FishCulture

Knox attendee and sound guru Alyssa Bistonath, a regular photographer with World Vision, recently travelled to Mali on assignment. Below is a short meditation on one of her experiences there, underneath her illustrative (and astonishing) photo.

Photograph by Alyssa Bistonath.

As we drove through the dust-filled air, the sky took on a sepia tone and the clouds sunk into a low April fog. I took note of the bruise that the bumpy road and my camera had formed on my leg. I was in Mali, working as a photographer for World Vision, and the 45-degree heat, rumours of the Icelandic volcano eruption, and a harsh flu made me thankful for a day off.

We were venturing further when, to the right of the car, we noticed a cloud embedded in the ground, a fury of activity right in and among it. Within seconds, we were pulling over, and a balloon of excitement burst in my chest.

I jumped out the back doors and climbed up on top of the jeep, my camera slung over my shoulder. I had never seen anything like it. It was a misty pool left over from a dried-up lake. It was surrounded by hundreds of people, horses carts, and bicycles. “Sunday,” Abdullah, our driver, told us. “Time for fishing.” We learnt that the community waited all year round for the hot season to dry up the lake. Week by week, they communally fished each leftover pool. Planning each time where to meet next; no one disrespecting the others by trying to fish a pool alone. As I walked down the hill and to the shore, I was moved—by the teamwork of families, neighbours, and friends. Everyone knew their role, everyone helped.

More than on any other trip before, I asked God a lot of questions while in Mali—but mostly I wanted him to ask something of me. “What purpose do you have to offer to my community?” I think back to that fishing village, and I wonder how they got to the point where every person, down to the tiny babies collecting minnows at the shore, knew what their responsibilities were. I pray and hope we can learn the same in our growing church community.

–Alyssa Bistonath

Illustration by Danny Gregory.

A few weeks back, I was walking down Bloor Street when a bold sign in a window caught my attention. It was about male penguins and how rad they are for taking care of eggs while all the mothers are off looking for food. My quasi-feminist sensibilities caused me to do a double-take. There were more signs, one about fox fathers, one about sea-horse dads, all of them equally as flattering as the one before. “They’re not allowed to do that,” I thought to myself, “Don’t they know this kind of gender pride just comes off as insensitive and tired?” Then I thought it must be some horrible art installation. A comment on women’s-rights propaganda? Men are awesome too? I was reaching pretty far.

Actually, it was a retail store: Father’s Day was just around the corner.

We’re not used to giving love to men for being men. Men are jerks, or at the very least, stupid, if we’re to believe our TVs. And when we do give them love, it’s often by acknowledging traits which our society has deemed to be feminine. Sea-horse dudes carrying babies? Penguin papas guarding eggs? Is that the best we can do?

I had to think about it more.

I thought about my own dad, who, for part of my life, had to be both a mother and a father to me. He sat on the egg for a while, in a manner of speaking, and it was an incredibly self-sacrificial time. I’m sure we can all think of times when our fathers gave up hopes, dreams, or hobbies for their families. Even the so-called dumb dads.

Maybe that’s all the Father’s Day signage was really meaning to say. That all those animals, all the great dads, and all of creation is pointing us to a truly great Father. A Father with the kind of selfless love that looks pathetic and ugly to the hard-hearted. The kind of Dad that all of us want to grow up to be like, if we’re brave enough.

Take courage, dads. You’re doing us all a great service.

—Andrew Patten