The Birth of the Rebel Jesus (Reconsidering Ronald Reagan)

´´When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist.´´ -Archbishop Dom Hélder Camara

First of all, merry Christmas! As I celebrate Christmas in an entirely new way (expect a post on how Christmas is celebrated here in the next month…but I want to wait to write that until I’ve actually celebrated it!), know that I am thinking of and praying for each of you and hoping that you have a joyful holiday season.

This Christmas post has an admittedly strange subject (Ronald Reagan and the effect of U.S. neoliberal economic policies on Latin America), but it’s inspired by and structured around Jackson Browne’s beautiful, tongue-in-cheek, and profoundly challenging ballad “The Rebel Jesus.” Stanzas of the song will be included in italics. I recommend taking the time to listen to the song itself in this video.

Before proceeding any farther, I want to admit up front that this post is going to be honest and strongly opinionated. I recognize that, and I know that many of you will disagree with me. I know that many of you (including my dear parents – Hi Mom, Hi Dad) voted for Ronald Reagan. Many agree that his ideas of capitalism and neoliberal economics are in fact the best way to govern our country and our world. At least one of you (hello James, if you’re reading this) sleeps with a framed picture of the man next to your bed! Forgive me then, friends, if I speak too strongly. My purpose is not to offend you but to offer a different perspective, one widely held in Peru and as far as I know among the majority of the Latin American world (not including the proportionally miniscule rich aristocracy), on policies that we often take for granted as “necessary to defend democracy and freedom.” I want to offer you the perspective, as far as I understand it, of those who have lived through the negative effects of these policies and who know better than any of us ever could that in the economic and foreign policy decisions of the United States, there are Lives in the Balance.

All that said, let us begin:

All the streets are filled with laughter and light
And the music of the season,
And the merchants’ windows are all bright
With the faces of the children.
And the families hurrying to their homes,
As the sky darkens and freezes,
Will be gathering around their hearths and tables
Giving thanks for God’s graces
And the birth of the Rebel Jesus.

Many of you know that I tend to identify myself more with the left end of the political/theological/economic spectrum (Understatement? Yes.) And because of that, I have encountered many difficulties working with the more theologically and socially conservative Protestant church here in Peru. However, something very interesting I’ve noticed is that regardless of how conservative the people I’ve met are in their religious beliefs or understanding of personal moral conduct (no dancing, no drinking, etc.), none of them are economically conservative as we define it in the United States. And they all have their fair share of complaints about the policies of good ole’ George W. Bush.

But then again, that’s not really that remarkable. Most people in the States have their fair share of complaints about W. Bush-bashing is the cool thing to do. Heck, even the Dixie Chicks are doing it. What may come as more of a surprise to my readers is the virtually unanimous criticism of Ronald Reagan.

The United States loves to glorify Ronald Reagan. Reaganomics. Military strength. The Fall of Communism. Reviving our investment-centered economy. Though of course the inherent goodness of any of these things is certainly debatable (and I would be willing to talk about any of them with you, if you would like), the fact of the matter is that our national history generally remembers Reagan as a president who, in the face of any struggle, did all he could to serve the interests of the United States of America.

Well they call him by the Prince of Peace
And they call him by the Savior,
And they pray to him upon the sea
And in every bold endeavor,
And they fill his churches with their pride and gold
As their faith in him increases
But they’ve turned the nature that I worship him
From a temple to a robber’s den,
In the words of the Rebel Jesus.

And you know, despite what I or anyone else might say about the long-term effects of his policies on our country, the above is true: Ronald Reagan consistently did all he could to protect and serve the United States. But in the eyes of the people I’ve talked to here in Peru, that’s exactly the problem. Reagan was always looking out for the United States. And whether we like it or not, he lived then and we live today in a global community. The president of the world’s greatest superpower (or one of the world’s two greatest superpowers, in Reagan’s time) cannot justifiably look out for the interests of his or her country alone.

Some of the Reagan administration’s foreign policy blunders are well-known, such as the Iran-Contra scandal, where the administration, likely with Reagan’s blessing, used money that it had illegally gained from selling arms to Iran to, also illegally, support a right-wing, essentially terrorist group in Nicaragua working to overthrow the democratically-elected leftist Sandinista government. Other similar but lesser-known stories arise all over Latin America (Colombia, El Salvador, Guatemala, Panama) with the same pattern: US aids right-wing, military overthrow of a popular government that we perceive as a “potential Communist threat.”

However, undoubtedly, when we think about the foreign policy of Reagan, the major even that comes to mind is the end of the Cold War. A milestone in history that any history book I’ve ever read regards as one of the greatest accomplishments in 20th-century history. And certainly there were good things that came from it; the Soviet Union didn’t have a great human rights record either, to say the least, and there are ways in which its demise contributed to human freedom, health, and dignity. However, one has to ask, was Reagan really “assuring the safety of the world in the face of a Communist threat” by building up our nuclear arms program? Was his ideal of neoliberal capitalism really the way to protect individual rights and liberties? After all, what about the rights to life, food, water, shelter, and health that the poor, in the US and abroad, were effectively denied by these policies? Why did the “great and legendary” president of a country that was to be the “beacon of light and freedom in the world” increase funds to the military but decrease healthcare spending? Where these policies really about the good of the world, or were they to protect our own interests?

We guard our world with locks and guns
And we guard our fine possessions
And once a year, when Christmas comes,
We give to our relations
And perhaps we give a little to the poor
If the generosity should seize us
But if any one of us should interfere
In the business of why there are poor
They’d get the same as the Rebel Jesus.

But the point of this post isn’t just to criticize the attitude and actions of Ronald Reagan and the policies of his administration. Because the fact of the matter is that Ronald Reagan, or George Bush, or Joseph Stalin, or Adolph Hitler, or any other well known historical figure who has played a role in serious human rights abuses, did not do it on his/her own. The blame extends even outside the circle of their administrations and direct supporters. The self-centered political and economic rhetoric so evident in the foreign policy of the Reagan administration existed in our country long before Reagan was born. George W. Bush did not detain Muslim-Americans after 9/11 without our fearful assertion that this was in fact the best way to detect Homeland Security, nor did his father send political refugees from Haiti to the inhumane, concentration-camp-esque living conditions of Guantanamo Bay without our xenophobia to support him. Stalin and Hitler would not have been able to commit the atrocities they did without the masses of people who believed in what they preached and without powerful countries like the US and Great Britain initially turning a blind eye to what was going on in Germany and Russia. The responsibility for what happens to our brothers and sisters living in other countries does not lie solely with our heads of state and elected officials. It belongs to you and to me.

I’m currently reading a book called Pathologies of Power: Health, Human Rights, and the New War on the Poor by Paul Farmer, the doctor and human rights activist about whom Mountains Beyond Mountains is written. Writing about his experience working as a doctor of the poor in Haiti, Peru, Cuba, Russia, and the United States, Farmer focuses on the root problem of the diseases he treats, which he calls structural violence. While he chooses to spend less time defining it and more time demonstrating it through patients’ life stories and real life situations, some of us (like myself) like more concrete definitions. So for those other Meyers-Briggs J’s out there, structural violence is, as I understand it, the existence of political and economic systems that, while they may not directly wage war against people (as the US did with the Contras in Nicaragua), perpetuate inequalities and lead to the inescapable suffering and death of the poor and oppressed.

This is hard stuff – harder still when we hear Farmer’s diagnosis that a great deal of the structural violence in the world is caused by the neoliberal economic policies of our dear old US of A. Whether we want to admit it or not, the lives of many of the world’s destitute are affected by our daily decisions. Where does the food we eat come form, the clothes we wear, the oil we use? I challenge you to start asking that question, and if you don’t know the answers, to do some research. I warn you, the answers you find will probably disturb you. This is not a fun exercise. But it is, I believe, the only way to begin to construct a truly peaceful world, free of the overt and covert violence that plague our world today. The only way to begin to construct the Kingdom of God.

But pardon me if I have seemed
To take the tone of judgment
For I’ve no wish to compete with
This day and your enjoyment
In a life of hardship and of earthly toil
There’s a need for anything that frees us
So I bid you pleasure, and I bid you cheer,
From the heathen and the pagan
On the side of the Rebel Jesus.

And this, perhaps, is why this Christmas season, I ask you to reconsider Ronald Reagan. I ask you to look at a president that the we the rich of America have idolized (and sometimes the poor too, for that matter) and remember those whose lives and families were torn apart by the violence, actual and structural, that his policies created in the Latin American world.

And here I return to the quote by Dom Helder Camara with which I began. Here in Peru, I have the opportunity to “serve the poor.” But what good is it for us to serve the poor if we don’t work to change the systems and situations that have cursed some people to be poor in the first place? And what good am I really doing offering my time and assistance if I continue to live my life according to the oppressive and violent structures that give me a nice free T-shirt but don’t pay the Haitians who made my shirt a fair wage with which to feed their families? (Just for the record, I chose Haiti for that example by looking at the tag of the T-shirt I’m currently wearing. What’s worse – it’s a shirt from a church event! I’m telling you, friends, this structural violence has just become an ingrained and acceptable part of our culture.)

So friends and family, merry Christmas. Know that on this special day, it is hard for me to be far from you. But I take comfort in the knowledge that December 25th, we will be united in a celebration of joy, peace, giving, love, and perhaps even the overturning of structural violence. Feliz Navidad a todos. Let us celebrate the birth of the Rebel Jesus.

This is the Air I Breathe...

Those of you who have similar tastes in music to me or who actually click on the hyperlinks I put in here know that very often my titles or just random lines in my blog are quotes from songs that really speak to me. Those of you who know me well, then, should be confused and perhaps a little bit concerned to see that the title of this post is a quote from a cheesy contemporary Christian song by one of the MANY Christian pop divas (Let’s call her Rachel Nicole St. Knapp, shall we?) who, in my oh-so-humble opinion, all sound exactly the same. Have 3 months away from home really changed my tastes in music that much? Has the theological conservatism of the churches I’m working with gotten to me?

The answer, of course, is no, which will undoubtedly relieve some of you and disappoint others. I just thought the title would be an interesting and ironic segue into what I want to talk about. For the record, the song is called “Breathe” and is by Rebecca St. James. The first verse goes:

“This is the air I breathe
This is the air I breathe
Your holy presence living in me.”

It goes on and on, and you know, it’s sweet, but musically rather boring and not at all lyrically profound. But what I want to share with you today is about the actual air I breathe. And while I certainly believe in the omnipresence of the Holy Spirit, this air is not “God’s holy presence living in me.”

The air that I, along with everyone else in Carabayllo and northern Comas, breathe smells like shit. I apologize for the language, but there’s really no other way to describe the foul odor that has permeated every bit of my being for the last several weeks. The smell comes from outside but since every Peruvian home has some sort of open air courtyard inside, it’s everywhere. I wake up with it in the morning and go to bed with it at night. I’ve gotten to the point where I sometimes have to walk with my shirt over my nose, looking like some bad imitation of a bank robber. It’s foul. It’s nauseating. Disgusting. There’s no other way to describe it. The air I breathe smells like shit.

I guess the next logical question is why does it smell this way? Well you see, there’s a nearby lake or some sort of body of water into which much of our district’s sewage is dumped. On hot summer days (which is at least 5 days a week, and yes, I live in the Southern Hemisphere, it’s summer here), the sewage-infused lake water evaporates, and the wind brings this delightful evaporated-sewage-water into the city. The beautiful mountains that I enjoy every day and through which we took our caminata in September trap this air, the sun gets hotter, the smell gets worse…you get the picture.

Living and working in one of the poorest sections of a big city is teaching me a lot about pollution and environmental abuse. Things that I never could have experienced in Richmond’s West End Suburbia, or the beautiful and idyllic campus of William and Mary, where it’s still 1693, just with wireless internet everywhere. The grass and trees I’ve always take for granted struggle to survive here. In their place are dust and trash. Often burning trash, which doesn’t really help with the smell.

I don’t say these things to paint a picture of Peru as a dirty, ecologically irresponsible country. On the contrary, I want to share with you the reality in which many people, myself now one of them, live, and ask each of you to reflect for a minute on your place in the big picture of environmental destruction. I know I’ve done my fair share of damage. It’s so easy for us to do in our comfortable Northern lives. Though we will soon enough, right now we don’t experience the direct impact of our actions. Sure, the summers are warmer, but we can fix that with just a little more AC. We hear about glaciers melting, the water supply diminishing, but our sinks still work, and when thirsty, it’s not hard to find a glass of cold water. Most places will give it to you for free!

Things are different in the barrios of Carabayllo and Comas. You see, people in Peru, as in many countries around the world, don’t have the “luxury” to sit around debate whether Global Warming “exists.” It’s a part of their daily reality. The days are hotter, the sun is brighter. Summer comes and winter ends, both a month earlier than they used to. It rains when it shouldn’t, but the expected rains don’t come. Glaciers in the Andes that are essential water sources for the mountain provinces like Huacavelica are disappearing faster than anyone imagined. Water towers here in Lima read “Water is Life, Be Careful with Every Drop.”

The shortage of water is what I personally notice the most. The water for our neighborhood is shut off nearly every night, and Eduardo explained to me that this has become necessary in recent years to ensure that the supply of clean water is able to last all summer. The water at the IEP Collique where I work with the Compassion Program, is shut off every day after about 2. Large buckets of water sit in the bathrooms for the afternoon kids to wash their hands and fill their toilet bowls. It’s all just expected at this point. Like Eduardo said, it’s the only way there will ever be enough water to last the summer.

We just finished a short environmental unit with the 9 to 12-year-olds at Collique. We talked with them about the environmental problems that Peruvians face in their daily lives. Global warming and the shortage of water, contaminated food and water, and the toxic wastes produced by mining companies like American-owned Doe Run in La Oroya (please click here to read Joe´s latest blog on the subject...also watch the video he has included) and watch the video, by the way), the list goes on. Then we did a unit with them on the good ol’ 3Rs: reduce, reuse, recycle. I was really struck by the way the teacher of the class explained reusing, once again on the theme of water. She challenged the kids to find less-traditional ways to reuse water in their households. Use the water you used to wash the rice to bathe. Then take that water and throw it on the floor before you sweep (floors lie somewhere on the spectrum between dirt and concrete, and it’s necessary to wet the floor before sweeping so you don’t generate a ton of dust). It was a truly humbling experience for me to hear these kids, most of whom live in one-room, dirt-floor houses without personal access to water, talking about resource preservation. Honestly, it made even my bi-weekly bucket showers here seem a little extravagant and luxurious. While the wealthy like myself take running-water showers daily and literally play with water as if it were a toy, the poorest people that I have met are bathing themselves in the bucket of water they used to wash the rice. The inconsistency bothers me, as I hope it does you.

Those of you who follow the liturgical calendar (or some, like Laura, who take it upon themselves to ENFORCE the liturgical calendar!) know that we are now in the season of Advent, preparing ourselves for the coming of Christmas and re-opening ourselves every year to the coming of the Kingdom of God to earth in the form of one of “the least of these.” I challenge you all, as I challenge myself this Christmas season, to ask yourselves if the coming of Christ has more to do with lights, trees, and nativity scenes, or with a pail of water, carefully and lovingly siphoned out so as to take only what is necessary and share faithfully with others.

You Took the Word and Made it Heard

The title of this post comes from the Ben Folds song Not the Same. (For those of you who don’t know, click on the song title and the link will take you to a YouTube video of it.) The entire quote is as follows:

You took the Word and made it heard
And eased the people’s pain, and for that
You were idolized, immortalized,
And you were not the same after that.

I use this as my post title mostly because this post is about my first preaching experience here in Peru (which we in the PCUSA call Preaching the Word, one half of ministry, the other being the 2 sacraments.) However, I challenge you all to think for a minute about what this song has to say to us if you understand the “you” to be Jesus of Nazareth. (I recognize that has some controversial implications – if you have anything to say, please, post a comment! That’s a big part of why I do this whole blog thing…to get your feedback so that you can share in this adventure with me.) I don’t think this interpretation of the song is too far-fetched, by the way, as Ben has already sung in the first verse about a friend who, after a drug trip at the top of a tree, gave his life to Jesus (those of you who know Ben Folds know this really isn’t that strange compared to some of his lyrics!). So stew on that for awhile and let me know what you think.

Oh, and I am by no means trying to sound pompous or make messianic claims about myself by using the same words to refer to myself and to Jesus Christ. I just thought it would make a catchy post title about “the Word.”

Speaking of the Word, have you heard the Word is love? Whether you have or not, you should check out this video of Common Ground, my college a cappella group singing “The Word” by the Beatles at their Homecoming Concert. I’m so proud of them! And of course let me give credit where credit’s due: Thanks to Meredith Rutledge for suggesting this song for us to sing, Stefanie Higgins for an incredible arrangement, Joy Dudley for a beautiful solo, Cathy “Shmoo” Reber for some amazing percussion, and Liz MacMurry, Stacy Yi, Kristen Pantazes, Elizabeth Smith, Ethyl Yap, and Lizzy Jensen for this performance, and all members of Common Ground, past and present, for being awesome. Watch it, I swear, it’s incredible.

Ok, ok, on to the actual subject of this post – my first preaching experience in Peru (which, incidentally, was my first “real” preaching experience ever!). I preached Sunday night, October 18, for maybe 15 or 20 people at the IEP Ingeniería as part of the month’s theme of “The Significance of the Reformation in the History of the Church.” While the IEP still doesn’t ordain women to ministry, me preaching as a woman was not incredibly radical for this church – laypeople preach every Sunday night, and while the majority are men, I know that at least one other woman member has preached since I’ve been part of the church and it seemed to be accepted fairly well, with the understanding that she was a layperson, not an ordained minister. Still, 2 (myself included) out of 8 or so is nowhere near equality, and the church is very divided about the ordination of women. During my first month here, I helped lead a church-wide workshop/discussion on the ordination of women and saw that even in one of the more progressive churches of the denomination, there is still plenty of resistance. Preaching in this context, knowing that I was participating in a potentially revolutionary movement of holy subversion, was both very humbling and very empowering for me, and I hope it was the same for the men and women who graciously received my sermon.

Below is an English translation of what I preached that night. To hear clips of the sermon in my weak-but-improving Spanish, check out the Red Uniendo Manos’s Podcast Kuzka, created by fellow YAV Joe Tobiason. He’s put a lot of work into publishing information about the Red Uniendo Manos, the organization here that I’m working for, on the internet where anyone can access it. Also check out the English translation of the Red’s monthly newsletter, the Retama? I’m being serious, click on these links, it’s a much more comprehensive explanation of what we are doing in Peru than my blogs, since Joe’s official job is to publish this stuff, while mine is to chase screaming children around a church (that is of course not my whole job…but some days I think I spend more time doing that than anything else! Oh the joy of 5-year-olds!).

Anyway, the sermon:

Scripture: Micah 6:6-8: “With what shall I come before the Lord and bow down before the exalted God? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves a year old? Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten thousand rivers of oil? Shall I offer my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul? He has showed you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.”

Our theme this month is “The Significance of the Reformation in the History of the Church.” We’ve talked about the Reformation itself with Martin Luther in the 17th century, and we’ve also discussed the motto, the slogan of the Reformation: A Reformed Church, Always Reforming. I want to talk a little bit more about this theme tonight. The Reformation was a very important and climactic moment for the Church as a whole and particularly for our respective traditions, the PCUSA and the IEP. But I believe that the most important role of the Reformation for us, for the Church today, is to remind us that in every century, every age, we need to be open to the continual reformation of our thoughts, our hearts, and our lives in accordance with the Will of God. And for this, we go to the prophet Micah of the 8th century BCE.

Honestly, we don’t know much for sure about the life of the prophet Micah. As I said, he lived and prophetized in the 8th century BCE, when the nation we casually refer to as “Israel” was divided into Israel in the north and Judah in the south. This century was a time of fear for both kingdoms because they consistently felt the threat of Assyria, the daunting political superpower to the north.

As Martin Luther denounced the sins of the Catholic Church in the 18th century, Micah, in his own context, prophetized against two great sins that he saw in the people of Israel and Judah: the worship of Gods other than Yahweh and the creation and maintenance of unjust social structures that exploited the poor at the expense of the rich. Micah proclaimed that the people needed to repent of their actions and change their ways of live. But how? What is acceptable before the eyes of God?

And this is where we enter with tonight’s text. The text begins with a series of questions. This should be fairly obvious, but it’s important that we know that the implied answer to each question is “no.”

“With what shall I come before the Lord and bow down before the exalted God? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves a year old?”

No.

“Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten thousand rivers of oil?”

No.

“Shall I offer my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?”

No, not even this.

Micah renounces these appeals to sacrifice. In our modern, Christian context, this doesn’t seem that strange or radical. Of course we don’t offer burnt sacrifices to God. It’s not part of our religious practices. Truthfully, when we think about sacrifices in this sense, we often think of paganism, of things that have no relation to “our Christianity.” But such a reading misses the point because that’s not how it was for the communities of Israel and Judah. Burnt offerings were their way to worship, to pray, to communicate with God. To ask and receive pardon. All of the very specific and sacred rules and instructions are written in the Old Testament. Burnt sacrifices were to them like worship services, prayers, and Bible study are to us.

It’s easy for us to forget this, but it’s the essential element to understand the text. Micah is not simply offering his people new ways to praise the Lord and follow God’s will. Micah is telling them that their current established practices are worthless if they don’t behave, in both a personal and social context, like followers of God. I believe this point comes across more clearly in a passage from Isaiah, the most famous prophet of Micah’s time. It is Isaiah 1:11, 15-17, if you want to look for it. In this passage, Isaiah, speaking as the voice of God, asks:

“The multitude of your sacrifices – what are they to me?...I have more than enough of burnt offerings, of rams an the fat of fattened animals; I have no pleasure in the blood of bulls and lambs and goats…When you spread out your hands in prayer, I will hide my eyes from you; even if you offer many prayers, I will not listen. Your hands are full of blood; wash and make yourselves clean. Take your evil deeds out of my sight! Stop doing wrong, learn to do right! Seek justice, encourage the oppressed, defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case of the widow.”

If I understand these texts, Micah and Isaiah are telling the eighth-century Hebrews and us, modern-day readers, that our religious practices are empty if we are not living in accordance with the Will of God. Just like Martin Luther told the 18th-century Catholic Church. Just like Jesus told the Pharisees in his time on earth. And just like the Word of God tells us today. If we say that we are “Reformed Church,” we need to remain always open to the possibility of new reforms.

And finally, in verse 8, Micah gives us his answer.

“He has showed you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.”

This is how we live as followers of God. In every age and century, this is how we make certain that our religious practices are not empty but are in fact full, full of the love of God. This is how we know we are following the Will of God.

But how do we do this? Here it’s more complicated, isn’t it? Because although the Word of God doesn’t change, contexts and situations do. And it is for this that God has given us the Holy Spirit, manifested in our minds and hearts. With this Word and this Spirit, we, the people of God, can make our humble attempts at discerning the Will of God in our own contexts.

Let us return now to “the answer” in Micah 6:8, where Micah tells us what God has called “good.” Do justice. Love mercy. Walk humbly with your God. These three simple things are what God requires of us.

But still, what does this mean in our present context? I don’t have the final answer; no one does. But I can offer you ideas from my own life and my own experiences. They are not comprehensive: this is only my humble understanding of part of the Will of God. But, if I may, I would like to offer these thoughts to you.

Do justice. Here we see our relationships with the world. We must treat every other person, every part of Creation with justice. But what is “justice”, really? Often, when we think of justice, we think of a severe judge handing out punishments. But I want to propose another definition because this first understanding is our human distortion of the word. In the Kingdom of God, justice is simply that which serves love. Love for God, love for all people, love for Creation.

In this manner, when we conserve our natural resources, we do justice. When we denounce poverty and the structures that cause it, we do justice. When he help our brothers and sisters, when we help people we don’t know, when we help people we don’t even like, we do justice. Justice is that which serves love. And with this definition, justice and mercy are not the opposites that we often make them – they are two complementary parts of the Reign and Will of God.

Which brings us to the second part: Love mercy. This has to do with our relationships with others. And notice that it’s not “act with mercy” or “behave mercifully,” it says love mercy. Loving mercy has to do not just with our actions, but with our hearts and the thoughts and feelings behind our actions. When we respect the humanity of every person, we love mercy. When we care for those whom society has rejected, we love mercy. When we forgive our friends and our enemies not seven times but, as Jesus tells us, seventy times seven times, we love mercy. It is an act of profound humility.

And this brings us to the third part: Walk humbly with your God. Here we are talking about our relationship with God and with ourselves. The Church in every age has committed the sin of triumphalism, of pridefully thinking that we have the final answer and understand fully the mystery of God. Of acting as if we are God. This was the sin of the priests in Micah’s time, of the Pharisees in that of Jesus, of the Catholic Church in that of Martin Luther, and sometimes, it is our own sin.

Admitting that, how do we walk humbly with our God? We put the Will of God, which desires the well-being of the whole world, before our own wills. We admit that we are not always right and do not always know the truth, or what we ought to do. We accept help from God and from others. We make ourselves the servants of all. Each time we behave in this way, we walk humbly with our God.

We are the people of God. God has created us to do God’s work. But we are also humans, sinners. Yes, God has shown us what is good, but we are going to fail, both as individuals and as a Church. But we can be and we must be open to the new reforms of each day. The reforms that bring us closer to the will of God. And what is God’s Will?

Do justice. Love mercy. Walk humbly with your God.

Now I Walk in Beauty

Hello again, friends and loved ones.

I’m writing this from my bed in Peru, home “sick” with some odd sort of rash that I’m hoping is not my third case of chicken pox (I thought you were only supposed to get it once, but I got it twice as a kid, so maybe third time is the charm?) or some sort of Amazonian equivalent. But just in case, I figured it would be better for me not to go to work and risk infecting the 250 or so kids at Collique. That may qualify as a pandemic.

But in all fairness, it’s nice to get a chance to rest. I’m working pretty much all the time, and usually spend my one day off tying up all my loose ends and talking to the boy I love , so I’m very grateful for this chance to take a little time for myself and share a little more about my experience in Peru. I’m trying to turn over a new leaf and write shorter blogs more often, so we’ll see how this goes!

Today I want to share with you a little bit about our first YAV retreat, which was two weeks ago (William and Mary Homecoming) in Huánaco, a province where Sarah Baja is working with an organization called Paz y Esperanza (Literally “Peace and Hope”) to help provide shelter and nurture for sexually abused young girls. We stayed at an organic farm where several of the girls live and enjoyed a time of fellowship with each other and others on the Granja (farm).

One of the many highlights of the retreat was the day we traveled to the Selva (“jungle”…yes, friends, that would be the Amazon Rainforest we’re talking about!) for a day-long “hike.” I put hike in quotes because this was different than any hike I’d ever participated in – we climbed waterfalls! I’m talking literally reverse-repelling straight up 7 or so pretty substantial waterfalls and climbing on hands and knees up another 5 or so smaller ones. Try as I might, I cannot find the right words to describe this experience. Part of it was the sheer immensity (pardon my language, but “badass factor”) of what I was doing – climbing waterfalls in the Amazon Rainforest. Part of it was the joy of being again in community with my fellow YAVs and sharing this once-in-a-lifetime experience with them. Part of it was the thrill of pulling myself up the waterfall with my own hands and feet. Part of it was the wonderful sensation of the water pouring over me (remember, I take bucket showers in Peru…this was the closest I’ve been to our American idea of “shower” in a long time!), or of jumping into the deep parts where we had the opportunity to swim.

More than anything, though, I think I was greatly affected by the experience of being truly present in the natural world. There’s something very humbling about being only one of millions (probably more than that!) of forms of life present in one place. Something powerful about aligning yourself parallel with a waterfall and feeling that, for the moments you are climbing, you are a part of that natural wonder. Something very simple and natural about drinking the fresh, pure water pouring forth from one of the rocks along the way. By immersing myself in nature, I think I somehow learned a little bit more about what it really means to be human.

After climbing all 12 waterfalls we headed down the rock-and-mud path to where we had begun. The way down was slippery (see earlier comment about mud), but less treacherous (except for the part where I almost slid off the mountain…thank you Sarah Baja for saving my life!), so the group spread out a bit, and I found myself walking most of the way down alone, soaking wet and muddy, just taking in the immensity of life that was all around me. I paused for a moment to marvel at the mountains surrounding me. I ducked under a overhang of leaves. A bright blue butterfly landed on my water bottle, letting me admire it for a full 30 seconds before flying away. I slipped in the mud. I closed my eyes, listened to the singing of the birds and bugs, and breathed in the fresh air.

As I continued to walk, an old American Indian spiritual song came into my heart: “Now I walk in beauty, beauty is before me, beauty is behind me, above and below me.” (Sidenote: Check out how the amazing sample of this song in the Indigo Girls’ song “Jonas and Ezekiel.” Gives me chills every time!) With every step, with every breath, this song became my being and my prayer. I truly was surrounded by beauty, by life, by all that is divine. Before me, behind me, above me, below me. I felt the sudden urge, like Moses at the burning bush, to take off my shoes, for I was truly walking on holy ground. (I didn’t actually take off my shoes…see earlier comment about the mud.) I was participating in nature. Participating in God. Call it panentheism, if you will, but even after 2 months of spending 6 days a week working in the church, this simple walk down the mountain was undoubtedly the most spiritual experience I’ve had in Peru.

Needless to say, it was hard to return to the city at the end of the retreat. Don’t get me wrong – Lima certainly has its charm, and I know that the work I’m called to do this year is in the trash-covered, dirt roads of the shantytowns, not in the rivers of the jungle. But it’s hard to return to the city after seeing nature at its finest, as it was created and as it was intended to be. Go outside for a little bit – really! Maybe you’ll experience the same thing.

Runnin’ to the edge of the earth
Swimmin’ to the edge of the sea
Laughin’ under a starry sky:
This world was meant for me.

This world was meant for all of us, and us for the natural world. So go outside. Take some time. Listen. And walk in beauty.

Trying to fit the world inside a picture frame

Hello all!

I’ve been meaning to share pictures with you all for awhile, but due to a series of unfortunate and fortunate events (my camera broke my second day in Peru, I was able to steal pictures from other YAVs, I bought a new camera a week and a half ago, it got stolen 6 days later from one of the churches where I’m working, the very gracious people at the church insisted on buying me a new one yesterday…that’s the short version). But here are some sights and faces from my life in Peru…

Meet the Cast

(Photo: Sarah T.)

Anna Gray, fellow YAV working with fair trade and agriculture development in Huancayo. Originally from Alaska, which means she does in fact talk a little bit like Sarah Palin but is infinitely smarter and a better person. Also, I think she’s part polar bear

(Photo: Sarah C.)

Alissa King, fellow YAV working with a public radio station in Huanta (near Ayacucho). From Texas, so she, Meredith, and Stefanie are slowly redeeming the state for me. She is deceptively sassy. And yes, this was us in the airport, all the YAVs toasting Presbyterian mission work! Don’t worry, supporters, I paid for that beer with my own money, not yours. :)

(Photo: Anna)

Sarah “Alta” Terpstra, fellow YAV working with an environmental organization in Huancavelica. She’s from Tennessee, was a park ranger this summer, and takes pictures of literally everything. But they’re pretty incredible and artistic. She also has a beautiful voice. And only exists in grayscale and green.

(Photo: Sarah C.)

Sarah “Baja” Chancellor, fellow YAV from Oklahoma working with a battered women’s shelter in Huánaco. She is full of sunshine and understands my obsession with The Office. Wherever she is, no matter what night it is, it is ALWAYS Ladies’ Night.

(Photo: Joe)

Joe Tobiason, fellow YAV from Washington living in Lima (but still about an hour away from me) and working at the office of the Red Uniendos Manos with publicity and at another environmental organization. He suffers from the age-old problem of hot-arms-cold-torso and is therefore very grateful for the invention of the polar fleece vest.

(Photo: Joe)

…Aaaand yours truly. This was during the day-long hike (see post 4). I was FILTHY!

(Photo: Sarah C.)

Debbie, our site coordinator and “Mama Pata” (Mother Duck), with Conrado, president of the Red, and Koky, a member of the Fair Trade Team. She is laughing in this picture because she is literally always laughing. Seriously. I have determined that I want to laugh that much when I “grow up.” But I think her secret is she never really grew up…

(Photo: Me! My third camera in Peru…)

Eduardo and Flor Arboccó, my host parents. Eduardo is the pastor of the IEP Ingeniería (link), where I work Fridays through Sundays, and the president of the Fraternidad Cristiana Vida, an organization of 12ish (I think?) churches in the IEP that is a partner of the Red Uniendo Manos and includes both of the churches with which I am working. Flor teaches the youngest Sunday School class, cooks some delicious Peruvian food, and is a pretty excellent dancer. Maybe by the end of the year I’ll have learned a little bit...?

(Photo: Me)

Me with Fabián, my host brother. He’s two years old and loves Barney, Chabo (link), and his cousin Diego, better known as “Pelau” (a nickname from when he was younger that means ´´baldy.´´ apparently he was bald as a baby?) As an only child, he’s not so sure how he feels about having me around and sharing his parents. He still informs us daily that he does not like Ginna. But I think I’m starting to win him over – he’s been spending a lot more time with me in my room recently…

My Peruvian Home…

(Photo: Me)

My house!

(Photo: Me)

My room (cleaner than it usually is, trust me)

(Photo: Me)

Courtyard where we dry clothes. Yes, those are my underwear. Figured it was better to take pics of my own ropa interior than the family’s. So enjoy!

(Photo: Me)

“Peruvian Shower”

(Photo: Me)

My Neighborhood

A Glimpse into my Peruvian Life…

(Photo: Alexandra)

These are some pictures from the affectionately termed “hike of death.” Alexandra, in the pink, is a 3-year mission worker from the PCUSA working specifically with Fair Trade in the Red. José, on the far left, is a member of la Ingeniería and the funniest person in all of Peru.

(Photo: Alexandra)

Yes, it was that steep. The district below, Comas, is where I work with the IEP Collique.

(Photo: Sarah T.)

Our path. And yes, we hiked far beyond that hazy mountain in the background…trust me.

(Photo: Sarah C.)

Obligatory photo with a llama

(Photo: Sarah C.)

Perro Peruano. Very ugly hairless dog that is native to Peru.

(Photo: Anna)

Some things cannot be explained…

(Photo: Sarah C.)

Us with some fair trade jewelry artisans in Lima

(Photo: Sarah C.)

Me getting very wet at the Parque de Agua. You must remember, it was winter here when this happened, so it was pretty cold. But oh it was so worth it!

(Photo: Sarah C.)

Learning to make Pisco Sour, a typical Peruvian beverage that tastes like a Margarita with Whisky and is super strong!

(Photo: Sarah C)

Our last night with our orientation host family (right to left: María Fernanda, María Jesús, Damaris)

(Photo: Eduardo)

My host aunt Marienela with Fabián and host-cousin Diego/“Pelau” (left)

(Photo: Me)

Youth that I work with at the IEP Collique (link)

(Photo: Me)

The hill next to the church where the majority of my kids live. These are the shantytowns I mentioned in my last post.

(Photo: Eduardo)

Me preaching at la Ingeniería. My first “real sermon,” and it was in Spanish! Apparently it’s going on YouTube? If so, I’ll post the video and an English translation.

This by no means covers my life and experiences here, but I hope it at least gives you a little look at what things are like here and some faces to put with names. I’ve never been the greatest photo-taker, but I’ll try hard to keep a picture or two coming with my posts in the future.
Or maybe I’ll just tell you all about it when I’m in the mood to lose my way with words.

"You Can Hear the Whistle Blow 100 Miles..."

First of all, I apologize for going so long between posts! When I got online a few days ago, I was a little embarrassed to realize that I am the last of the Peru YAVs to post since arriving in my placement. (You should really check out their blogs on the left, by the way. They’ve written some really wonderful things that I would love to tell you about, though there’s no way to fit everything I want to say into these blog posts. Also they have functioning cameras, though I am going to try to steal a few pics for this post.) In all fairness, I don’t have internet at home and don’t really get the opportunity to use it at work since I’m not working in an office setting, but so much has happened, and I want to be able to share it with you all! So forgive my lateness, and for now, let’s just say my blog is operating on “la hora peruana” (Basically, absolutely nothing is ever anywhere near on time. I am living in Laura Wagstaff’s personal hell. :))

As of yesterday, I’ve been in Peru for a month. After 2 weeks of orientation with my wonderful fellow YAVs, I moved in with my “official” host family in a northern district of Lima, Carabayllo, and started work at the two churches I’m serving. Tuesday through Thursday I work at a church in Comas called the IEP Collique with their branch of Compassion International, and Friday through Sunday I work at the IEP Ingeniería teaching English and music and assisting with worship, Sunday school (which, consequently, is on Saturday), and other programmatic events of the church. In typical Presbyterian fashion, I’d like to share some of my initial impressions and experiences (WOWs and POWs, if you will) of my new life in Peru…

WOWs (aka Things I Like about my Experience Thus Far)

1.) The Challenge to Live Simply

One of the commitments that each YAV makes, even those not working in what the United States likes to call “Third World countries,” is to live as simply and sustainably as possible for the year. So far, this is a challenge that I’ve found enjoyable and fulfilling (except for limited access to internet, but for more on that, see the POW section). As I continue to read Jim Merkel’s book Radical Simplicity: Small Footprints on a Finite Earth, I am reminded that as an upper-middle class citizen of the United States, my personal carbon footprint/ecological impact on this earth is enormous! That said, I am enjoying living in what for me is a step back, though I am greatly aware that it is an unavoidable reality for the majority of Peruvians, which is an incredible injustice when you look at the way much of the Northern world lives. However, I think there is a great deal to be said for the humble and sustainable lifestyle that my host family lives, and our persecuted planet would benefit greatly if we in the United States could learn to live in a similar fashion. Things like eating locally grown food (“locally” is a relative term, since I live in Lima, but most of our food, bought at the local markets, is from the surrounding areas), using a clothesline instead of a dryer, not having heat or air-conditioning (now granted, it’s winter/spring now, I’ll let you know how I feel about the lack of air-conditioning come summer…), using public transportation, never throwing away food, etc. But my personal favorite is the Peruvian shower.

First of all, let me say that I’ve pretty much gotten into the routine of one shower a week. Those who knew me in college may not be too surprised by this, though you’re still probably all gagging. But really, friends, we don’t need to shower every day. We’re accustomed to it and like the way our hair looks afterwards, but our bodies don’t actually need it, and think of all the water that is used unnecessarily. I’m not advocating bad hygiene here, but it wouldn’t hurt if we gave ourselves a day or two.

When I do take my weekly or bi-weekly shower, it’s from a bucket. We have a functioning shower in our house, but the water is frigid, and after one go with the running water, I decided the bucket was a much better option. Yes, it’s a bit uncomfortable, yes, it’s cold, and yes, it’s a far cry from the gentle, warm, wake-you-up-in-the-morning showers I liked to enjoy at home, but after my shower, I feel like I’ve done something for the world (aside from rid myself of B.O….which is arguably doing something for the world in and of itself) in using so little water. So I challenge you all to give the Peruvian shower a try. Here’s what you do:

Get a big bucket (ours is 5 gallons, but really, 3 would do), and fill it half full with cold water. Then boil a big pot of cold water (very few people here have the hot water that we take for granted) and pour that into the bucket with the cold water. What you get is something between lukewarm and warm, but believe me, it’ll do. Now all you have to do is take a cup of some sort and use it to pour the water over yourself. Shampoo, soap, shaving, all the same, but you don’t have that constant stream of unnecessary running water. So friends, supporters, partners in ministry, this is my challenge to you. Give it a try and comment on this blog entry to let me know how it goes!

(For more on simple living and the things we take for granted, check out fellow Peru YAV Sarah Terpstra’s post on Invisible Luxuries. Though her simple lifestyle is more drastic than mine, I can identify with the majority of her examples, especially the toilet seats. Friends, toilet bowls are, in fact, very cold!)

2.) Serving “The Least of These”

I recognize that this may sound cliché and condescending, and I apologize. I certainly don’t mean for it to. It’s just that that’s the whole reason I’m here – to serve those in need, particularly those who often don’t have the basic necessities for life. I experience this most in my work with the kids from Compassion International in Collique. I don’t yet fully understand the realities that these children live with, but I’ll share with you some of what I know. Nearly all of them live in the Pueblos Jóvenes (shantytowns) of Comas in the foothills of the mountains. Most of the people in these communities have migrated from the mountains during the 20 years of Violence or times of economic difficulty. (See pictures below, but of course, as I still don’t have a camera, I have to give all credit to Joe and Alexandra, one of the long-term mission personnel working at the Red Uniendo Manos.)

What you see here doesn’t even begin to capture how these families live. Families with five or six children live in crudely-constructed, one-room homes with none of the “necessities” that we as Americans tend to assume (electricity, running water, heat). In one community that I visited, potable water is available once every three days, and even that can’t be counted on. The walkways are littered with trash and feces. Children usually stay home by themselves (both parents have to work to sustain the family), or work in the fields and shops alongside their parents. It is a cruel and unfair reality. And to top it all off, they’re hundreds of miles away from their extended families, which here in Peru are as important as our immediate families are to us in the US. It’s hard to be far from home…but I’ll get to that in a minute. For now, what I’m trying to say is that serving the children of these Pueblos Jóvenes alongside church-members from the same area just feels right.

Compassion International provides a holistic program of education and care, with everything from games and music to school-esque cognitive activities to spiritual development to public health education. One of the most meaningful parts of the day for me is serving the kids their warm drinks at lunch time. It makes me thing of Mark 9:41: “I tell you the truth, anyone who gives you a cup of water in my name because you belong to Christ will certainly not lose his/her reward.” And as I hand my kids their drinks, I begin to feel that there could be no greater reward than knowing that they might be able to go home to a safe and healthy home with adequate food and water, free of the structural injustice that keeps them and their families living in poverty.

POWs (aka Things I’m Struggling With)

1.) Loneliness

This goes without saying, but it’s hard to be so far away from home. I always knew conceptually that this transition would be tough, but emotionally, I just had no idea what it would entail. There’s the language barrier, of course, which makes it hard to express my thoughts and feelings to friends, family, and coworkers, and the cultural differences that remind me constantly that I come from a very different walk of life than the people with whom I live and work. My feelings of loneliness are perpetuated by the fact that I have no internet access at home and only very occasionally at work, which makes me feel estranged and cut off from loved ones back home as well. It’s just not an easy transition.

During our two weeks of in-country orientation, Sarah shared the song 500 Miles with me. It’s a beautiful song that I turn to when I’m feeling lonely. I encourage you to listen to it, but know that neither this recording nor any other can sound as beautiful as Sarah singing it in perfect harmony with her family on her last Sunday at church before leaving for Peru. The words are simple, the music beautiful. I like this song because it doesn’t try to cheer me up or tell me everything’s going to be ok – it simply meets me where I am and offers itself to me.

As I try to feel at home in my new community, I find myself thinking of the words of one of my fellow YAVs, Anna. When I expressed to her one day my loneliness and worries about spending the entire day with extended family that I hadn’t yet met, she sent me this message: “Remember, you’ll be surrounded by people who love you without even knowing you, and that’s a very comforting love.” She was right – I spent that day and many others with people who have decided to love me before they knew who I was. This love is beautiful, profound, and theologically meaningful, but I haven’t yet learned to be comforted by it. In fact, I think it really scares me. It’s too powerful, too dangerous to touch – sometimes I don’t believe it even really exists. I want to be loved for me, because people know who I am and love the person they have come to know. It’s hard to accept unconditional love from a stranger. It’s uncomfortably humbling. But maybe, just maybe, if I keep trying to live into these words, it will slowly become humblingly comforting.

2.) Theological Conservatism

Those of you who know me know that I tend to be pretty liberal on all accounts, particularly in my theological interpretation. While I’ve known all along that the Protestant Church in Peru is more conservative, the idealistic liberation theologian in me continues to cling to this vision of a Latin American Church that is constantly proclaiming good news for the poor and the Year of Jubilee. This is not exactly my current reality. Socially, I’m pretty much on the same page as the churches I’m serving – they’re all about eradicating the root causes of poverty and working for environmental justice. But theologically, there’s a good deal of Biblical literalism and evangelical sentiment that I wasn’t expecting and to which I am not exactly sure how to gracefully and lovingly respond.

I particularly struggle with the evangelical component. The other day, I accompanied one of my fellow teachers from Collique on a visit to the home of one of the kids. The experience of being invited into this girl’s home and received so hospitably by her family was wonderful, and I was really appreciative to get a glimpse of her daily reality. But somehow, without me really knowing what was going on, it turned from a check-up on the health of the family to my fellow teacher instructing me to evangelize to a man in the neighborhood who “did not know Christ.” In front of this man, who was clearly very uncomfortable with the solicitations, she told me I needed to pray that he would “accept the Lord into his heart.” Fortunately it’s early enough in the year that I could play the bad-Spanish card and pretend I didn’t know what exactly was going on, but it was a really uncomfortable situation. I am willing to adapt and change in many ways to live into my Peruvian reality, but I can and will not participate in activities that I consider immoral. And in my book, insensitively forcing my own beliefs on another person is immoral and counterproductive to the mission of the Church (feel free to take issue with this, by the way). So I find myself facing the difficult question of how to remain true to myself and my own convictions while lovingly and respectfully partnering with my coworkers. I don’t have the answer yet. But I’ll let you know what I discover throughout the year.

To close, I’d like to once again share a passage from Scripture that’s been floating around in my head recently. My first couple days in Peru, I decided to do a personal study of the book of Acts, reading a little each night before I went to bed. I’ve been here a month, and the part I’m sharing with you is from Chapter 2, so you can see for yourself how faithfully I’ve kept to that! Anyway, the passage is from Acts 2:42-47:

“[The early Christians] devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. Everyone was filled with awe, and many wonders and miraculous signs were done by the apostles. All the believers were together and had everything in common. Selling their possessions and goods, they gave to anyone as he/she had need. Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.”

This and Acts 4:32-34 are often cited as the first references to Christian Socialism, and I really enjoy these passages. A community of people who live together in fellowship, sharing all things in common and renouncing private property sounds a lot to me like the Kingdom of God. (Stick with me, my friends of a more conservative persuasion. I promise this is not one of my economic tirades!)

However, these verses are not just about an economic and social policy among the early believers – they’re also about fellowship, a lifestyle of community. And I’m finding that sharing your life, your very self, can be harder than sharing your possessions. It’s scary. Sharing requires vulnerability. And vulnerability means that at one point or another, you’re going to get hurt. It’s much easier for me to share living space, cleaning responsibilities, books and movies, and my laptop with my host family and community in Peru than it is to share my personal time or my feelings of loneliness and fear. But true community requires both.

And in spite of it all, I think it’s worth it. This past weekend I learned a little bit about the value of vulnerability. After several really rough days, including a super-lonely birthday, I mustered up the courage to email Debbie, our site coordinator, and express to her the sadness I was feeling. She surprised me by showing up the very next morning at the church where I was working and just letting me talk for a couple hours after the service. And the most beautiful thing happened. (I hope this doesn’t embarrass you, Debbie, when you inevitably read this!) As I was talking about my loneliness and struggles with my new life in Peru, she started crying. Just because she loved me. Just because she wanted me to make it through the hard times and feel joyful again. Just because that’s what it means to be a part of a community.

The Indigo Girls said it right. We’re better off for all that we let in.

Beyond Mountains are Mountains

The title of this post is a Haitian Proverb and the title of Tracy Kidder's book Mountains Beyond Mountains. I don't remember exactly how it was used in the book (I think to describe one of Paul Farmer's treks across Haiti?), and I'm not even that sure what it's supposed to mean in the cultural context, but yesterday I think I got a glimpse into what it might be trying to say...

By the way, I'm in Peru! Lima, to be exact. I've been here for almost a week and so far am having an incredible experience! Orientation was wonderful (particularly the worship services...hopefully I'll have time to write more about that later), and though saying goodbye to Andy for a year was really hard, I've found myself feeling very alive here in Lima. My fellow YAVs are wonderful (check out the links to their blogs on the left), and I've really enjoyed living with them this week. Though I know we are all going out to where we are called and where we belong, I'll be sad to see 4 of the 6 leave for their placements in the provinces of Peru at the end of this week. (Though Joe will still be in Lima with me. Poor thing.) Regardless, I'm excited to be building a community that can offer each of us fellowship and support during our time in Peru. It helps to know that there are people I love and care about who are going through similar experiences.

Anyway, onto the real subject of this post -- mountains. Yesterday, we went on a hike with some friends of the family we're currently staying with and members of the churches where I'll be working. Many of you know this, but for those who don't, I'm not the biggest fan of hiking. I'm in terrible shape and I always feel self-conscious about how slow I am and guilty for holding others (usually my fast-walking mom) back. So needless to say I was apprehensive yesterday morning as we prepared for what our Peruvian friends called our "walk," especially when I learned that it was 13 kilometers (for American brains like mine, that's a little more than 8 miles). Fast-walking mom's jaw probably just dropped as she read that. That's right, Mom, 8 miles. And aside from being very sore and sunburnt, I'm still in one piece!

We started the hike at 9 AM in the shantytowns of Comas, a district of Lima very near where I'll be living and working. Many of the poor families of Lima have built their one-room homes up along the side of the mountains we were climbing. It was a moving and heart-breaking juxtaposition -- the natural, divinely-created beauty of the mountains next to the heaps of garbage and rampant poverty that our human institutions have brought about. The mixture of emotions it brought about in me really can't be put into words. I wish that I could share pictures with you, but my camera actually broke (sad times...anyone looking to get me a birthday present?). However, I know you can see at least a few pictures on the blogs of my fellow Peru YAVs, so please explore that if you have the time. It's the best and really only way I know how to describe what we saw.

We were told our goal was to travel over a mountain between Comas and San Juan Lurigancho another district of Lima with similar poverty to Comas. To be honest, for the first hour or so, I hated it. Like I said, hiking's never been my thing, and this was by far the most difficult hike I'd ever been on. There was no trail like my cushy Blue Ridge Mountain hikes, and we were literally scaling surfaces that were at about a 45 degree angle to the ground. I found myself many times on my hands and knees climbing over the rocks and dirt (apparently my face got pretty dirty too and served as the entertainment for many on the hike). While I enjoyed the time with my fellow YAVs and new Peruvian friends, I felt physically exhausted, and my self-esteem was taking a pretty big hit.

And here's where the title comes in. Each time we made it to the top of one mountain (which, naturally, got progressively bigger and more treacherous), our Peruvian guides promised that the next was "el ultimo cerro" (the last hill). However, we soon learned that "el ultimo cerro" means something a little different to us gringos. Each time we made it to the peak of one mountain, an even larger loomed before us. The Haitians are right -- beyond mountains, there are mountains. They NEVER stop. And apparently for the Peruvians, all these separate peaks were one big "cerro," el ultimo cerro, in fact.

After awhile, I gave up believing that we would ever reach el ultimo cerro. Which was good, because there must have been at least 4 "ultimos cerros." But the thing is, I started to really enjoy the hike. As we climbed on, I became accustomed to the physical exhaustion and began to accept the self-esteem blow as a lesson in humility. There was no way I was going to make it through the mountain(s) by myself -- I needed to accept Efrain's outstretched hand, listen to Joe's expert climbing advice, and accept Alissa's knee-brace on the way down (and listen to Anna when she oh-so-motheringly insisted that I put it on right then!). At the same time, I was provided with small opportunities to reciprocate generosity to the group -- I could carry Sarah Alta's water bottle in my backpack, catch Sarah Baja as she slid down the mountain behind me (most likely because I had loosened up the dirt by sliding down myself), and offer my hand to Jose to help him make it up a particularly difficult patch of rocks. Yesterday, I feel that I truly learned about solidarity and reciprocity. Those are two buzzwords that the YAV program likes to throw around that I've contemplated and "theorized about" countless times, but yesterday, I lived and experienced them as realities and integral parts of the Christian life. Why else am I in Peru except to practice solidarity and reciprocity? How else can we live as disciples of Christ?


I leave you with this: a reflection from Eduardo, my host dad and the pastor of one of the churches where I'll be working. For devotion one day this week, he shared the story from John's Gospel of Jesus healing the cripple at the pool of Bethsaida. (Read it here -- John 5:1-9) In this story, many who need healing have congregated around the pool of Bethsaida, for legend has it that the Angel of the Lord comes down periodically to stir the waters and, after this happens, the first one into the pool will be cured of any disease. The man that Jesus heals is a cripple who has been waiting there for 38 years and has never made it down to the water in time. When Jesus sees this man, he asks him a strange, either sarcastic or dim-witted question, "Do you want to get well?" The cripple does not answer the question, but responds in an even stranger manner, saying, "I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred.
While I am trying to get in, someone goes down ahead of me." Eduardo proposed to us that this is not so much a story about miraculous healing as it is about solidarity. So many people lived together by this pool, likely in some sort of community, and some for as long as 38 years. They must have shared with one another and been integral parts of each other's lives. Still when the water was stirred and the miraculous healing was offered, it was every man or woman for him or herself. Despite living in community for so long, when it came down to the wire, selfish individualism won the day. However, Eduardo proposed to us that maybe these desperate and sick people had been experiencing this miracle the wrong way. Maybe it wasn't about getting to the water first. Maybe it was about helping one another get down to the water. Maybe it was even about circling the pool, joining hands, and and stepping in at the same time so that all present might be healed.

What would happen if we all joined hands and stepped into the pool? Perhaps that, in fact, was the "milagro" (miracle) that Jesus wanted us to experience.

Just a Curbside Prophet

Today, my car broke down.

Not that this is really groundbreaking news. Or even news worthy of posting on my blog. I mean, granted, you are presumably reading this blog because you care about me, so maybe this news warrants a sympathetic shoulder-pat or a knowing nod of solidarity. But 3 hours and $100 dollars later, my car and I returned home just fine. A blow to my time and resources, yes, but nothing that will really change my life. But the story continues...

Today, my car broke down, and I was mad.

Mad because I was all the way out in Mechanicsville when this happened. Mad because I had a neatly-organized schedule for the day that quickly fell to pieces. Mad because I was sitting outside and it was nearing 100 degrees. But mostly mad because I had been deprived of something to which I felt "entitled." I expected a safe, easy, and relatively cool trip home and lunch. I got intense heat, a car that could barely even hold a charge once it was jumped, and no lunch.

It's a funny thing, this American sense of entitlement. I would say it's a negative by-product of the individualistic, capitalist society in which we live. (Please excuse me for speaking in generalizations -- I know this is not the case for every American and that there are many outside of Western culture that also feel this sense of entitlement. These are just the reflections that have been floating through my head.) We believe that if we want something and work hard enough for it, we will eventually have it. More so, we deserve to have it. And when, for one reason or another, we don't get what we "deserve," we become, as I became today, filled with this sense of "righteous anger."

However, I must remember that I don't necessarily "deserve" an easy trip home. On a global level, I am one of the fortunate few with personal access to a nice, well-functioning car. And who am I to complain about missing a meal when 13% of the world population is hungry or malnourished? Why am I so set on getting my car back in working order when I know that the gases it emits are contributing to the crisis of Global Warming that, unless a radical change is made in the next 10 years, will seriously hinder the well-being of future generations?

I'll step down from the soapbox, as there are other things I want to address in this post as well, but I'll leave you with this thought: I feel very personally convicted to try to free myself from my sense of entitlement and also from the things to which I feel entitled. There are so many other ways in which my "righteous anger" could be put to better use. I encourage you, if you feel so called, to do the same. As the keynote speakers at the Montreat Youth Conference told us, "Find something worth being angry at." As a Christian living in a broken world, I have much more to be concerned about than a car that won't start.

There's a bit more to my story.

Today, my car broke down, and I was mad, so I set on the curb for an hour finishing Henri Nouwen's book ¡Gracias!

(Now we get to the title of this post. It's from the song "Curbside Prophet" by Jason Mraz, a singer/songwriter from, ironically enough, Mechanicsville, VA! Small world.)

I mentioned this book in my first post, but to recap, it's a journal of Nouwen's thoughts and experiences throughout the six months he spends in Bolivia and Peru. I enjoyed the book more than I had initially expected to - it turns out Nouwen worked with liberation theology more than I had expected and was fortunate enough to have several instances of personal contact with Gustavo Gutierrez himself. Having written an honors thesis (read it online!) about liberation theology at the College of William and Mary, it was very enlightening and affirming to read the personal journal of someone who experienced personally much of what I spent the last year researching.

What struck me today, however, was Nouwen's journal entry from March 5, 1982, about why people go into mission service. Nouwen writes:

"Why do people become missioners?...This question has no simple answer. A desire to serve Christ unconditionally, an urge to help the poor, an intellectual interest in another culture, the attraction of adventure, a need to break away from family, a critical insight into the predicament of one's own country, a search for self-affirmation -- all of these and many other motives can be part of the making of a missioner...[However], the two most damaging motives in the makeup of missioners seem to be guilt and the desire to save. Both form the extremes of a long continuum, both make life in the mission extremely painful" (Nouwen, 161).

With less than three weeks until I leave the country, the question of "why?" is extremely relevant and feels very pressing. Several of Nouwen's motives hit home, others, I feel, don't apply to me as much. The best answer I know to the question of "why" is "How could I possibly do anything else?" In a broken and unjust world, how can I dedicate my life to anything less than love and justice? When it feels like God is light years away, how can I do anything but offer up my self as a place where God can come near to others? With a passion for social justice, young people, Latin America, and liberation theology, what other path could I take right now? I suppose this is a glimpse of what we in the church like to call a "calling." And let me just say, from my own experience, that calling is a lot messier, more confusing, and sometimes more troubling than most like to admit.

I am struck also by what Nouwen calls the "most damaging motives of missioners": guilt and the desire to save. He goes on to say that no "missioner" (I don't particularly like that word...it's awkward) is ever free from either of these, they are both natural human responses to brokenness, but that we must continually strive to let God replace these motives with others that are more pure and constructive.

I certainly agree with Nouwen that guilt and a desire to save propel many people into service, and I certainly recognize that both can be damaging and distract from the main purpose of serving God through serving others. However, I am reluctant to let go of either of them. While guilt can surely weigh you down, I feel like a certain amount of guilt for my current extravagant lifestyle will help me honor my commitment to live simply. And while a desire to save and "play God" in a situation will lead to harmful pride, egoism, potentially bigotry, and disappointment when we inevitably fail at our "saving" mission, I think that converted into a desire to do everything possible to empty myself and serve others, this also can be a very helpful and Christ-like motivation to service.

Who knows? Perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps in a few months, I will know all too well what Henri Nouwen meant when he said these motives were damaging. Or perhaps we disagree about the morality and usefulness of these two motives. Only time will tell. For now, all I can say is that I am embarking on a year of mission service in Peru because there is nothing else I can see myself doing. I am wholly called to the year to come.

Today, my car broke down. Who knows what it will be tomorrow. Maybe one day, I'll get out of bed and have the spiritual strength to walk.