The Palace of Healing

from the front of the house

from the rear of the house

one of the corner rooms

  For a few years folks at Ricks Institute and Mercer University have been nursing a grand idea of a "Mercer House" on the campus of Ricks. The hope is to establish a permanent place for Mercer's growing interest at Ricks. Already Mercer has a strong partnership with Ricks through the Mercer on Mission program. Since 2008 there have been five trips from Mercer to Ricks (I'm including the in-process trip for 2013). Four of those adventures were joint journeys with the College of Liberal Arts and the Tift College of Education. More than fifty students from Mercer have experienced the "challenges and possibilities" at Ricks.
  As an aside: Most mornings at Ricks the Principal, the Rev. Dr. Olu Q. Menjay, greets students with the call and response that goes:
Menjay: "Every day is a new day, with what?"
Students: "New challenges and new possibilities!"
Menjay: "New challenges and new possibilities!"
  The chance to have a Mercer House is a challenge that brings new possibilities to Ricks and Mercer, and, too, to all of Liberia.
  When the idea first was broached Menjay seized the dream and began working toward its realization. A structure on the campus--ravaged by war and neglect--was selected. The residents of the house, faculty and staff at Ricks, were relocated to other equally dilapidated buildings that bore the testimony of war and want.

the commons area,
which will be a classroom

  Now the Mercer House in waiting has a new zinc roof. The ceiling has been restored (look closely at the photos). The old windows and doors have been removed. Structural repairs to some walls have been completed. The floors, mostly, have been prepared to receive new ceramic tiles.

a prayer of hope

  Yesterday I went through the house and made the photos you see. In a back room I was brought to tears by graffiti on the wall: "The Palace of Healing." I imagined that one of the displaced persons scrawled on the wall something of a prayer for what could become of the building. Perhaps I will explore my impression, or not. I saw what I saw: a prayer of hope. My many trips to Liberian and to Ricks have taught me that Liberians are hopeful people, eager to find healing after the fourteen years of war that nearly destroyed a proud and productive nation. Too, I know about the history of Ricks Institute and its hope for restoration.
  A Mercer House at Ricks would be a fountain of hope. It would be a place, eventually, where Ricks teachers could become better prepared for the tasks they have accepted. It could become a place where College of Liberal Arts students spend a semester learning about Liberia and her challenges. It could become a place where students in the Masters of Public Health program could have a staging ground for surveying local villages for health needs. It could become a place where Ricks and Mercer could show the world--yes, the world--that hope drives and nourishes people of all kinds.

Firebell in the Night

When Missouri appealed for statehood in 1819 the issue of slavery in the Union was thrown on the table, where it would writhe for decades, first as an economic issue with moral implications and later as a more-nearly pure moral issue, not so much about the institution of slavery, but as the smoldering issue of race relations. Thomas Jefferson called the appeal a "firebell in the night” that struck terror in him. Smoldering. From the establishment of the colonies slavery was a moral issue.

  A few years before the “firebell” rang for Jefferson, a cadre of forward-looking citizens, including statesmen, businessmen, and even plantation owners, launched a society to address “the negro problem.” With the likes of Henry Clay, Francis Scott Key, and James Monroe—some of the notables in a group with a host of activists—the American Colonization Society began its arduous work to address the nearly impossible challenges of slavery. The Society was founded in 1816 and was disbanded in 1964. Along the way there was a remarkable success—the founding of Liberia in 1822—and a long string of failures.

  My time in Liberia as I am “looking for Blyden” has demanded that I also explore the formative period of US history that saw the mercurial rise and fall of slavery. As I do I am nearly overwhelmed by the complexity of the issues and, too, the courageous attempts to address them.

  Early Lee Fox (The American Colonization Society: 1817-1840, The Johns Hopkins Press, 1919) has helped me grasp the magnitude and gravity of the issues. Through an impressive array of primary sources he lays out the “ultra-abolitionists” and the “radical pro-slavery” camps that hemmed in the ACS.

  The story of the ACS is, of course, centered upon the establishment of the colony of Liberia that, in 1847, became the Republic of Liberia. It is a story of vision, ambition, moral courage, racial cooperation, high ideals, and the depth of human suffering.

  My subject, Edward Wilmot Blyden, was enmeshed with the ACS. Because of his experiences in the Union—rejected as a student at Rutgers and elsewhere in the 1850s, mistreatment in Philadelphia, New York, and Washington, in the 1860s—he gladly became an advocate for the repatriation of freed slaves to Liberia. In the 1860s Blyden accepted the task of being an itinerant among “the coloreds” in the North of the Union  at the behest of the President of Liberia. From the 1860s through the 1890s Blyden addressed the annual convention of the ACS now and then, offering challenges and perspectives on the ever-changing nuances of repatriation.

  Blyden became the Negro Patriot who, on the one hand, encouraged all of African descent to return to Liberia and, on the other hand, affirmed the hopes of those who chose to remain in the US that there would come a day of racial reconciliation.

  My time in Liberia, my time with Blyden’s works, my time with the history of the 19^th century, all are changing me day-by-day.

  It is not new. For more than 30 years I have been steeped in Liberation Theology. Now I am looking back, looking for Blyden, and finding deep mines that demand digging and assaying.

My Normal Routine

  My daily routine in Liberia is fairly simple. I rise in the mornings, around 6, and tend to hygiene in the comfort of the buckets (see right). The water rarely runs through pipe or faucet, but when it does I have to be prepared to catch as much as possible for storage in the large white barrel. I imagine it holds about 40 gallons.
  Bathing is a matter of wetting oneself with the dipper, soaping up liberally, and then rinsing with the dipper. The green bucket is where I put water so as not to unduly contaminate the white barrel with soap, etc. I confess that some days I heat up some water and mix it with cold in the green bucket. I prefer a lukewarm rinse to the bracing cold.
  The purple/yellow bucket I use for flushing the commode. Water is precious, so I have to decide when flushing is a necessity and not a luxury. (I know, too much information for some readers.)
  When school is in session I attend the morning assembly at Rick Institute. The end of my first week coincided with the end of the first semester. For two weeks the students will be away and I will be rising with the roosters and not the alarm clock. And, yes, that is a literal comment. The campus is the roaming place for chickens, goats, dogs, and cows. The roosters greet the dawn vociferously. It is hard to sleep past dawn.

  To the left you see my workspace. It took me a few attempts to get it right. In front of the desk/table is a bank of windows facing West. Ambient light most of the day allows me to work with ease. Although it cannot be seen, there is a light fixture on the wall above the box fan. I was relieved to find that it works (there is a matching fixture on the wall behind my chair that does not work). When it is overcast, and always in the evenings, the energy-efficient fluorescent bulb--yes even at Ricks--provides good light for my poor eyes.
  The box fan is my friend. Most days the heat and humidity requires me to change shirts two or three times. I am tempted at times to sit naked . . . . In the cool of the mornings (use your imagination to discover "cool" and "mornings" six degrees North of the Equator) and in the evening after sunset the fan pulls in fresh air.
  My work is regular. In the mornings I hope for a strong connection on the USB modem so I can correspond as needed and, too, check on news at home and around the world. That usually takes place while I boil water in preparation of making Liberian coffee. (If you've not had Liberian coffee, you should try some.)
  Next I review what I accomplished the previous day. I revise notes that I made from my readings. Then I decide what to take up next.
  My explorations of Edward Wilmot Blyden (1832-1912) include a dozen or more primary source pamphlets, a helpful anthology of his writings--some of which are abridged from the other materials I have. I read them all. I compare the full texts to the abridged texts in hopes of muting the influence of the editor(s). I also have Blyden's most complete and intriguing work, which he wrote late in his life, Christianity, Islam, and the Negro Race. I am passing familiar with that work and, as I read the earlier works with the memory of where Blyden lands. For example, early in his amazing vocation Blyden used "negro" exclusively. Then there is an essay that includes a bombastic critique of the lower case in the writing of white missionary; Blyden considers it an affront on the Negro race.
  I also have with me some secondary materials relating to West African politics and history, specifically an investigation of the sources for the Pan-African Movement, which builds mightily upon Blyden's careful construction of race nationalism in Africa. And, too, I have the last critical review of Blyden's life and work, Edward Wilmot Blyden: Pan-Negro-Patriot (Oxford Press, 1960) by Hollis R. Lynch. Finally, I have a dense history of the American Colonization Society that is a trove of cited primary materials from the likes of Henry Clay, Francis Scott Key, and a host of lesser-known advocates for the repatriation of freed slaves to Liberia and elsewhere in West Africa.
  Midday I break for lunch and walk 1/4 mile to the house of my host, Olu Menjay, where I am served a Liberian meal. Usually that meal holds be for the day.
  After lunch I nap. Then I return to the tasks described above.
  I do try to break up my day. I may invest my morning in a 30 page essay/speech--recall that in the 19th century public addresses were quite involved! And aside: Blyden's rhetoric often enthralls me. His use of language, his ability to craft an image, his broad learning, all keep me alert. His remarkable language skills challenge me. This morning I read an Independence Day Address, delivered in 1865, that included Latin, Greek, French, Italian, and German--almost always citing poets or historians. The afternoons are less focused. I'll chase a rabbit or two . . . .
  My evenings give me a chance to look away from my task, if I so desire. I write blog entries, for example. I have other writing projects to which I devote a few hours. I have correspondence and--unfortunately--administrative tasks to attend. An aside: The joys of the Internet and Cell Phone are soured by the connectedness to what I have tried to leave behind.
  And, too, I confess that I packed three biographies (Mickey Mantle, Jackie Robinson, and J. Edgar Hoover) that I had begun reading last year in the throes of my malaria adventure. Now and then I take a break from the 19th century and feed my hungry mind on the character of notable people.

  Without looking at the clock, I retire when I feel like it. What I mean is that I don't have a bedtime. I do look at the clock when I head back to my sleeping quarters, but only out of curiosity. Sometimes it is early--9p. Other times it is approaching midnight. I guess it depends upon the length of my naps.
  I sleep in a wooden twin bed with a thin mattress on a plywood base. This is the first time I have come to Liberia that I sleep under a mosquito net. My malaria adventure will always be fresh with me. I use a fan most nights, but the last two have been cool enough to forgoe the fan. My corner room allows for a good breeze, which contributes to good sleeping.

A Macedonian Call . . . from Liberia

Colonizationalists, notwithstanding all that has been said against them, have always recognized the manhood of the Negro and been willing to trust him to take care of himself. . . . They have believed that it has not been given to the white man to fix the intellectual or spiritual status of this race. They have recognized that the universe is wide enough and God’s gifts are varied enough to allow the man of Africa to find out a path of his own within the circle of genuine human interests, and to contribute from the field of his particular enterprise to the resources—material, intellectual, and moral—of the great human family.

~ Edward Wilmot Blyden, “The African Problem, and the Method of Its Solution”

A Young Blyden

I can think of no better-prepared authority from the 19^th century to address “The African Problem” than Edward Wilmot Blyden (1832–1912). Born on the island of St. Thomas in the Dutch West Indies one year before the Dutch government ended slavery in its territories and granted freedom to all slaves, Blyden began his life ahead of the times of nearly all people of African descent living in the Americas. He was afforded a good education, was welcomed without prejudice into the Reformed Dutch Church, and came to manhood without the daily suspicions of his character and ability endured by nearly all Africans living in the Americas.

  When Blyden was but 18 years old, the wife of his pastor, Mrs. John P. Knox, carried him to the United States to seek admission in one of the theological colleges in the Northeast. At least three times he was rejected merely on the basis of his race. The sting of that rejection never left him, but Blyden refused to succumb to bitterness.

  He accepted the encouragement of the New York Colonization Society, an auxiliary of the American Colonization Society, founded 1816, and soon found himself bound for the world’s only colony established to provide a haven for displaced Africans: the colony that was to become the Republic of Liberia.

  Once in Liberia the young Blyden wasted no time seizing the opportunity that lay before him. He entered Alexander High School in Monrovia and rose to prominence, so much so that at his graduation he was appointed Principal at the school.

  Remarkably, Blyden received no further formal education. His innate intelligence, hungry mind, and thirsty soul, however, drove him to become the greatest intellectual, moral, and spiritual force West Africa, the Americas, and Europe ever had seen from an African. By the end of his life Blyden was known for his linguistic skills. He mastered all of the Romance languages. He read and wrote in Greek and Latin. He pursued Hebrew in hopes of unraveling the 19^th century claims of Negro inferiority on the basis of “the malediction of Noah” in Genesis 9. Upon encountering African Muslims, Blyden threw himself into the study of Arabic, as well as the practices of Islam in West Africa.

  Blyden was no retiring intellectual. He carried his vigor into the public arena. He was an educator, serving on the faculty of Liberia College three different times, and as the President once. He was a statesman, serving as Secretary of State in Liberia and, too, as Ambassador to St. James Court in London (at his own expense), and later, to France. He had a failed attempt at the presidency of Liberia. 

Blyden, c. 1890

 In the midst of it all, Blyden was an indefatigable activist for the plight of Africans, slave and free, in the Americas. Owing to his own opportunities from the New York Colonization Society, Blyden accepted an appointment in 1861–1862 from the Liberian President to become one of three Commissioners to “itinerate and lecture among the people of color in the United States” with the hope of attracting more immigrants to the growing colony.

  The “Macedonian Call” received by the Apostle Paul (see Acts 16.9) captures the verve and hope of Edward Wilmot Blyden. He was the one issuing a call from Liberia to all displaced Africans from the 18^th and 19^th centuries. “Come and help us,” he said.

The Intellectual Plow and Rake

The richness of the uncultivated soil shows itself in the rankness and luxuriance of the weeds which it produces. The soil, then, must be cultivated, if we expect to reap a harvest of any value. So with the mind. The intellectual plow and rake must be used, and the good seed introduced. Knowledge must be imparted.  

 ~Edward Wilmot Blyden, “Hope for Africa”

Flag raising ceremony at Ricks Institute

  The students at Ricks Institute are taking their end-of-the-term exams this week. The days of this week begin like all others in the school year: at 7:30 a.m. the students line up by academic grade facing the flag pole; selected seniors hoist the flag of the Republic of Liberia and lead the student body in the pledge of allegiance, the Ricks school ode, and the national anthem; students file in to the auditorium for a brief time of devotion that includes a hymn, a prayer (both student-led), and some reflective thoughts from a member of the staff or a visitor; finally, the announcements of the day are spoken.

  As “theologian in residence” at Ricks Institute from mid-January through early March, I have the assignment to offer reflective thoughts each morning this week. I've chosen to focus attention on the aphorisms and parables that bring Matthew’s sermon on the mount to a close. We took up Matthew 6.19-24 with the emphasis upon choosing value that lasts and being single-minded. We took up the images of “the narrow gate” and “the wide gate and broad road” in Matthew 7.13 and 14. We also accepted the challenge from nature that teaches “a good tree cannot bear bad fruit and a bad tree cannot bear good fruit” from Matthew 7.15-20. We will end our week with attention to the importance of doing (Matthew 7.23) and the parable of the foundations (Matthew 7.24-27).

  (I especially am looking forward to Friday. Liberia has recently emerged from the wet season and the lesson of the hard rain on soft ground will be fresh in the minds of the students.)

  For this week, as is the case for all exam weeks, there is a respite of half-an-hour between the announcements of the day and the beginning of the exam periods. Perhaps it was the anticipation of the exams themselves or the knowledge that they would get a short break that has made the students so attentive this week. Perhaps the work of the “intellectual plow and rake” has been effective this school year. For whatever reasons, the students have been attentive.

  Even in the midst of the demands of the week, two eleventh grade young women made an appointment to talk with me this afternoon. Onell and Carina are bright and energetic. They are part of the interview staff for the Ricks Institute Press Club. Their assignment was to interview the visitor. On Friday this week they will report to the student body.

  Our conversation is what reminded me of Blyden’s line about the “intellectual plow and rake.” Onell and Carina asked good questions about values, my perception of progress in Liberia, how the Ricks students are doing at Mercer, and why I keep coming back to Liberia. It was clear to me that not only have these young woman benefited from the “intellectual plow and rake,” they also have begun learning how to use them.

Let the chaos begin!
Claiming luggage at Robersfield in Monrovia, Liberia.

  Arriving in Liberia always is an adventure. Someday I might hire a film crew to capture the whole ordeal. Or, I could cajole a film maker to join me on a trip.
  All passengers must walk off the plane, down the movable stairs, to the tarmac. The first blast of Liberian humidity, followed by the heat, is the first evidence that one has arrived.
  The immigration windows are reminiscent of ticket booths outside the rides at the county fair, except that they are glassed in. For 300 or so passengers there are three windows for non-Liberians and non-diplomats. The ques form quickly.
  Squeeze past the growing crowd outside of baggage claim and let the chaos begin. Depending upon which side you stand, the belt is a low "d" or "p" (with the rounded part exag-gerated.) The luggage removal and claim process is furious. Travelers are anxious to be reunited with their bags. Airline employees want to move things along as quickly as possible. And . . . and, then there are the men who make a living assisting passengers at journey's end.
  These porters are a shrewd and industrious bunch. Some have keen memories that allow them to pick out frequent fliers. Doing so and doing a good job of retrieval ensures good tips and good service. Often one man will try to engage as many passengers as possible, resulting in something akin to a postmodern ballet of twists, turns, and lifts, all accompanied with nods, glances, and an occasional shout out from a passenger. "No, a RED ribbon!" "Oh, there it is!"

Not an empty hat.

  On this day I had two porters who thought they were "working" for me. Indeed, I recognized one from an earlier visit and we greeted with the traditional Liberian greeting, "Welcome, welcome!" and the elaborate handshake that ends with finger snapping--one finger of one person against one finger of another. "Hello, Doc!" he shouted, "you came back!" "What bags you have?" I pointed to my hat, with its orange bandanna as a hatband. "Three like this," I said.
  Soon I had my bags, but not until a short-but-animated conversation between the two porters who thought they were working for me. The first one--who had greeted me in a snappy way--won the argument. The second, whom I did not "hire," had merely told me to look for my bags and let him know when they arrived.
  In a matter of minutes I was whisked through customs (my porter did most of the talking) and found myself on the curb with a luggage trolley. Another snappy handshake, this one with folded bills included, and I was back home in Liberia.

Bylden on the Second Commandment

Jesus the Good Shepherd
First United Methodist Church
Greenville, Sinoe County, Liberia

  In his youth Edward Wilmot Blyden (1832-1912) was filled with the ardor of evangelism and hope. He arrived in Liberia at age 19 and began in earnest his preparation for ministry in the Presbyterian church. He saw in the Christian gospel the cure for the ills of a benighted and ignored continent. He hoped for the salvation of "Negroland" and anticipated a "sudden" rise of the culture of Africa.
  Only twelve years after arriving in Liberia Blyden had advanced to the position of Professor of Languages at Liberia College (now the University of Liberia). It was his hope to elevate the status of the Negro and "draw toward us the attention of the civilized world" (Inaugural Address, 1862).
  During his tenures at Liberia College (1862-1871; 1880-1884; 1890) Blyden became, increasingly, interested in the presence of established Muslim communities throughout Liberia and West Africa. He became a self-taught Arabic scholar and introduced that language to the curriculum in 1867.
  During the final decades of his life Blyden appears to have had some misgivings about the origins and influences of Christian missions in Africa, especially West Africa. He turned his full energy and life experiences toward an exploration of the relationship between Christianity, Islam, and the encouragement of the Negro race. In a stunning essay, "Mohammedanism and the Negro Race" (1875), Blyden mounted an argument for the superior effects of Islam upon the strength and vitality of the Negro:

            “Another reason for the superior manliness and amour proper of Negro Mohammedans may be found in the fact that, unlike their Christian brethren  they have not been trained under the depressing influence of Aryan art . . . . The Second Commandment with Mussulmans [Muslims] as with Jews, is construed literally into the prohibition of all representations of living creatures of all kinds . . . .

            “No one can deny the great aesthetic and moral advantages which have accrued to the Caucasian race from Christian art, through all its stages of development, from the Good Shepherd of the Catacombs to the Transfiguration of Raphael, from rough mosaics to the inexpressible delicacy and beauty of Giotto and Fra Angelico. But to the Negro all these exquisite representations exhibited only the physical characteristics of a foreign race; and while they tended to quicken the tastes and refine the sensibilities of that race, they had only a depressing influence upon the Negro, who felt that he had neither part nor lot so far as the physical character was concerned, in those splendid representations. . . . The Christian Negro, abnormal in his development, pictures God and all beings remarkable for their moral and intellectual qualities with the physical characteristics of the Europeans, and deems it an honor if he can approximate—by a mixture of his blood, however irregularly achieved—in outward appearance at least to the ideal thus forced upon him by the physical accompaniments of all excellence. In this way he loses that 'sense of dignity of human nature' observable in his Mohammedan brother.”

  On Sunday morning last I stood in the coolness of the First United Methodist Church in Greenville, Sinoe County, Liberia and marveled at the stained glass image of a dark Jesus, the Good Shepherd. I could not help but think of Blyden, his passion for the Christian gospel and the way his life opened for him a more broad way of thinking about providence.
  It is certain that Blyden did not abandon his Christian identity in his sunset years. It is not certain whether or not Blyden found a "wideness in God's mercy," to cite a Christian hymn, that includes Muslims.
  I'm looking for Blyden while here in Liberia. I was not surprised to find a reminder of him in a Methodist church in southeast Liberia.

Re-visit: returning; reconsidering

May 2012
scholarship award ceremony
Ricks Institute

  In February 2007 I made my first trip to Ricks Instistute, Ricks Institute, a K-12 boarding school about fifteen miles from Liberia's capital, Monrovia. I came to Liberia at the urgings of my former student, Olu Q. Menjay (far left in the photo) who recently had return to his homeland to become Principal at Ricks.

  My initial trip was exploratory. I knew of Liberia's civil wars that crippled a once thriving nation. Olu introduced me to Liberia in the mid-1990s while he was a student at Mercer University. Since then we have forged a fast friendship that has blossomed into a partnership between Ricks Institute and Mercer.

  Since 2007 I have returned to--revisited--Ricks Institute seven times. Most of the return trips were part of Mercer on Mission, an ambitious University-funded project that allows scores of Mercer students to study and engage in service learning in developing countries during the summer. Once I came with a group from the First Baptist Church of Christ. This time--my eighth trip--I am alone.

  In future posts I will revisit my short history with Ricks Institute and how Mercer has invested in the school even as Mercer advances its creative mission of higher education beyond traditional patterns of teaching and learning. For now I offer some markers of progress and change:

• President William Underwood agreed, in 2008, to extend full scholarships to qualified students from Ricks Institute, with the understanding that upon the completion of an undergraduate degree those students would return to Liberia and to Ricks Institute for a two year term of service.
• The scholarships now bear the name of Sam Oni, a pioneer in Mercer's efforts in the 1960s to break the norms of segregation in higher education in Georgia.
• Since 2009 eleven Liberian students have been awarded Mercer scholarships. The photo above shows the 2012 Sam Oni scholars Isaac Mussah, Bendu Sherman, and Mohammed Dukuly (l-r). "IBM," as we call them, collectively, joined Edmond Cooper, Massa Mamey, Boakai Mamey, and Cherry Neal who continue to work toward degrees in Mercer's undergraduate colleges in Macon, Georgia.
• Olu Q. Menjay completed a PhD. in Church History at the University of Wales and was named to the faculty of The Roberts Department of Christianity with the understanding that his tenure at the University would be tied to his efforts to build and strengthen the partnership between Ricks Institute and Mercer University.

  My time in Liberia has transformed the time I spend everywhere else! Day-by-day I learn from the Liberian Children (my term of affection for them) at Mercer. I have regular contact with staff, faculty, and students at Ricks.

  Not surprisingly, my professional interests also have been transformed by my Liberian adventures. Here I am in Liberia once again. This time I arrived with a satchel of books and a research agenda that will occupy me for nearly two months as I am "theologian in residence" on the Ricks Institute campus.

  My focus is the life and work of Edward Wilmot Blyden (1832-1912), a well known figure in Liberian history: he was, for example, a President of Liberia College (now the University of Liberia), and held a number of political appointments, including Secretary of State, and Ambassador to England and to France.

  Specifically. I am eager to immerse myself in Blyden's writings, to visit sites where he taught, preached, and served Liberia and the larger world of his day, and attempt to discern his theological bearings that shaped his legacy of social activism. Blyden was ahead of his time as an advocate for the education of "girls" and the Liberian "Aborigines." He was, too, an early proponent of religious pluralism (although that term would surprise him, I think). His life in Liberia put him in contact with Muslims; his life abroad, including western Europe, introduced him to "Hindoos" (as he called them) and Buddhists.

  Let the revisitation begin!