A popular cliché in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) is "The more things change, the more they stay the same.” In the Kasai region, around the epicenter of the recent Ebola epidemic, this still rings too true.

I recently accompanied the MAF flight to Bulape, an isolated Presbyterian mission station in the heart of the DRC. We carried a load of personal protection suits, soap, bleach and other supplies for the hospital staff there to cope with a potentially large number of Ebola patients.

In some ways, this area feels like a part of the world that time forgot.

Our landing on the little-used grass airstrip startled a group of sheep grazing placidly. Instead of darting right or left as our MAF pilot Garth Pederson brought the plane to a stop, they ran in terror ahead of the plane.

Predictably, hundreds of enthusiastic, chattering and curious children scampered from everywhere to press in around us, eager for a hello, a handshake, or a chance to feel my hair. But a couple of men with bamboo poles kept them at bay, so they wouldn't touch us (precaution against Ebola contamination). The smiles of the children and their chants of “mundele” (“white person”) held warm familiarity. Dr. Joseph, the medical director of the Bulape health zone, and Dr. Patrick, medical director of the Bulape hospital, came on foot to greet us and receive the freight.

The warm, hardy, handshake greeting so characteristic of the hospitable spirit of the people of DRC now must be avoided in this area, where people are rubbing shoulders with Ebola. Instead, folks offer symbols of greetings—a nod, a bent elbow, a bow—poignant reminders of the changes imposed by the outbreak.

In addition to the delivery of supplies, my mission was to cast a glance at the house that serves as a guesthouse for the Bulape hospital and the local church. While Garth unloaded our cargo for transport to the hospital, Dr. Joseph and Dr. Patrick accompanied me to the guesthouse.

On the way to the guesthouse, local government and territory officials waylaid us. They greeted me with a nod, inquired as to my mission and pressed me for promises of benefits for them personally.

Some things stay exactly the same!

Colorful adjectives have been used to describe the overt corruption so rampant in the DRC. It so hinders the task of providing services for relief and development. In the context of the human tragedy of an epidemic like Ebola, the cruelties in its wake are multiplied.

Further down the path, we passed a two-room cement block house, where a clutch of people sat in the sparse shade provided by the overhanging tin roof. Dr. Joseph slowed our pace, noting that we should first greet these people. It would help them, he commented. We offered a bow. The expressionless eyes of the two women gripped me, and I choked on my greeting.

These women were Mrs. Mabinghi and Mrs. Mayinda, widows of Mr. Kwete, a man who had died of Ebola at the Bulape hospital five days earlier. Mrs. Mayinda's son and Mr. Kwete's kid brother were also there. All had intimate contact with Mr. Kwete during his illness. They were brought to Bulape from their village 12 miles away, and this house was prepared for them in which to wait.

To wait for what?

They had no symptoms of illness, but the course of the Ebola virus infection is well documented, and unforgiving. Almost 80 percent of people infected with Ebola die. So these people are waiting.

Dr. Joseph introduced me to the hospital chaplain who was also standing there, and who visits this home regularly. Both assured the women of the prayers of many people. I couldn't dismiss a deep feeling of despair.

While things change, much remains the same.

Fortunately Bulape is one of the health zones receiving aid through a national health project, and so they will benefit from extra help. In their isolation, they'll need it, because of Ebola.

Perhaps more help will be needed, and that’s why we walked through the guesthouse to size up its potential.

The time we had to spend on the ground in Bulape passed quickly. Dr. Joseph and Dr. Patrick walked back to the airstrip with me.

The encouragement and hope brought, even by a bowed greeting and a shipment of needed supplies, is real. The gratitude expressed by those in the thick of the situation was heartfelt and genuine.

As we walked, Dr. Joseph gestured widely in the direction of the hospital and said, "To face all this, we also need grace."

We said goodbye, and I looked down over Bulape as we circled out.

Grace.

Freely given, freely received – not subject to the MAF plane's weight limitations, but dispensed by a Heavenly Father who watched His only Son die, because He so loved the world.

Grace.

Available in overwhelming measure to those who ask for it.

Mayinda, her child, Dr. Joseph and the faithful at Bulape need grace.

Though in an isolated corner of DRC, they are not beyond its reach.

As God’s children, you and I can intercede on their behalf—a full measure of grace, pressed down and running over, so God’s faithful can stand “to face all this.”

The more things change, the more God remains the same!