We went by public transportation up to Nasa Theological College, a trip which is about two hours of ordinary driving. Ordinary driving does not happen in Tanzania, of course. The vehicle we traveled in is called a Costa, slighter larger than a mini-van, much smaller than a Greyhound-sized bus. To take a taxi for us would have been more than fifty dollars; the Costa was less than ten. There are rows of seats in a Costa, but the greater revenue is earned from the standing passengers crammed in like vertical sardines in a can. We had both pleasures; of having seats and of being crammed in. Each is its own adventure. Those seated begin to acquire for their laps the bags of other passengers, the children of various families, and sometimes other adult passengers when the Costa hits a bump. Altogether, one should have a firm lap.

The prospective standing passenger is faced with an impenetrable barrier of other passengers already loaded on the Costa. One simply steps up and those behind shove mightily to compress everyone into the ever shrinking space. Long after an American has thought there is no more room, a half dozen more persons are added, with their packages, and then two or three men hang off the side of the bus at the open doorway. Inside, no movement is possible. People stand on one another’s feet. Some people do not actually touch the floor. And every imaginable part of the human anatomy is shoved up against someone else. One makes friends quickly, let us say.

The passengers on our Costas were quite delighted to see white Wageni (visitors) riding with them because this is not typical. And we all had a friendly time being thrown around together, no one with special privileges. Only late in our trip did several people lecture Lorien for bringing her parents on a Costa. “You should have driven them in your car,” she was told. “I do not have a car.” she replied. “What is this???” Everyone asked. A white person without a car? You must be a Tanzanian.

At First Pres. Anderson, in our Sunday School class on Missions during this past spring, we spoke many times of the responsibility of a missionary to become a member of the culture in which she lives. Something as seemingly small as how one chooses to travel can make a profound impression on a community and can demonstrate respect for other persons in the ordinary courses of their lives.

As it turned out, on the bus with us were several students at the Theological College. We and they were thrilled to learn that we had shared the journey together. I have thought often of the miles Jesus walked on foot, along the same dusty roads as any other ordinary person; sometimes hot and thirsty, susceptible to all of the toil and dangers of any traveler. He did not arrive in a chariot, or on a horse – a symbol of elite authority. He did not travel with a retinue of bodyguards, but in a group of friends – fellow travelers. Jesus followed the trails of relationship, as we have in Tanzania. Going to the towns of friends, distant relations, or staying with the friends of friends. How often have we received greetings as Lorien’s parents? Or the friends of Jane Highfield? Or supporters of TCRC?

But Jesus constantly extended Himself beyond those bonds of safety and comfort to persons in need, to those without any safety net in the cultures of his day. Our preacher on Sunday made just this point: that wherever we are, there are those around us who God is calling us to love as followers of Jesus. For many of us, we need look no farther than our immediate family to find those who do not know the liberating love of Jesus. It was a good sermon – and the preacher will graduate from Nasa this July and join Lorien as a staff member at TCRC. How often are these crammed into the same Costa with us a brother or sister, in the name of the Lord?