Prayers for Advent II

 "Merciful God, who sent your messengers the prophets to preach repentance and prepare the way for our salvation: Give us grace to heed their warnings and forsake our sins, that we may greet with joy the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.  Amen."

-Collect for the Second Sunday of Advent, The Book of Common Prayer, p.211.

I am a mid-western American.  That's my home culture.  I value hard work, good earth, stout beer, and quiet strength.  Sometimes these are good, but sometimes they aren't.  I also value self-provision, self-actualization, and self-containment.  Today, I was reminded again in a powerful way that I am not in America any longer, but in Africa.  It's been a difficult day, and an emotional day, but a very good day.  And I know, once again, that God is good.

This weekend, Allison and William and I have been in Pretoria, South Africa staying with some dear American friends who are here for a two-week work junket.  They have a son almost exactly the same age as William, and it's been very fun to have a break for a couple days from the cultural adjustments and just be Americans again -- enjoying Christian fellowship, watching our children play, and learning together how to be the parents God calls us to be.  We attended morning Eucharist at a wonderful Anglican church near downtown Pretoria, basking in the old stone building, the soaring voices of the choir, and the powerful preaching of a African priest (a Zulu man, I believe) on repentance and the need for self-examination.  When we returned, we resolutely packed our bags into our car, ate a hurried lunch of leftovers from the night before, and shared a short prayer together before we departed to go back to Swaziland.

We got on the N4 heading east and were cruising at about 120 km/hr when the engine simply, suddenly lost power and stalled out.  We hadn't been traveling even 30 minutes.  I pulled over and tried to start the car.  Nothing.  I got out and checked under the hood to see any signs of malfunction.  Everything looked perfectly normal.  The engine hadn't made any unusual noise, the car hadn't shown any sign of running abnormally, and we'd had absolutely no trouble with the engine at all since we bought the car two weeks ago.  For no reasonable explanation whatsoever, our car had simply died -- and it was not starting up again.  This was particularly scary because it was quite hot in the afternoon sun, and neither of our cell phones work in South Africa (because we have our cell phones through a company that only services Swaziland).  We were fairly helpless, so we prayed that the car would start again.

My thought was that the fuel gauge had malfunctioned and we had simply run the car out of fuel (although the gauge still showed a solid 1/4 tank left).  After about 10 minutes, the car did start again, and we drove it a few kilometers down the road to Exit 27, got off the exit ramp, and paid the toll.  We hadn't pulled away from the toll booth 100 meters when the car died again, and this time, there was no resuscitating it.  But thankfully, we were off the main highway, and as I looked to my left, I saw a Total station no more than half a kilometer from where the car was stalled.  Having no fuel can, I grabbed my Nalgene water bottle and headed out to get some fuel, dumping out the water on the way to make room for gasoline.

I walked in to the convenience store and briefly described my situation to the somewhat gruff-looking (though in actuality very kind) Afrikaner man behind the counter.  He explained to me that the fuel station only sold diesel fuel.  I asked him if there was a pay phone around.  He said, "no," then pulled out his cell phone from his pocket and asked where I needed to call.  I replied that I just needed to call my friend in Pretoria, but that I didn't have the number written down and would need to get it from the car.  He nodded, and I thanked him heartily as I went back to the car to get the phone number.  When I returned, he handed me his phone from his pocket, and I called our American friends, who were willing to help.  I returned the phone to the Afrikaner man along with 10 bucks (South African Rand), which he adamantly refused.  Grateful and relieved, although a little flustered that he would not let me pay him, I walked back to the still-dead car to wait for my friend to arrive with some gasoline.

 William was eating some of the food we had brought for him, but still hot and fussy, so I got him out and put him in his backpack.  We both put on some sunscreen, and the two of us just walked around for a while, watching the clouds and the countryside.  After 15 minutes or so, I saw a gray car with a white woman driver exit the toll booth, then wave and slow down as she passed us and immediately pulled over.  I wish I could recall the exact conversation and relate the emotion in her voice; she was urgent yet restrained.  I explained our situation and that our friends were coming from Pretoria to help us, but thanked her for stopping and being willing to help.  She gestured to William and offered to take us to the fuel station to get out of the heat, and I politely said that that we were OK, and that we could very well walk if we needed to.  She asked if I was sure, if she could bring us a Coke or something; and again, as profusely and deferentially as I could, I thanked her and told her that we really were OK.  At this point, Allison (who had been waiting in the car) had seen what was going on and got out to also thank the woman for her kindness.  The woman said, "Well, this is how we do it in South Africa."  And then, a conversation ensued -- and none of us had even exchanged names at this point.

We said that we were living in Swaziland, that Allison was a student work on a research project, that we were from America (to which she responded more warmly than anyone I have ever met overseas, I wonder if there's a back-story there); and she told us that she was a part-time lecturer -- not a full professor, she declared -- at a university in Pretoria.  And then she said, with tears welling in her eyes and her voice breaking, "But now my job is with my husband."  She didn't describe anything in detail; but that her husband had a stroke a while back, had been getting better, but then recently relapsed and was now in the hospital again.  She said that she has been praying Psalms from the Bible, including Psalm 23 and the part about having a table spread ... her voice trailed off.

There are moments when you instantly understand that the person you are talking to knows Jesus and has an intimate relationship with God.  This was one of them.  Right there, half-inside the yellow line and half-outside, the three of us joined hands between our two parked vehicles and held a small prayer meeting for Jack Murray, and for his wife, Elizabeth.  We all cried.  And Elizabeth went on her way.

In time our friend came with a few liters of fuel in a small jerrican, which he dumped in the tank and for which he refused to let me pay him.  Again, grateful and relieved and flustered, I turned the key and the engine immediately purred to life.  My suspicions seemed confirmed.  My friend followed us the 5 km down the road to the nearest station that sold unleaded fuel.  The attendant took my credit card and proceeded to pump 33 liters of fuel into the tank (about 3/4 of a tank of fuel).  My heart sank a little as I turned the car on, which again sparked immediately to life, and the fuel gauge promptly went all the way to "F."  The fuel gauge had not malfunctioned after all.  Now I was concerned that something else was wrong, and I had no idea what it might be.  But by this time it was mid-afternoon, and we weren't going to be able to make it back to Mbabane before dark.  Our friends graciously agreed to let us spend one more night with them and leave in the morning.

We drove back to Pretoria with not a hint of trouble with the car.  I took out all our bags and dug out the car jack.  It was rusty, so I lubricated it with some olive oil (the only thing we had around) and jacked up the car a little to check the fuel pump under the car.  It turns out that particular model of Honda Civic doesn't have an external fuel pump, and all the fuel lines looked in perfect condition from the fuel tank all the way to the injectors.  I checked the fuses, which were all fine.  I checked the condition of as much of the ignition system as I could see; it was fine.  There was absolutely no indication of anything that would cause the engine to suddenly die and not start again.  [The only explanation that I can think of, but which still doesn't make sense, is that there is an object inside the fuel tank that got stuck in the pick-up screen and temporarily blocked the fuel to the pump, which then came unlodged when we dumped more fuel in the tank.  But I've been working on cars for almost twenty years and have NEVER seen that happen.]

Having convinced myself that I had done everything I could do to ensure the car was OK, I lowered the car down off the jack and got cleaned up.  I then asked our friends if there was anything we needed to do about staying an extra night at the guest house, and they said everything was taken care of.  So I was more direct, and asked if we needed to give them any money (they had already paid for two nights for us to stay as well as breakfast for us both mornings).  They refused.  And yet again, I felt grateful and relieved and flustered.

I heard a preacher say once that sometimes, when God chooses to bless us, it is more than we can take -- and we can't help but say, "OK!  It's enough! I can't take any more!"  It's like our human wiring is unable to comprehend how good God is.  And the preacher's words came rushing back.

Then I looked up from where I stood, and saw my beige bookbag (not a backpack, but a small single-strap bag that I carry things in when I walk around town) sitting on their sofa.  In it were my Bible and prayer book; and I had forgotten it before.  If we had not turned around and stayed another night, I would have had to drive 5 hours all the way back to Pretoria at some point in the future to get it back.

And I wept; because God is good.

"Almighty God, by your Holy Spirit you have made us one with your saints in heaven and on earth [and in America and Africa]: Grant that in our earthly pilgrimage we may always be supported by this fellowship of love and prayer, and know ourselves to be surrounded by their witness to your power and mercy.  We ask this for the sake of Jesus Christ, in whom all our intercessions are acceptable through the Spirit, and who lives and reigns for ever and ever.  Amen."
-Collect for Saints, The Book of Common Prayer, p.250.