Letter from South Sudan

The people of South Sudan face more conflict and uncertainty as elections are postponed. Samuel Enosa Peni records how Christian faith is changing lives amid difficult times.

Samuel Enosa Peni

Samuel Enosa Peni is Archbishop of Western Equatoria in South Sudan.

Outside a church a congregation waits seated while an onlooker rests on a motorcycle by a tree.

South Sudanese Anglicans await the visit of the Archbishop of Canterbury to their church.

South Sudan as a sovereign state gained its independence in 2011 after experiencing a civil war which lasted for many decades. According to the 2018 International Religious Freedom Report, Christians make up 60 per cent of the population, 33 per cent constitute indigenous religion followers among whom some combine both Christian and indigenous practices.

In 2012 Christian faith in South Sudan celebrated the centenary of sustained Christianity in the land, for both the Roman Catholic church and the Protestants (Episcopal Church of South Sudan - Anglican Communion). There has been a tremendous growth of Christian faith in South Sudan and an increased number of Christian denominations. Lives have been saved and many South Sudanese have received Christ as their personal saviour. The Christian faith has also played a major role through its evangelization in drawing many people of all ages to participate in church activities and more. The church offers psychological and social support, inter-religious peace building initiatives, education, health and care that is changing lives. Christian faith is embedded in the reality and life situations of the people.

What does daily reality look like for people trying to live out their faith?

Life in South Sudan is characterized by war, tribal and communal conflicts. This has left the country facing many challenges, and the people are living in fear. Those who are trying to live out a Christian faith in South Sudan are not excepted from the general challenges and problems. The primary problem the majority face is the cost of living and security.

High inflation in the country is a factor of socio-economic problems and the hit of COVID in 2020. Life has never been the same since. Over 80 per cent of the people in South Sudan live below the poverty line. Despite the living conditions, as Christians, many have not ceased to live out a Christian faith. This is evidence by Christians participating in huge numbers during every Sunday Mass, prayer gatherings, Bible studies and church activities. Door to door and targeted evangelism mission outreach are effective. And a great number of people are called to the ministries such as becoming clergy, being commissioned as youth ministry leaders, Mothers’ Union members, evangelists and lay workers in the church.

What are the pressures and dangers being faced?

Due to lack of political will among the key players to permanently end conflict and bring peace to the people of South Sudan, there is still the danger of insecurity and fear among people in many parts of the country. Politics and socio-economics challenges and differences remain a problem. Christian faith also faces a danger of insurging witchcraft practices. Massive prayer initiatives are the response of the church. The mission to evangelise, teach and disciple remains a burden as a third of the people of South Sudan constitute indigenous religion followers or follow emerging false prophets. Because of the current economic situation, the church is lacking finance for its developmental programs. These range from capacity building, through missions, youth and women programmes, to working with vulnerable groups providing health and education. This poses a threat in the smooth gospel mission and discipleship programs.

How is Christianity fuelling justice?

South Sudan’s independence struggle was often considered a fight for religious freedom for the mostly Christian south against the Islamist government in Khartoum. With the current situation, the church has always been a key advocate for justice. As her role is to fuel justice, the church has been promoting dialogue, healing and reconciliation amid the ongoing political strife and ethnic conflicts. In 2017/2018, the South Sudan Council of Churches and its partners conducted a “Community Conversation” as an Action Plan for Peace aimed at documenting the voice of the people towards peacebuilding and addressing community issues and differences. The church is never silent to speak out against abuses of power and injustices in the Country. On 10 March 2023, the South Sudan Council of Churches released a statement which reads, “Deeper than simply avoiding war, nonviolence calls us to a new way of life which respects the dignity of every person and the integrity of creation. Nonviolence names a core value of the Gospel, in which Jesus combined an unmistakable rejection of violence with the power of love and truth in action for justice and peace. It is much more than the absence of violence and it is never passive. It is a spirituality, a constructive force, an effective method for social force, an effective method for social transformation, and a powerful way of life committed to the well-being of all. It rejects any form of violence and commits itself to a prophetic stance against violence and injustice. This is not a passive approach, not simply submitting to or colluding with violence, but is active and prophetic in responding to all forms of violence, amongst individuals, families, clans, tribes, and political and military factions, and including systemic violence embedded in our cultural, societal, and political life.”

What about the upcoming election?

Every South Sudanese is looking forward to a “free and fair” vote in the upcoming 2024 elections. Church leaders are also urging the government to adhere to the peace agreement it signed with its rivals, and to conduct a peaceful election. From the viewpoints of the current political climate, though the government has shown commitment to conduct elections in December 2024, remember that elections were to be conducted in February 2023 but did not materialize. The certainty of conducting elections in 2024 remains unclear. The facts are that the following measures needed to run an election have not yet been implemented: electoral laws, a census, voter registration and constituency boundaries, safe environments to vote, repatriation of refugees and security arrangements. Revitalized peace agreement protocols are also yet to be fully implemented. Looking at the remaining period to elections, this poses a question whether the election will be viable or not. From a Christian perspective, there is hope, with God nothing is impossible. The church is praying and working closely with the political parties and other community organizations to ensure there are elections in 2024.

Article

Books

Change

Mental Health

17 June 2024

5 min read

Reading together helps us read our own lives better

The rush and tumble nearly squeezes the life out of the clock’s second hand.

Jessica Brown

Jessica is a researcher, writer, and singer-songwriter. She is studying at Trinity College Dublin, and is an ordinand with the Church of Ireland.

A painting shows two 19th century women in a carriage, one reading as the others snoozes.

The Travelling Companions, Augustus Egg.

Birmingham Museums Trust on Unsplash.

Even ordinary days seem to have frantic edges. A friend of mine, a salesman and father of four teenagers, said the other day that it felt like he was the hamster in the wheel, but so dreadfully exhausted, he’s flopped over, thumping around as the wheel keeps spinning. If we put a finger on the pulse of our current cultural desires, one pulse would be the longing not only for rest — spots of digital fasting or a day hiking — but an overhaul and renewal of what we’ve done with time. Yet it is difficult to know how to slow down, and it often seems that our attempts for self-care and being intentional are not enough to register that desired sense of slowness.

If we managed this, we would not just be able to slow down, but we would figure out how to bring our experience — the texture, the feel — of our paced lives into something like healing. The rush and tumble of a normal day nearly squeezes the life out of the clock’s second hand, and far too often, most of us reach each evening in some state of exhaustion.

Speaking from my own story, a shift happened when we moved from Los Angeles (which was, to be fair, a great place for us until it wasn’t) to East Clare in the Midlands of Ireland. It was a shift that my whole being needed—needed at a limbic and somatic level, in the spiritual self, as an artist, for family dynamics, and for my partner, a sense of freedom in work. It wasn’t that we merely got more time in our day: it was that our immersion in time, our soul’s experience of the clock, found an ‘easing up’ that — though the daily round is still arduous enough — afforded a little more time in every direction to breathe, think, walk, write; be.

It’s been in the wake of this move, nearly eight years ago now, that I’ve pondered why it felt that the hills here gathered me up into their arms and helped me to actually slow down. Is it these hills, the lovely stretches of variant greens and the countless walking paths hidden among them? Is it the congregation of artists — local artists, who refashioned my ideas about artistic success, inculcated as I was into seeing it as only with a large following? Is it the deliberate decisions to keep family overheads as low as we can, freeing up a bit of time from the understandable and ongoing need for wages?

Among the many reasons for the shift in how I experience time — for the sense, not just of slowing down, but of time affording more space — is the grace of reading with others.

The pastor, physician, and poet—this trio of us still are surprised by the deep, serendipitous connections that our poems make, week after week.

In fact, before this shift there was the keenly disappointing realisation of how little time in the land of adulthood could be set aside for reading. In the last few years, though, the regular habit of reading in companionship has grown into one of the most structural elements of my week. With Monday evening comes lectio divina, an ancient Christian practice for reading scripture in an authentically ‘listening’ way. Two lovely pals from town and I meet (often over a WhatsApp call, but sometimes in person) to read together a passage from the Bible, usually what will be read at a service the following Sunday.

On Monday night, my brother in Texas and I unpack whatever book we’re reading at the moment. We started with Tom Stoppard’s Arcadia, went onto Michael Foley’s School of Life book on Henri Bergson, and after a few more texts, are now reading the stunning poetry collection The Art of the Lathe by the Texan-Kansan poet B.H. Fairchild.

On Tuesday nights, I gather via Zoom with two other women—a minister in Connecticut and a doctor in Sydney; we met at an online course about Rilke in the winter of 2021, and still meet regularly, each bringing a poem to share and the stories of our lives as we’re living through the week. The pastor, physician, and poet—this trio of us still is surprised by the deep, serendipitous connections that our poems make, week after week.

I think too what happens in this reading companionship is that the muscles we use to attend to words together are the very muscles needed to read our own lives.

As these fellow readers and I weave together silence and articulation, listening and exploration, our time together edges eternity. In this, I think I glimpse how God works to redeem the violence we do to time. When we enter into the invitation to holy spaces—like time spent with the Bible, times in prayer, times of friendship—our usage of clock time becomes secondary to the content within that duration, and certainly secondary to the presence of others (be it the writer of the Gospel of John, Emily Dickinson, the Holy Spirit, or a friend down the road). Our experience of time becomes inflected by the psychological richness and the interplay of spiritual growth with another person or persons.

I think too what happens in this reading companionship is that the muscles we use to attend to words together are the very muscles needed to read our own lives. In this, we can suss out how the longing for slowness is an appropriate one and one to listen to. Using metaphors at hand, reading our lives with the modalities of dialogue, listening, and in-time discovery means that our longing for slowness can help us see that we’re looking for a waypoint, a stop along the road; or a few days at basecamp, patching up and cleaning worn gear; or a longer stretch of wintering in the plains before crossing the mountains; or a period of convalescence in a home by the sea. These images for rest, for pause and restoration, can help us see how to open to God’s care in our living narratives, care that seeks to renew and redeem our often grueling experience of time.

The special grace that reading companionship yields is not just the hour’s content that is spent in shared conversation, though this is nourishing and transformative in its own right. It is how this hour sets the context for all the other hours. The humble stance of reading with attention and cherishing the voices of others models a kind of immersed slowness for the rest of our personhood. At the end of the day, I think it’s a radical counterpoint to what we often ask of a day, an infusion of divine grace into the pumping vessels of time.