Rwanda 3: Francis and Reconciliation
Francis was a gifted, fast-rising pastor and church planter in a very remote area in the south of Rwanda. He has a joyously infectious, Popeye-like laugh, a deep faith, and a beaming smile. We purchased him a motorcycle so he could more easily visit the churches in his region. The remote areas are spread out for miles and it is not uncommon for Rwandans to walk four hours on a Sunday to attend a church service only to walk another four hours back home. After spending a few weeks with Francis, I was evermore impressed with everything about him, particularly his genuine love for people.
The East African accent and cadence of speaking are some of the most beautiful songs in my ears. Anytime I hear a voice that resembles this melody, I am compelled to ask, “Where are you from?”, hoping they say an East African nation.
Wrapping up my first trip in 2006, we were driving by a tiny roadside village on our way back to the airport when his accented sonata began. “That is where I grew up. There, in that house.” As the Van passed, I saw a village of standard-looking homes for this area; mud-brick walls, clay tiled roof, and most likely a dirt floor. After a long silence, I asked, “Does your family still live here?” “No”, he said, still staring out the window. I anticipate a song of survival was about to emerge, however, I never could have imagined the lyrics of his score.
I sat still, allowing space for him to make the next sound. “My mother, my three sisters, and my brother were murdered there. My mother’s body fell in front of the house. Her throat was sliced from ear to ear. The others were killed inside.”
Where do his bellowing laugh and beaming smile possibly come from? Feeling a grip on my throat, I was barely able to utter, “How did you survive?” “I was not at home. But I knew they would hunt me, so after I saw what they had done, I ran to those hills and made it across the rebel line”, pointing to the patchwork of hills on the Western horizon.
Paul Kagame, still the president of Rwanda as of 2021, was the leader of the Rwandan Patriot Front (FPR) during the genocide in 1994. As he was amassing troops outside of the Capitol in Kigali, Francis stumbled across the lines into their camp seeking refuge. He was given a weapon, hastily trained, and fought with the FPR to take back the Capitol from Hutu control in early July. Later, Kagame was appointed as Vice President and Secretary of Defense in the newly formed government and for his heroism, Francis was trained at the Police Academy and appointed the role of Warden in one of the largest prisons in Rwanda. A prison soon to be filled with Hutu murderers and perpetrators.
About two years after Francis’ family was slaughtered, he was walking through the prison during an inspection. Suddenly, an inmate, wrapped in a bright, orange jumpsuit like a tent with no poles, crumpled at Francis’ feet. Holding the back of his legs and pressing his face into Francis’ feet, he began to weep. “Please forgive me. I have met Jesus and he has forgiven me all of my sins but, I need you to forgive me as well.”
“Who are you!”, the enraged Warden squawked. “I am Benjamin. I lived near your village. The devil entered my mind and I did much evil. I deserve to be here.” Francis, confused, asked, “What are you asking of me?”
“I am the one who murdered your mother.”
Barely able to breathe, our van was now within sight of the airport in Kigali. I looked at Francis as he looked out the window. “I was so angry. I loved my sweet Mammy so much, I could never forgive this man. So, I kicked him and sent him away.”
Francis told me how he couldn’t sleep at night thinking about Benjamin and imagining how his mother died. But almost daily, Benjamin would seek him out, each time falling to his knees begging forgiveness. And each time, more enraged with vengeful anger, Francis would send him away. “As Warden, I could have had him executed!”, he told me, still staring out the window.
Benjamin persisted and the next time told Francis, “When I die, I know I will go to heaven because Jesus has changed my heart. But I can not leave this earth until you forgive me.” Crazed and livid, Francis began pulling his gun from the holster. As he grasped the handle he told me all of his emotions collided at once. “I felt murderous rage and wanted to kill him! But, I knew this man spoke the truth. I could see my mother’s body and overwhelming sadness came over me.”
And with that, Francis blacked out.
He was rushed to the hospital where he lay in a semi-coma state for days. It was during this time he had a visitation. From his mother.
“She looked so beautiful. There was light all around her. As she reached out her hand, she said, ‘Francis, I am fine. We will be together soon. But right now, you must forgive this man. It is the only way you will fulfill your purpose.’ And as I reached to grab her hand, I looked up and saw it was — Jesus. The Christ.”
At this point, I wanted to yell at the driver to pull over so I can hear the rest of this story! Francis, now looking at me with his beaming smile, tells me how it took him many weeks to recover from his breakdown. Today, we would easily classify this as a PTSD episode, but this was not an episode: It was an encounter. With his Creator.
When Francis returned to his position at the prison the first thing he did was find Benjamin. Upon seeing Francis, Benjamin assumed his normal position on his knees at the Warden’s feet and predictably pled. “My brother please, you must forgive me so that I can be at peace with you.” Hearing nothing, Benjamin wondered if this time Francis would indeed shoot him in the head.
Instead, he hears, “My brother, this same Jesus came to me as well. He is real, and his love is real. So because of him, today; I forgive you.”
Prostrate on the floor, Benjamin wept at Francis’ feet. This time, Francis allowed his puttering inhales to be freed with bellowing exhales. As the power of forgiveness surged through his soul, he pulled Benjamin to his feet, looked him in the eyes and said, “We are forgiven together.”
As they hugged, a small crowd had gathered. Turning to address the mix of guards and prisoners, they shared what had just happened. At this moment, the power of God came upon this group and the only way to describe what happened next is Revival. Do you know anything about the great Welsh Revival of the late 1800s or the Azusa Street Revival here in California in the early 1900s? If not, we can wait while you go check, “The Goog”.
The men wept, hugged, knelt, and laughed together. Victim and perpetrator, prisoner and guard, unified as one before the living God.
Little would anyone know this would be one of the sparks which launched the national reconciliation initiative in Rwanda. Benjamin was regularly granted leave to travel with Francis to speak at other prisons in Rwanda. Each time they told their story, the power of God fell and both prisoners and guards would miraculously forgive and be reconciled one to another.
Elections can not accomplish this. Politics will only inhibit this. And government is woefully inept to forge a citizenry that loves what is right, what is good, and what is noble.
Before the genocide broke out in April 1994, 82% of Rwandans classified themselves as Christian with the majority being Catholics and Episcopalians. My friend John, who is from Musanze and a retired Bishop, said; “They were Christians without Christ. Churchgoers with no faith. Priests with no Spirit.”
As story after story came out about the priests who were complicit during the killings, it is no wonder why the church had failed to form communities that understood their place in the Kingdom and how to recognize hatred and deception when they saw it — and reject it. Imagine having 82% of the country visiting church a few times a month yet still disastrously unable to discern the lies around them or impart to their villages a sense of love and truth. What a colossal, inconceivable failure of the church!
This is why the leaven of the reconciliation movement in Rwanda did not begin in the churches. It began in the prison system and then worked its way out through the country. It is a beautifully sad representation of how the Lord accomplishes his purposes. Beautiful because the leaven of the Kingdom is like a mustard seed; you never know where it may start to spread as it does its best work in and through the marginalized, the irredeemable, and the broken. And sad because the established church is often too polluted with politics and religion to allow the leaven of heaven to flow through her.
It was at one of these prison revival meetings that a pastor named Emmanuel stood in the back and watched Francis and Benjamin, arm in arm, share their miraculous story. Emmanuel felt the presence of God in a way he had never felt in any of his churches as the men all began to weep and repent as unity birthed in the room. After the meeting, Emmanuel found Francis and asked to speak with him.
As our van pulled up in front of the terminal, I did not want this song to end. He next said, “Emmanuel told me that the Lord was calling me to leave my prison work and become a Pastor”. Francis wrapped up his remarkable story by explaining how he left his position as Warden, completed University in Kenya, and then Seminary in Uganda. This is why we should never form first impressions because they will assuredly be proven wrong.
When I met this motorcycle riding pastor with his bellowing laugh and a beaming smile, I assumed he had become a priest because it was just something he always dreamed of becoming. Little did I realize his purpose had been forged out of immense suffering and a calling placed upon him before the beginning of time.
My intended purpose, hopefully, is not only to share my personal experiences but also highlight what real corruption, discrimination, and hatred look like in other parts of the planet - today in our lifetime. And to also highlight the power that forgiveness and reconciliation can have on a nation.
The word, “Reconciliation” is infrequently used in its fullest potential today in our society. The current public pulse seems far more intent on seeking out offenses, throwing the offenders into the mortar, and grinding away until the pestle has pummeled the perpetrator into smithereens. What’s worse, many of these, “Offenses” would go entirely unnoticed had it not been for the sophistry of post-modern social justice warriors. If anyone was worthy of being canceled, it was Benjamin.
True reconciliation looks like something. Genocide perpetrators not only served their time in prison but were made to go back to their villages, confess their crimes and help rebuild from the ashes of destruction. In many cases, perpetrators moved back to their village to help rebuild the homes and livelihood of the women and children they had widowed and orphaned. Unlike a trending Twitter feed or loaded comments thread, this is personal: Face to face, hand to hand, heart to heart. True forgiveness looks like something.
Our first response should hopefully be uncontainable gratitude for where we live and how we live. I believe it to be a grace and favor of God. But the second response should be: Let's come together, forgive, work toward unity, root out the lies, and vow to never, ever let our nation go the way so many others have. I'm not asking you to change the country -- I'm proposing that we simply ask to see as heaven sees, allow our hearts to be changed, and spread the leaven of the kingdom right here. Right now.
