Because I Live, You Also Will Live: In Praise of Gann Herman

By Scott Schomburg

Ganns farewell dinner fittingly landed on the week anticipating Pentecost Sunday, when the church celebrates Gods gift of the Holy Spirit filling the earth through violent winds and tongues of fire. For unless rushes of wind do come down from heaven, unless Gods word fills us with visions and dreams, Ganns journey will be likened to the spirited in Jerusalem who seemed drunk from too much wine (Acts 2:13). After climbing the educational ladder, the first in her family to graduate with a college degree, Gann Herman, Ph.D. did what many would not: she moved to Swaziland, stirred by visions of Gods justice. Eventually, she turned toward the belly of the apartheid beast in South Africa, witnessing against centers of global economic and political power. You can hear echoes of the crowds at Jerusalem who sneer and say, she must be filled with new wine (Acts 2:13). And in the narrowest sense, it is true: Gann makes for a bad American. Her life does not compute. Indeed, Ganns story only makes sense if Gods story is true. The integrity of her life depends not on her abilities, which are ample, but on God making good on Gods promises. Shalom, Gods peace, is not simply a future possibility for Gann, it is a present promise inviting her to let its life shape her life. To put it tersely: no Pentecost, no Gann. Jesus said it this way: Because I live, you also will live (Jn. 14:19). I begin here because Gann has taught me to begin here: with Gods life making possible our lives and life together. For many years Gann has been swept up, apprehended, drawn into Gods strange new world of belonging that demands the gift of new words, new eyes, and new earsthe gift of Christs very lifeon the journey between near and distant neighbors. It has been a Pentecost life, in constant need of the Holy Spirit to flow through her, making for her a new home among languages and cultures not her own. And for three of those years, she has crossed my path, inviting me to be swept up with her. She has loved me fiercely, even trusted me with the task of writing words that try, through stops and starts, to describe the story on which her life depends. And through Ganns witness, I am saved from the delusion that the story depends on me, which is a message of great liberation and hope. So, if Gods story is not true, I too, thanks to Gann, have joined the debauchery, sharing the cup with my dear friend. In her company, I am reminded that such a drink is not an occasion for sneers, but praise, for it is the cup of our salvation. As I write I am sitting at my desk, facing a print of Matthias Grunewalds Crucifixion that hangs on my wall. Which reminds me, I have said nothing thus far of Karl Barth (at least, directly). I would be remiss to not mention the ways Gann reminds me of the great Swiss theologian! Grunewald is by my desk because Barth kept this same depiction of Jesus crucifixion by his desk, reminding Barth of the theologians task. In the painting, John the Baptist stands to Jesus left. He is looking up at the cross, with his right arm halfstretched and his index finger fully extended toward Jesus body. Above his arm reads John 3:30 from the Latin Vulgate: He must increase, but I must decrease. All of theology, Barth is known to have said, and I do mean all, happens in that small finger pointing toward Jesus. Theology must never point to anyone else,

or it betrays its calling. That is, theological reflection requires our decrease, making room for Jesus increase. Barths work is therefore an attempt to point beyond himself to the living word of God in our midst. Yet, my relationship with Barth is relegated to conversations with texts (and the occasional YouTube video). Reading Barth consistently evokes the question: Ok, Barth, we understand, God still speaks, but what does faithfulness look like? Faith in the living Word of God is always beyond us, always out of our reach, but it also needs to be seen flowing through real bodies, heard in real voices. We need more than texts; we need comrades. And here is the crucial point: Barth understood this, and so does Gann. Gann understands because she knows Christians have two choices: (i) we can turn Jesus toward us, making Jesus point toward our exalted lives, or (ii) we can turn toward Jesus, our index fingers fully extended toward the cross, pointing beyond us to Gods saving work. Gann knows, like Barth, that once you choose the latter, you need community to sustain you, for you no longer stand on your own solid ground. Ganns journey from Swaziland, to Lesotho, Uganda, Burundi, Tanzania, and beyond, has done more than give her interesting stories to tell. It has made visible a trail Christ has already blazed for us. It has made visible the conviction that Christians find in comrades those who make us more truthful witnesses than we could have been on our own. Gann cannot help but speak, therefore, of what she has seen and heard in comrades like Maggie, Angelina, Josephine, Wilfred and Faith, Father Steve, Father Emmanuel, Bishop Taban, Bishop Ocholathe list, as she reminded us, is very long. They each, and all together, have made her a more truthful witness to Gods strange new world. She knows that friends such as these, true comrades, make her life possible. Indeed, it would not be overstating it much to echo Jesus words: Because they live, she also lives. The present form of her life would be unimaginable without them. Which brings me to Ganns impact on me, how I live because she lives. If trustworthy lives have made Gann more truthful, she has made me more truthful through our friendship. To be sure, I only begin to accomplish this on my best days. My journey with Gann began in 2010, when I worked under her supervision as student associate for Dukes Center for Reconciliation. When I met Gann, I was mostly convinced that somebody like her did not exist. If you ask her about my tendency toward cynicism, she will tell you I still dont (adding her hearty laugh). But I do, because I have seen her life up close. Before Duke, I had spent years doing humanitarian work in East Africa. Uganda became a point of no return for me. The place and people awakened something in me I still have not quite figured out how to articulate. In the midst of compelling witnesses, an enduring love for walking the streets of Kampala, and Ugandas stunning landscape, it also became harder to trust the possibilities of mutual relationships between American humanitarians and Africans. Young humanitarians like myself traveled to the strange lands of Africa, returning with global activist credentials. If the quintessential American dream is endless selfinvention, then Africa became the backdrop par excellence for our projects of self-making. It remained a relationship largely on our terms. We called Africans the poorest of the poor when we talked to churches about social justice, but would never call them poor in their company. And on the flip side, more experienced humanitarians continued to use Uganda as a playground for destructive social conservatism, still operating with images of Africans as more-or-less barbaric, in need of civilizing (which is often to say, unfortunately, Christianizing). Whether younger or older, liberal or conservative, I was immersed in communities of good people caught in a mad history, unable to break free from the seductive whisper that some hold messianic power in the face of a world waiting on them to exercise it.

Of course, this is not the whole picture; because people like Gann exist. If you want to know who they are, she would be glad to tell you. If you ask, prepare to see eyes lit up with the love that comes, as Dana said so well, with years of hard work and relentless commitment. Prepare to hear stories; since the kind of people Gann is convinced exist can only come into view through the telling of a life. Prepare for tears, for loves difficult work is risky, and as many know, comes with loss and wounds that are memories of loss. Most of all, however, prepare to be changed, swept up, apprehended, turned toward something new. In conclusion, therefore, I want echo Peters words in Jerusalem on Pentecost. Attesting to the crowds still needing to be convinced that people could live filled with the Holy Spirit, he begins with an exhortation: Let this be known to you, and listen to what I say. As an echo, I want you, Gann, to let these words be known to you. I want youas you have done so well for me these yearsto listen to what I have to say: When I needed someone to trust, you were there. You offered your support and encouragement, and most of all, offered your story as a witness to Gods promises. In trusting you, I have learned to trust the world anew. I have learned to trust myself anew. You quickly earned my trust, because you let us see what most people do not want us to see: that is, there are no humanitarian messiahs, and no world waiting to be saved by us. But there ARE good comrades, people willing to point with you to Gods new world. There ARE good people with whom our lives are made better; indeed, made possible. You are among those good people for me, Gann. It is true; you are passionate, loving, caring, and committed. But most global activists are at least that. You are different, because you know passion is only the beginning. You have seen passion without mutuality play itself between the West and Africa. You are different, because your love is never divorced from being a student of the world, always ready to receive a word from the Holy Spirit wherever you find yourself. Indeed, you are not only passionate; you are smart. You have been shaped to see the world through open hands, open ears, and open eyes. It is true that your life has been blessed with the unexpected gifts of truly remarkable friendships, but do not forget; they are also drawn to you, to the light your life shares with the world, to your words and your mind. You remind us that the world we dream of is possible. For if it wasnt real, how could your eyes light up so brightly when you speak of it? And you know that Gods new world cannot be mass-produced, invented, or rushed. You embody the patience needed to sit with complicated histories into which your life has been immersed, unwilling to pass too quickly over the mess in order to force the change you want. Indeed, ignoring the mess makes no sense to you, because youre convinced that the mess is precisely the place where we find Christs life sweeping us up into something far more dangerous, far more interesting, and far more liberating than the superficial worlds we create. Though I was not present for your East African sisters and brothers to hear of your departure from full-time work with the Great Lakes Initiative, I suspect they felt the way I feel: In you we all have a comrade we can trust, a person we want to be in the mess with, and such goodness in a person is a cherished gift. You, Gann, have been far more than my supervisor; you have been my Durham mother. This might be news to you. Yet, when I think of the way you have supported me, loved me, and encouraged me without reservation, I can think of no better image. For the times I have failed you, I am truly sorry. For the times I have made you proud, I am truly humbled. For the times we have celebrated together, I am truly grateful. And for it all, I praise God for Gods unexpected gifts. You have welcomed me into your life, and you have welcomed Haley with open arms. Because you live, I live. I cannot imagine my life in Durham without your mark. Thanks be to God, I do not have to try.

As you transition into a season of tending closely to your creative writing gifts, your memories, and the life God has given you, perhaps you too will find inspiration in other writers. James Baldwin once said he wrote to describe, described to outwit, and outwitted to overcome. His words helped bring a new world into view that American racial myths had kept hidden, and in his best sentences, he still teaches us to be more truthful. I look forward to the world your sentences open up for us, the window into which we might glimpse again the Holy Spirits work in the lives of the comrades you are convinced exist, and have convinced me they exist, too. Indeed, we need that light in your eyes when you talk of them. We need to be convinced, for in describing the world you have seen, and the people you share it with, we may again be swept up, apprehended, even saved. Indeed, you have been blessed with salvific friendships that have taught you, echoing Baldwin, to say what everybody who wants to live has to say: Yes, Lord. Heres to you, Gann, for saying yes to life, for embodying a life of praise, and for letting us all see what life looks like when we continue with the response, Yes, Lord. May you never stop speaking of what you have seen and heard, with your arm outstretched, and your index finger fully extended toward Jesus. I, for one, am eager to hear. With much love, Scott