In the book Walking with the Poor, Bryant L. Myers wrote the following:

The end of the biblical story is the end of history. John tells us that Jesus will come again in power and glory. This leads to the judgment of judgments, the one and true judgment, the one that ends in the eternal destruction of the Evil One and of those whose names are not written in the book of life. Then the first earth and first heaven pass away and a new earth and new heaven, in the form of the new Jerusalem, descend from heaven. The story that began in a garden ends in a city.

Once again the dwelling place of God is with mend and women. There are no more tears, or death, or crying, or pain, nor is there famine or drought. Everything is made new—the people and their city. There is no church in this new Jerusalem because it is no longer needed; God and the Lamb live among the people. The mission of the church as a history-making force is completed. The kingdom of God stands alone at the end of time. It is the final reality; all other kingdoms have passed away.

The nations now walk by the light of the glory of God shone forth by the Son. The honor and glory of the nations, all their artistic, cultural, political, scientific and spiritual contributions, transformed and no longer a seduction away from the worship of God, are brought into the city. The gates never shut.

The measures of value are turned upside down. Gold, the most valuable commodity in this world, the commodity of greed and violence, is so common that it is used to pave the streets. The foundations of the city are made with precious stones, because we have a new understanding of what is valuable. These gemstones are simply beautiful, no longer objects of greed in the eyes of humankind.

Finally and most important, this new Jerusalem is a city of life. The earth itself is redeemed and once again produces the fruit and the healing that humans and their nations need. Our true vocation is once more within our grasp as “his servants will serve him.”

It is important for those concerned for human transformation to keep the end of the story in mind. This is where the triune God is going. This is the best human future. While this triumphant vision should guide us, it should also instill a sense of awe and humility in us. This end comes only at great cost. Christ died and the saints suffered. There is a cross on the way to this triumphal end.

Oh, tennis. What a great sport. Here in Swaziland, I play about once a week with my friend Londa Matsebula. I’ve also played some other guys in the area; one in particular named Iyanda. He and I have a peculiar relationship because of certain unfortunate incidents. Because I didn’t bring any of my equipment over here and because of the way the culture is, our small tennis community shares quite a bit. Balls and racquets being the most expensive commodities (and for some reason, balls being much more expensive and racquets much cheaper than in the States). So I was initially introduced to Iyanda after he had ruined some brand-new balls of mine. That was some months ago. Many broken strings and missing hand-grips later, we’ve become good-natured towards each other. But today, I accidentally broke one of his racquets. Uh-oh. This caused a momentary crisis in our fragile friendship. Until I paid him of course. Now I think he likes me more than ever. But enough about my amateur tennis matches in a country that barely anybody has heard of. Let’s move on to collegiate competition!

It’s no secret to my friends that I have been obsessed with the University of Virginia tennis team the past few years. Let’s Go Cavs! Wahoo-Wa! It all started my freshman year when I lived with two of the players. During my four years at college, the team was consistently ranked top five in the country, but they never managed to win the national championship. This past season was their best chance yet, being ranked number one for the entire duration. I actually followed their undefeated winning streak over the internet. Well…they lost in the semifinals by one point. Just like the UVA lacrosse team lost in the semifinals by one point. Just like the Washington Redskins and Washington Wizards both lost close playoff games. Story of my life, really, when it comes to the teams that I love. Anyways, at least in professional tennis I can like more than one player. Or can I, Mr. Federer?

As for “The Fed,” or Roger Federer as some like to call him, he has already let me down slightly this year. I predicted he would win all four grand-slams, and so far he is 0 for 1. I trust that he will make it up by winning the French Open, thereby solidifying his place in the history books as the all-time greatest player. Otherwise, I will be crying for the third straight year because that wedgie-picker Nadal stole the show once again.

This past weekend I was staying about three miles away from Alexandra township in Johannesburg. If you have followed the news the past few weeks, you might recognize this as the South African location where things started to get out of hand. It was the worst outbreak of violence since the apartheid era. The killings have been attributed to xenophobia, mostly directed towards foreign nationals residing in urban areas of the country. It is a sad, sad, unfolding of events.

My reason for being in Jo’burg at this unfortunate time was due to a regional conference I had to attend. The actual guest house and area in which the meeting took place was quite suburban and known to be a relatively safe environment. But like I stated previously, it was merely three miles from the epicenter of violence. This can be partially explained by the fact that South Africa has the second highest rate of inequality in the world (and Swaziland is not far behind). There are literally multi-million dollar houses across the road from shacks. Endless security walls keeping the starving masses at bay. And when the poor and marginalized seemingly can’t find relief from their wealthy neighbors or from their corrupt governments, they begin to turn on each other. Especially vulnerable at a time like this is the “stranger” who is seemingly too strange to even deserve a chance to live (or so it is thought by those committing these atrocities). Refugees from numerous failed states, who initially fled to South Africa for safety, have been targeted in most of the attacks.

One couple from Zimbabwe was at the conference. I nearly broke into tears when they described the suffering that their fellow countrymen have experienced in the past decade: A reign of terror that continues to plague their homeland, and now a renewed terrorism in this new place, further alienating them from any semblance of common humanity. The only comforting words I could think to say were that I knew many individuals back in the States who cared deeply about their plight. But not enough. Definitely not enough.

So after a long and semi-dangerous bus ride (which was also after a slightly more dangerous encounter in the notorious inner-city of Jo’burg), I arrived safely back to Swaziland. Unfortunately, the same can not be said for all those who continue to suffer under the tyranny of fear. For them, each day is filled with problems worthy of front-page news.

The date of July 20 is when I will set foot back in the States. But this is somewhat misleading since I will be attending a re-entry process that week. The real date I arrive “home-home” is July 25 or somewhere around then. Then I have less than a month to get ready for my new job. It’s actually a new job-slash-home. Ironically, since I’ve been living quite a bit at my office here in Swaziland, it won’t be such a dramatic change. So what is this mysterious new job, you ask? Well it’s actually more like another short-term assignment (or one-year program). The organization is called L’Arche and they have a few houses in the DC area where people with intellectual disabilities live in community with paid assistants. I will be one of those assistants. It’s a job, a home, and a community all rolled into one package. Pretty unique idea. As you can probably tell by the name, it started in France and has since expanded to areas all over the world. From what I can tell, the organization is semi-“Christian” and many people know about it from the writings and life of Henry Nouwen. So yeah, I’ll be living and working there for five days a week and then I will stay with my parents in Gainesville for the other two days.

I decided to work at L’Arche for a variety of reasons. Obviously a great part of the decision is because of my interest in disability work. I also wanted more of a hands-on experience after this year turned out to be much more administrative work than I originally envisioned. More importantly, though, the next year at L’Arche will hopefully give me greater insight into what I want to pursue as a more long-term career. So it should be good. I’m pretty excited. You should be too.

For those who have followed my blog up to this point, you may already know that there has been an animal emergency brewing at my homestead for quite some time. It’s a very delicate and complicated issue with my host family, and I have agonized over how to solve it without offending them. I finally reached the point, after much planning and sensitive discussions, where I ultimately had to act on my convictions to help save these animals. The entire process is too complicated to explain, but I essentially evacuated two puppies, two kittens, and two adult dogs to the local animal welfare organization. Now the hope is that most of them can be returned after they are properly treated. Part of the idea is to educate my host-mother on how to properly care for them, instead of simply implying that she can’t. If I can bring back healthy dogs and cats, she will hopefully realize the value in what I have done. Otherwise, it is fairly certain that she will be given more unwanted dogs needing a home and they will eventually deteriorate to the point of death just like all the rest.

Just as a side-note, though (part humorous, part sad), mutts around Africa have inter-bred to the point that they have become their own breed, supposedly termed Canus Africanus. These are the kind of poor canines that find a home with my Swazi family. In defense of my host mother, though, she claims to love animals (which I partially believe), but it is glaringly obvious that she doesn’t know how to care for them. Who ever thought that someone such as myself, never owning a pet in my life, would join the pooch patrol team? Seriously, it was like rescue nine-one-one. Also, now that I’m all about the animal rights, I sometimes have the delusion that I’m a sort of William Wilberforce of Swaziland. It’s like a came here to help abolish slavery (of poverty, HIV, whatever) and now I’m dabbling in animal welfare issues. Weird coincidence, eh? Well anyways, since I don’t have any juicy police photos of our animal raid, I’ll have to just leave you with a candid photo of my office cat. Enjoy.

I named it “likati,” which is the SiSwati word for “cat.” When I tell my Swazi friends this, they just get confused.