Two days he stood outside of our gate, refusing to come in. His class called for him, he teacher begged for him to cross the threshold, even I tried going out to talk to him. But stubbornly he refused. Finally his teacher sent him a letter telling him she missed him and wanted him to come back. The next morning he entered the office slightly embarrassed as he hung his head and told me nobody in his house was willing to wash his uniform for him. In fact they had taken it and somebody else was wearing it. I told him, as always, that we accept even those dirty clothed kids. We care more about what is in your head than what is on your body. He shyly walked into his class and they welcomed him. Then they saw another one of their classmates standing outside the gate. He too, had dirty clothes. They called to him. Come in, they implored. Come in and be with us. He too shouted back, I can not. My uniform is dirty. I am not clean enough to come in. So they got out of their chairs went to him, grabbed him and slapped his back and told him, your clothes do not matter. Despite his enthusiasm for being wanted he still resisted. No, I cannot, I do not even have shoes, he said. Another student calmly bent down and untied his own shoes. He handed them to his dirty clothed classmate and said, here, you can wear mine for today. I will go barefoot for you.
He is abused and the runt of the pack. Lives with relatives who seemingly could care less if he lives or dies. Rotten food is thrown at his feet. He cries with hunger and loneliness. Calling out to God he begged for a scrap of bread. So hungry I was, he recounts. Something pushed him to the ground and said start looking. Not knowing if it was a cruel trick or a secret whisper of a promise he open his eyes and looked around. And then he saw it. A worn and torn book. He picked it up and his delight grew as he turned it over and over in his hands. A new testament bible, written in his own language. He clung to it like his most prized possession and ran to show everyone he knew. Forgetting completely his hunger, he clung to the Bread of Life.
He is a professor. One of the best at this school. Graduated top of his class. His classmates look down on him. Why do you teach out there? They ask. They comment on the lack of status Jubilee holds. They comment on the lack of pay we offer. Prestige, prosperity await you if only you will leave that school behind. They convinced him to go for an interview for an assistant director position. Driver was sent to his house, lunch set before him and at the end a job offer. He asked for a couple of weeks to talk with the Lord. He went home, talked with his wife and then got on his knees and prayed. For two weeks he prayed. Finally he drove back to that school and politely and slightly embarrassingly told them, he was refusing the job. I know not what the Lord is doing in Jubilee, what the Lord is doing at that school, but he is doing something. He has told me to stay. His friends laughed at him. His peers mocked him. Jubilee they said, what will ever come out of dirty, barren Jubilee? Almost as a whisper he replied, The King came out of such a place too. A week later his classmate called him and said his wife was terribly ill. He had taken her to every doctor and they all said there was nothing they could do. But, they said, there was a small clinic in Jubilee. Maybe try there. Can you help me? He asked the Professor. Yes of course my friend, was the reply. You need not pay a thing. I will take care of it all. Out of his own dwindling pocket he pulled 100 gourdes and bought the man’s wife an appointment for the next day. Nurses were seen, medicine was given freely, healing happened. The man once again called the Professor. He told him how he watched his wife get better. From that small dirty Jubilee, healing happened. You were right, he said ashamed, there is more to that place than meets the eye. The Lord is moving in Jubilee.