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.

World on Fire

I write today from the Way Out Porch in Montreat Conference Center. I’m here spur-of-the-moment chaperoning youth from my home church (First Pres Richmond) along with Andy who is serving as the youth’s official “back home leader” and, if I may say so, is doing a phenomenal job connecting with them and leading respectful discussions about things that really matter. It’s a huge blessing for me to be able to spend a week in Montreat before leaving the country for a year – this is a very special place to me where I have attended many conferences and spent a summer working, and I find it a comforting and inspiring place to go in the pivotal moments of my life. (And if moving to Peru for a year to live a simple life of love and solidarity with the poor isn’t a pivotal moment in my life, I don’t know what is!)

Aside from just being glad to be at Montreat, I am also grateful to say that this is potentially the best Montreat conference I have ever attended, and if you know me, you know I’m in the double digits as these conferences go. The theme is “World on Fire,” a double metaphor for the world being on fire with pain, injustice, and hatred but also for us to be refined by the purifying, holy fire of God in order to fight these fires with the fires of love and justice. The preacher, who leads us in worship every night, is an older man from Tucson, Arizona, named John Fife. He is a retired pastor who currently works with the faith-based social justice initiative called No More Deaths, which offers humanitarian aid and works to assure that one day there will be no more deaths along the Mexico/US border. It is a program of subversive love, and John Fife is a man of subversive love preaching Christ’s message of subversive love to high schoolers (and adult leaders, for that matter) who all too often fall into the sin of blindly following the rules. Christ is truly present in this conference, and I commend the PCUSA and planning team – you should be very proud of what you have created!

The themes of the week so far have included global warming, countering violence with peace, economic injustice, righteous anger, global awareness, and the Great Cloud of Witnesses of the past, present, and future that help us work toward justice peace, and love in all of these great “fires” that plague our world. I feel moved and challenged every day, particularly in our nightly worships, to change my life to one of radical simplicity for the sake of our earth and radical justice for the sake of our people. I actually just bought a book called Radical Simplicity that I hope to read throughout my year in Peru to help me carry out the YAV commitment to simple living and the Christian call to care for our world and its people.

On a slight side-note, there is a YAV program in Tucson, AZ that participates in the same types of border ministry as John Fife and No More Deaths. While I’m not sure whether any Tucson YAVs are placed directly with No More Deaths, it’s exciting to hear about this subject and know that my fellow YAVs are at work in this type of ministry.

I look forward to the last two days of this conference and the way that it will inspire and challenge the youth and their adult leaders like Andy and me.

On the subject of my actual YAV experience and Peru, I have received two articles of interest in the last day or so concerning the situation in La Oroya, a town in Peru where 97% of children below the age of six have lead-poisoning. It is considered to be the most polluted place on earth. The cause of this great pollution is a smelting plant run by the American company Doe Run. The citizens of La Oroya are in a terrible catch 22, for while the pollution caused by this plant is literally killing them, it also employs a majority of the working citizens in the town and in that way provides these articles, one from the PCUSA website and the other from the New York Times, address this situation better than I ever could, so I strongly encourage you to read them.

However, what struck me the most in these articles was their mention of Ira Rennert, the owner of Doe Run. While innocent people suffer, starve, and die because of his polluting factory and the shamefully low wages its workers are paid, Rennert is a billionaire that has multiple houses around the world. Such a disconnect sickens me – that someone could cause so much suffering yet enjoy so much wealth and privilege without second thought. However, I am humbled and sobered by the realization that every time I consume food, wear clothes, or buy products marketed unjustly, I am participating in this same situation of oppression. Any time I spend my money on “that which is not bread” and indulge my own selfish desires without thinking of others, I commit the same sin as Ira Rennert. We all do. Such rampant injustice and selfishness is unbelievably discouraging. How could there be hope? However, as a Christian, or rather, as a member of any world religious tradition, I am called to hope – to have faith that the Kingdom of God on earth is possible and to spend my life working toward it.

May we all work, as unselfishly as we are able, toward this Kingdom on earth. Amen.