(This is a reflection for World AIDS Day based on Numbers 11:24-30.)
Today is World AIDS Day – today we are standing in prayer and hope and respect and advocacy with those who live with HIV and AIDS – more than 33 million women, men, and children worldwide. Those infected and affected by this disease are on a journey. Today, more than other days, we journey with them through the desert of this disease. Some days are ordinary; others are extraordinary – extraordinarily difficult, breath-taking, silencing.
Just over a year ago I was in
After some time there and a short tour during which we played with toddlers and held infants, complimented the staff and commented on the good job they were doing, we sat down with Auntie Els to hear more about their work.
On the wall behind her were over 200 Polaroid pictures with names like Mercy and Bosco and Arthur and Lucy written in black magic marker. These were the children who at one time or another had called Amecet their shelter, their home.
Some of the pictures had a star sticker on them – the kind you get in Sunday School for bringing your Bible or reciting the memory verse. These were the children who had died. They were not set off with a black X, and their pictures were not taken down. Instead, Aunti Els had placed a start sticker by their name. But I never expected them to come to life and prophesy. I wasn’t listening for that sound.
The people of
The people continually bring their complaints to Moses – loading his shoulders with weight beyond what he can tolerate. So God instructs Moses to set aside men to help – they will receive the same spirit – the same authority, the same voice as Moses. They gathered around the tent, the place of worship, the center of action in the camp, and it happened. The Spirit of God rested on Moses and these 70 men – and they prophesied.
But 2 were missing. Eldad and Medad were on the prophecy party guest list. But they never showed. They didn’t come to the tent; they stayed in the camp. They weren’t in the right place at the right time. They were quite the opposite – they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. But though they never showed, they still spoke, and they spoke powerfully for God. And the people who heard it knew it. But it threw them off – this didn’t fit. They didn’t expect to hear from Eldad and Medad.
A tattle-tale and a future war lord, Joshua son of Nun, appeal to Moses. Make them stop! They aren’t one of us! We don’t have to listen to them! They’re in the wrong place at the wrong time! Make them stop! Silence them!
I run with the tattle-tale who comes to the 70 prophets and
out the vigilante prophecy that Eldad and Medad are proclaiming in the
camp. I stand with Joshua son of Nun and
ask Moses to make them stop. They aren’t
in the right place. They aren’t from the
right nation or state or city. They
aren’t from the right religion or denomination.
They aren’t white, middle-class males.
Make them stop! I want to decide who speaks and why. I want to decide what they say and when. Silence
them!
My prejudice and even my preferences silence people. So does disease. Disease and poverty silences and steals and
sets people on the fringe. Tattle-tales
and power plays silence people. So does
disease. HIV and AIDS makes children
quiet and makes them quit playing. Make them stop! Silence them!
The tattle-tale and the up-and-coming war lord stand frustrated in front of Moses. Eldad and Medad are prophesying and they don’t have the proper credentials. But Moses hears their complaint – one more complaint – one more of these complaints that are more and more difficult for an aging, desert-trotting, freedom fighter to tolerate.
But instead of removing their Polaroids from the family album, instead of getting out the black magic marker and crossing Eldad and Medad out, Moses gets out two sticker stars and celebrates them. No, I won’t make them stop! No, I won’t silence them! Instead, let’s listen! Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, and that the Lord would put his spirit on them! Eldad and Medad are speaking and we must listen for the voice of God in their words.
We could hear so much more if we’d learn to listen. If we’d learn to listen to people who aren’t
from the right nation or state or city, or the right religion or denomination,
or the right gender, age, and class. We
could hear so much more if we’d learn to listen to those who are sick and poor. We could hear so much more if we’d learn to
listen to Polaroids hanging on the wall of an HIV baby hospice in northern
Auntie Els looked over her shoulder at the Polaroids hanging on the wall and said, ‘You see the stars; I’ve known them all.’ You see the stars; I’ve known them all.
These stars, these children who weren’t in the right place at the right time, are stars shining in the universe. And they were speaking. They had spoken to Auntie Els, and now she was speaking to us. Their presence was resting on her, and now her presence was inspiring us, speaking to us, prophesying to us.
It is tempting to ask her to stop, to silence them, to take down the pictures. Their faces and names and gold star stickers remind us that we’re in the desert, that we’ve not yet reached the Promised Land. But we hear them. We hear God’s voice when they speak to us. We see them. We see God’s spirit resting on them in this shelter, in this Amecet.
And what are they saying to us? Look and listen. God is speaking… in unexpected ways… through unexpected people…
Look and listen. God is speaking. No, I won’t make them stop! No, I won’t silence them! Instead, let’s listen! Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, and that the Lord would put his spirit on them!
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