. . . but names will never hurt me.

Deacons holding liturgical parasols and in the center the priest.

This past weekend, January 20-22 the Gregorian calendar,communities in Ethiopia celebrated Timkat, the Ethiopian Orthodox celebrationof Epiphany. On the first day I alongwith a multitude of others formed a procession escorting the priest and churchleaders from the church to a ceremonial site about two kilometers away.

I was with myEthiopian friend Tesfaye watching all this when a man came up to me and starteda conversation. I don’t understand muchAfan Oromo and he spoke very little English so communication was not good butwith all the good feelings of the day it didn’t matter to me. I was feeling the love. At one point Tesfaye got into theconversation and I got out of it. Icould tell the discussion was getting heated but not until much later did Iunderstand what it was about.

Hours laterTesfaye explained to me that, knowing I was an American, this fellow wanted meto give him money, a lot of money. Apparently he was quite offensive so Tesfaye reported him to thepolice. Two days later Tesfaye and Iwere called to the police station and, as is the custom here, the man apologizedas he knelt at my feet.

The curious thingfor me is I felt no affront at all. Thewords, since I didn’t understand them, were not offensive and I felt no needfor defense or an apology. I see nowthat it is not ever words that give offense, that make me react, it is themeaning I give them. That childhoodchant took on a deeper meaning for me that day.

“Sticks and stones my break my bones but nameswill never hurt me.”

Life is good,blessings to you all,

Dex

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