This Is Not the End: A Declaration From the Ashes
Today is a new day, day 3 in fact, since my dear friend’s church burned to the ground.
And while my mind races each morning to remember this disaster, I still find myself in disbelief. I keep asking, is this really happening? Then I see the photos, the videos, the many, many WhatsApp messages, and I realise that this is all too real. All too true.
For many, the questions I’ve been receiving seem to circle around one thing: Why did this happen?
Was it arson? Did someone leave something switched on? One rumour even suggests that an ember from a fire some distance away landed on the thatched roof. And while no one is pointing fingers, we are all feeling the deep pain of this incredible loss. I suppose in some ways, we are angry, and somehow the pain gets projected. Toward others. Toward God. Even toward ourselves.
I know, because I’ve felt it too. Years ago, before WayMaker even existed, my best friend Nick and I raised the funds to restore that thatched roof. The old one was in a dreadful state, and there was talk of replacing it with a metal roof. It would have been cheaper, but unbearable. In the African heat, it would have turned the church into a greenhouse. The thatch, though costly, allowed air to circulate and worked like natural air conditioning. So we raised the money, and the new thatch went up.
And now, I find myself asking painful questions:
What if we hadn’t paid for the thatch?
Would this still have happened?
If only I had…
God, if You just…
In many ways, I can see now that we’ve all been walking through the early stages of grief. That initial disbelief, the strange sense of unreality, is denial. It cushions the blow, at least for a moment. Then comes the frustration, the aching question of why, the quiet resentment, the search for reason. That is anger, even if it wears a soft face. And now, bargaining. Not with people, but with God and my own memory. Wondering if things could have been different. It’s a painful loop. But this is what it means to grieve something that is more than a building. This loss is spiritual. It’s relational. It’s emotional.
However, although I recognise the first three stages of grief, I refuse to settle into the fourth: depression. I will not say, this hurts so much, I don’t know how to go on. Because I do know how to go on. I’m moving straight to stage five: acceptance. Not resignation, but resolve. It’s real, and it’s going to be okay. More than okay, in fact.
We are going to build back better.
What the enemy meant for evil, God will use for good.
He will bring beauty from these ashes.
These aren’t just nice verses to me. This morning, I’m stirring my faith the African way, with declarations. I’m not letting despair get the final word. I’m speaking biblical promises into the smoke, into the rubble, and into the future.
“I refuse discouragement, for it is not from God. Champions don’t give up; they get up. Zeal for Your house consumes me. Whatever is born of God overcomes the world. This is the victory that overcomes the world — our faith.”
And so I choose to live by faith.
To walk by faith.
To see through the eyes of faith.
And now I’m asking you: will you join me?
Will you help us rebuild? Not just a roof, not just a hall, but an altar. A house of praise. A centre of life and mission that will serve generations to come.
This is our moment. Let’s not just mourn the ashes. Let’s plant beauty in them.
And let’s build back better, together.
Help Rebuild in Kitwe
Your gift today will help restore what was lost and bring hope to a church family rising from the ashes.
