oompa-Loompas on a motorcycle, moving through space and time and all could I think about was hope. Hope for the people of Sudan. I had seen churches in Sudan flooded with people every Sunday morning. The church buildings were humble but they were brimming with people.

Because of the situation in southern Sudan, many people have little hope for this life but the hope they do have flies in the face of their poverty. They are highly optimistic of their newfound independence but they are surrounded by such sadness. Many are overcome with joy when it comes to knowing they have salvation in Jesus. Salvation offers them new life.

For the believers in southern Sudan, their hope is not for this life; their hope is for the next.