In the spring of 2017 I studied abroad in Uganda. In April of 2017, I had the opportunity to go to Rwanda with the group of students I was studying with. We spent most of our time in Rwanda learning about the Rwandan genocide, visiting various NGO’s and discussing the ways the nation has been able to rebuild and find forgiveness after such a devastating event in history.
One of our first mornings in Rwanda we visited the Kigali Genocide Memorial. The memorial is absolutely beautiful and honors the lives of victims so well, yet at the same time is heartbreakingly painful. Waking through the rooms reading the stories of the men, women, and children whose lives were taken is never easy. For those, who have visited the Holocaust Museum in Washington D.C. this is a very similar experience.
We left the memorial and then proceeded to go to Nyamata Church. Nyamata Church has now been turned into a memorial, as it is estimated that hundreds of Tutsis gathered inside the walls of this church seeking refuge from those trying to kill them. Yet, despite their best efforts to protect themselves they were found, and all were killed. When you arrive at the church you can look up and see the bullet holes where the gunmen shot through the roof. You can see the iron bars that were split open with some form of explosive. You can see the holes in the walls where those on the outside were shooting those trapped inside the church. Just from the outside, the scene is tragic.
As we made our way inside the church, we were shocked to see piles of bones. Everywhere. Piles and piles of bones. The smell of blood and death was overwhelming. I wish I had the words to adequately describe the feelings and emotions felt in that moment, but sadly there are not words to describe how I felt walking into a room seeing a pile of skulls piled high. The blood-stained clothing of the victims had been laid out along with their personal items such as pocket change and identification cards. The alter in the front of the church, that the archangel hung over was once covered in a white linen was now blood stained.
We later learned that this is not the normal sight when you enter into this church. We learned that in order to better honor those who lost their lives they were digging up the mass graves behind the church and seeking to rebury the victims in greater honor and dignity. Which is beautiful. They certainly desire that honor. But for 19-year-old Lauren who was already processing a lot of the Lord’s goodness and love in the midst of her time in Uganda learning about the LRA wars, gender inequality, and the reality of poverty this about did her in.
I walked out of that church, sick to my stomach, completely unsure how to process what my eyes had just seen. How do you worship a God who allowed the very people who ran to the church for shelter in the midst of a genocide to be brutally murdered? How can I trust this same God to protect me, to keep me, to love me after it didn’t seem as if He loved them and protect them? How does the global church trust a God after something so tragic happened within the walls of the very place His name was exalted and worshiped?
I wrestled with it a lot over the course of the next few weeks and months. I found so much peace in the reality of Easter. In the hope of the resurrection and in the promise of heaven. But, I didn’t understand. I simply had to have faith that when Jesus said He was good that He meant it. I had to trust that He really did love me, as evident on the cross, and that He was going to take care of me as He has so faithfully displayed over the last 22 years of my life. Even if my idea of taking care of me and His were vastly different. I found peace, but at times it still hurt. For one of the first times in my life I learned what it truly means to “walk by faith and not by sight.”
Long story short, I came home from East Africa and nothing ever really went back to normal. I started working for WinShape but found myself waking up at night with nightmares of walking back through the church. My questions and fears about the Lord were always evident in the back of my mind. Camp ended, and I went back to school, but I still found myself with the same dreams time and time again. I struggled with connecting what I knew to be true about the Lord with what I felt and what I had seen.
As an external processor, I needed to talk about it. But talking about it with people who weren’t there, who have never been to Rwanda, some of whom have never left the United States turned more frustrating than helpful. Despite everything in me, I decided to go see a counselor and process it through with someone who had no choice, but to sit there and listen to me for an hour. & truthfully, it was really helpful.
Through counseling and processing through it all, I was able to really find peace. I found comfort in the Lord and truly began to not only trust Him simply out of faith but trust Him out of desire because I actually found Him trustworthy. I stopped having dreams and was able to close that chapter in my heart and in my life…. or so I thought.
This past summer I was sitting in a hotel room after a long day at camp when a friend who I had studied abroad with texted me. We chatted for a moment about where life had landed the two of us now and about how much we missed our time in Uganda. After our conversation I felt the Lord so clearly telling me that I when I was in Rwanda He wanted me to go back to the church.
I kind of dismissed it, but the thought continued. I fought it with arguments like “I don’t even remember the name of the church” or “how would I even get there?” But, thanks to google, I ran out of excuses because a quick google search and you not only have a name but also a location. I told God if we were close by, I’d go.
Fast-forward to last month in Nepal and our team leader shared that she had the information about our ministry in Rwanda and knew our location and if we wanted to know, just to ask. So, I asked and sure enough, we weren’t far from the church at all. Our team would be working with a church in the same city. The sovereignty of the Lord never ceases to amaze me.
We arrived in Rwanda and immediately, I felt at peace. There is just something so special about this place. I’ve heard it said before that, “God travels the world by day, but at night He sleeps in Rwanda” and I can certainly see why. Rwanda is a beautiful country, full of beautiful people and there’s just something special about the place. I shared with my team a little bit about my experience last time I was in the church and shared with them my desire to go back if given the chance. A few weeks went by, but on Tuesday afternoon Laurie, Aleesa, and I planned to go.
Our journey there was quite the adventure. Our sweet taxi driver wasn’t exactly sure which church memorial we were wanting to go and as a result, we drove 45 minutes away to the wrong memorial. After a 10-minute conversation with the guard at that memorial, the guard and the taxi driver began to understand what we were trying to say and figured out which memorial we were wanting to go. Seriously, our taxi driver was so patient, and we finally arrived at the Nyamata Church.
We got out of the taxi and much to our disappointment, the church was closed, and we were not allowed to go inside the building. But thankfully, the guards at this memorial were equally as kind and helpful and allowed us to walk around the property and look inside the windows. It looked nothing like it did last time I was in Rwanda. Thankfully, all the bodies had been properly buried and there were flowers on the graves. The building while still full of the victims blood-stained clothing appeared neater. I stood there for a moment, holding back the tears thinking about the last time I was here and thinking about the tragedy that took place within these walls, the walls of a church nonetheless.
Standing there looking at the building in front of me, I was reminded of the words I had read in the book Mirror to the Church by Emmanuel Katingole. In his book he stated, “… killers entered the church, full of people who had sought shelter there, and killed everyone. Small children were pounded to death with hammers. Adults were dismembered with machetes. The building was not damage, but the church was slaughtered.” I stood there looking at a building created for people to worship and the Lord. A building where the church, Hutus and Tutsis alike, once gathered to seek His face while pondering the fact that within this very church building, the church was slaughtered.
Yet, I stood there and looked down at my arm. Seeing my ‘hope’ tattoo, I remembered the sermon I had preached just days prior, that I shared about HERE. In the midst of genocide. In the midst of war. In the midst of human suffering and pain. In light of sin and the enemy and great darkness, we have hope. It’s evident all throughout scripture. It’s evident all throughout history. & even more personal and tangible, it’s evident all throughout my own life. His great love and faithfulness is beautiful woven throughout my entire story.
While that truth doesn’t make standing at the burial site of hundreds of people who were brutally murdered in a church any easier, it brings hope to what feels hopeless. It shines light into the darkness. It offers truth, in a place the enemy has tried so hard to cover with lies.
& that my friends, is really good news!
“When darkness seems to hide His face, I rest in His unchanging grace!”
