Freedom

"For we know that our old self was crucified with him so that the body of sin might be done away with, that we should no longer be slaves to sin -- because anyone who has died has been freed from sin."  (Romans 6:6-7, NIV)

Today has been another long whirlwind.  I will post more about my actual work soon, but today was the ONE day that I had specifically requested when planning this trip -- a visit to the Elmina Castle in Cape Coast, Ghana, and a trip to a place called Sweet River.

Background -- I poked around my family genealogy a few years back after going through some old family photos.  I discovered that my great-great-grandfather on my mother's side had owned a tobacco farm in Kentucky which used slave labor.  My great-great-grandfather was a slave master.  Now I could dismiss that by saying that he found Jesus and freed his slaves in the 1850s (before the Civil War and before the Emancipation Proclamation).  But it doesn't change the fact that this awful chapter in global history is, in fact, now very personal.  It turned even more personal when I began my association with the International Justice Mission and learned about modern-day slavery.  It is still BEYOND my comprehension how slavery can happen, until I remember, "oh, yeah.  Sin."

I don't consider myself a Calvinist.  I don't know enough about it to declare one way or the other, but I do believe in total human depravity after today.  Let's start not quite at the beginning.

First -- a place called Sweet River.  It is called this because the water tasted sweet after those Africans who had been captured from the northern regions of Ghana had marched south to the coast for 3, 4, or sometimes 5 months.  They were stripped naked, shaved of all their hair with broken glass, and sorted for auction.  The river is divided into 3 sections, because it forks.  The first was for most of the women, the second for most of the men, and the third for those who were stronger and might possibly swim away.

As I walked in my khaki capris and black Skechers the same path that these men and women walked barefoot and naked, the pit in my stomach and clanging in my head screamed, "don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry."  I knew if I opened that gate, the tears would be as strong as the river I stood beside.

The weight in my heart was almost unbearable, but why?  I was free.  I am as free as anyone currently on this planet can be.  I was carrying an American passport (with all the rights and privileges that go with it) in my bag.

Remember my first post, when I said I wanted to have a deeper, fuller experience of life?  I think today was a deeper, fuller glimpse into SIN.  I hate to turn into a Debbie Downer and use the "s-word" that people don't like to hear.  But I WAS a slave to sin.  I was a slave (although I would never claim to compare my experience to those who walked this path in the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries).  I know that one popular view is to reinterpret Biblical references to slavery by saying, "Well, not all slaves were mistreated.  Some were valuable respected members of their household."  To use the sanitized Christian word -- BALONEY.  The weight of the ball and chain I held in my hands came close to equalling the weight in my heart.

And that was just the first place.

The second place -- Elmina Castle.  Built in 1482 by the Portuguese, later occupied by the Dutch and British.  The first thing the Protestant Dutch did when occupying the castle was to dismantle the steeple off of the chapel.  The second thing was to build a new water reservoir because they suspected the Portuguese would poison it.  The third thing was to replace the doors on the rooms that formerly served as holding cells for African goods to be traded (gold, ivory, etc.) with iron bars that would now hold the Africans to be traded.

The first room I went in was the room of condemnation.  This was the place where those who actively fought and tried to escape were imprisoned and starved. To death.  I could handle that thought just fine, until the tour guide closed the door behind us, leaving us to the lingering smells and utter darkness.  The doorpost was marked with a skull above it to serve as a warning.

You tell me.  Is that what you'd like to see after fighting to get back the freedom forcefully ripped from you?  Is this the image you want after being humiliated like you'd never dreamed possible?  You see my point.

There were more rooms and sights and smells and sounds that I will save for another post.  I'm sure you can understand that I need to come up for some Spirit-breathed air.

I did not end the day in a hopeless place, so I don't want to do that to anyone reading this.

As difficult as it was to see a physical place where people are held captive and died in that state, it was just as exhilarating to remember that

"My chains are gone, I've been set free.  My God, my Savior has ransomed me."

The weight of sin is gone.  I am no longer a slave to sin.

Praise be to Jesus Christ for this unspeakable, matchless gift of grace.