PUTIS September 3, 2009

When she began to wail, a knot formed in my throat and my eyes welled with tears.  I didn’t understand her native Quechua other than three words in Spanish that ripped into my ears with the sharpness of a switchblade.  Terrorista—terrorist.  Innocente—innocent. Justicia—justice.  We are not terrorists, she said.  We are innocent, she shouted.  All we want is justice.  The last word was when the wailing began.  And as the microphone was gently but intentionally snatched from her grip, I began to wonder if our presence was helping heal her wounds or further deepening them.  We didn’t give her the time to mourn and wail before the crowd, we had a deadline to meet, a caravan of journalists and photographers who had to get back to civilization by 5pm.  No time for the uncontrolled lament of a woman bearing 25 years of grief, we needed to get this show on the road.

I sound like I am criticizing the action that was taken, but upon reflection, I understand the prudence of the decision.  The press really did need to get back to the city so that the news could be broadcast to the entire nation and to the world.  Headline: Victims of Putis massacre receive dignified burial.  The bodies of 92 victims who were systematically assassinated by the Peruvian armed forces nearly 25 years ago in the rural mountain village of Putis in the highland province of Ayacucho finally receive a Christian burial and are put to rest in dignity.

The world needs to know what happened in Putis.  And though 92 of the victims who were killed in cold blood on December 13, 1984 have now been put to rest, the story of Putis is not complete.  There are at least 31 other victims, according to the numbers in the Final Report of Peru’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission, who have not yet been uncovered or identified.  Moreover, no one has been tried for the crimes against humanity committed at Putis.  The Peruvian ministry of defense refuses to release the names of those commanders who authorized the massacre.  Until justice is served, that woman’s wail will continue to pierce the thin air of the Peruvian highlands.  Last weekend’s events may not have closed her wounds, but I am consoled by the knowledge that there is a team of dedicated mental health specialists that are committed to the ongoing accompaniment of the family members of those killed at Putis.  And I choose to remain hopeful that one day her cry for justice will be heard, and she will cease to wail.

In the meantime, may her wail be an impetus for these words.  They are an effort to continue to seek justice and also a moment to reflect and give thanks for the steps along the way that help us maintain hope in the path toward reconciliation.  The nation of Peru is on the path.  Sometimes the path feels like the road to Putis—long and windy, covered by chokingly thick dust and so many potholes that you think the tires will go flat before you ever arrive, that is, if you don’t accidentally veer too far to the side of the road and tumble off the cliffside at a 4,000 meter altitude into the penetrating valley below.

After 20 years of violent conflict between the Peruvian armed forces and revolutionary terrorist groups (the Shining Path and the MRTA), the challenge that faces this nation is enormous.  Reconciliation requires reparations and healing on a personal level, like helping the wailing woman overcome her grief instead of being overcome by it.  It demands healing on a communal level.  Burying Putis’ dead and giving the community a place to go and visit their loved ones is one step forward on this healing road, a symbolic act of solidarity that helps rebuild a community.  But reconciliation also requires healing on a national level, where the Peruvian State takes responsibility for its actions and holds accountable those who are guilty of systematic human rights violations.  This is where a huge roadblock remains in the case of Putis.  Forensic evidence has made it abundantly clear that the Peruvian armed forces murdered at least 92 innocent villagers in Putis, 40% of whom were children under the age of 10.  Personal testimony confirms that there are at least 31 more victims. The military forced the men to dig a trench under the presumption that they were digging a fish farming pool, then shot the men and threw their bodies in the trench.  Women were also murdered and their bodies thrown in the trench, but not until after they were repeatedly raped.

As I write these words the reality of what occurred in Putis seems so violent and atrocious to me that I can’t even begin to understand how something like this could have ever happened.  It sickeningly awes me to think of the extremity of the human capacity for evil.  It blows my mind that a government that considers itself democratic, that claims that it wants to pursue national reconciliation, is unwilling to bring such grave injustice into the courts.  But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised; no one likes to take their skeletons out of the closet.

Thankfully, in the case of Putis, the Peruvian government did not have a choice.  The skeletons came out.  The trenches at Putis could not contain them.  And that is a reason for hope.  The gospel writer John explains that mankind loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil, but the verdict is in: Light has come into the world, and the darkness cannot overcome it.  The light will expose all darkness.  This is the hope of resurrection, the promise that ultimately, life is more powerful than death.

I was reminded of this resurrection power in my journey to and from Putis.  I had the privilege of traveling with Norma Hinojoza, a woman who spent the 1990’s walking in solidarity with those whose lives were caught in the crossfire of the armed conflict.  She has become one of the most respected friends and advocates of many Peruvians in the Ayacuchan highlands, mostly indigenous and Quechua speaking, who lost loved ones, faced false accusations and arrests, and were forced to flee their homes and villages during the years of political violence.

On the morning of the Putis burial I woke up next to Norma on the floor of the Assemblies of God church in Santillana, a small town on the road to Putis where we had stopped the previous night to have a candlelight vigil and to rest before journeying to our final destination.

“Grace,” Norma roused me and I groggily sat up in my sleeping bag.

“I was thinking about the children.” She was referring to the murdered children of Putis.  The majority of them were so young.  How anyone could justify the murder of a child is still way beyond what I even want to try to understand.  “They never got to experience the abundant life that Jesus promised.”

I nodded, trying to focus my mind and listen to what I knew were going to be words of wisdom in Spanish at 6:00 am.

“People think that they can hide the truth and it will be buried and no one will ever find out.  But it can’t be buried.  The promise of abundant life lives on in us.” She said.  Knowing what happened to them, seeing these coffins that bear the remains of their little bodies.  It helps us to be people of solidarity.  It helps us to understand even just a little bit more why the promise of Jesus is so necessary, and hopefully, it makes us better people.

I sat and listened to Norma and I remembered the faces of the children that I had observed the previous day when we had another ceremony in the city of Huanta.  There was a display board set up with an illustrated story of what happened at Putis and a list of names of those who were victims of the massacre.  As I watched a group of kids read it with such intensity in their eyes, I was convinced that history was teaching a lesson to a new generation, and that they would never forget what they read about Putis.  The story could not remain hidden; the children of Putis had a message to share with their peers.  They communicated to us as their remains were marched through the cities of Huamanga, Huanta, Santillana, places they probably never arrived at in their short lives on earth, and finally reached their resting place on a small plot of land near the Putis village.

So, through I am grieved, I am grateful.  Grateful to have been able to be part of this historic and symbolic moment, a step forward on the path.  Grateful that though the road is long there is a God who is stronger that our broken humanity, who is illuminating places of darkness and evil and whose resurrection force will always hold out the promise of abundant life.

For more information about Putis (in Spanish), please see the website: http://justiciaparaputis.org/

Reflections on my new home June 11, 2009

Reflections on my new home…
When the afternoon sun streams in through my apartment window, I feel the grace of God. I’ve been living here in San Juan de Lurigancho for nearly 2 months now, and I continue to have these moments of pure gratitude where I just thank God for the little miracles that are all around me here. I thought moving here would be hard, and it hasn’t been all peaches and cream–it’s dusty and when I look out my window I gaze onto the hills that are covered with shacks, and I still don’t know how to respond. It worries me that I might just get used to it, accept it as a given that people live in substandard housing and extreme poverty. But, more than a challenge, moving here has been a grace. I walk to work in the mornings, and I can visit the churches I work with on the evening and weekends because they are close by. My downstairs neighbors brought me arroz con leche the other night–that was sweet.
By San Juan de Lurigancho standards, my apartment is a luxury for just one person. I didn’t plan on living here alone, but both my potential housemates have fallen through, and now I’m resigned to being alone here, at least for the moment. And I also believe, at least for the moment (but hopefully for longer than that) that I can live here alone without being lonely. And that is also the grace of God.
Lima is starting to sink into my bones. That is, it is starting to actually feel like home–a place where I can let my guard down, chill out, and live like a normal human being rather than a displaced foreigner. It’s a strange sensation to walk home from the bus stop, observe the neighborhood on a Saturday afternoon, and actually feel like I’m going home. I see beauty where before, in my previous visits, I saw ugliness, dirt, and underdevelopment. I notice trees and flowers and beautiful gardens where before I only noticed the lack of them. The sky is blue and smiles at me, where before I looked at the gray clouds and frowned. Lima is telling me that she loves me and she is happy that I am here, thankful that I believe in her when so many other people speak badly of her, or simply use and abuse her for their own selfish ends, so that she closes in and becomes distrustful and lonely. But I believe that this city has the possibility to be an open heart, a seeing eye, and a helping hand shared by rich and poor, Limeño y provinciano, and even extranjero.
I believe that God is able to do immeasurably more than all we can ask or imagine, and I happen to be on God’s side, so I believe that good things are in store. It is easy to feel like working for the kingdom of God to come–for justice, peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit–is a labor of toil, a relentless fight that I feel like I am losing. I felt like that last Saturday after my meeting with the youth–like we didn’t get to where I hoped, didn’t have any ‘aha’ moments of new discovery.  I felt so frustrated.
But, I believe that it is not up to me, and that God is at work, molding all of us into his perfect image. So my anxiety is melting into hope that you will act Lord, and make us who we are, truly–people of peace, the just who live by faith, oaks of righteousness, a planting for the Lord’s splendor.

I am a hopeless idealist June 4, 2009

At the risk of sounding cheesy I want to write about how excellent my trip to Uruguay was. There are some events in my life that stick with me as pivotal experiences, turning points that mark a new beginning in my life. My trip to Uruguay was one of those moments. Something about it was completely renewing for my soul. Perhaps it was the break from the metropolitan jungle of dust and concrete that is Lima—the novelty of waking each morning and being able to look out across the verdant, rolling landscape and walk around at dawn in the dew-kissed grass until my socks were soaked through. Perhaps it was the music, songs of el pueblo, whose words capture the reality of the fighting tender heart of Latin America and whose folkloric rhythms sent sparks through my whole body. Most definitely it was the moments of connection—the encounters with young people from all over Latin America. The diversity and passion that emerged from the union of thirteen different countries, at least 5 different languages, and one common theme, “unafraid to dream.”

I had the privilege of being a facilitator for the small group sessions that we had all week. We called these times, “mateando juntos” which means to share mate, a traditional herbal drink, together. But sharing mate means much more than simply passing a drink back and forth, it is communal ritual that elicits conversation and inclusion. It enables a circle of trust to be formed where ideas can be shared and voices heard. Through my experience as a group facilitator I was challenged to listen and respond with an awareness that each person’s contribution to the dialogue had infinite value, and that together we could create new ways of articulating a response to our reality that are coherent and relevant to our diverse contexts.

I also facilitated a “family group” which was an intimate small group where we had time to share what we were thinking about and learning, and pray for one another. It reminded me what an incredible grace we are given as children of God, transcendentally bound with one another by the Holy Spirit, that we can join together on a Wednesday with “strangers” from foreign countries, and by Friday we are sisters and brothers with bonds that will remain across time and distance inasmuch as we let them.

So, I am romanticizing everything. I have a tendency to do that. But that’s why I put the disclaimer at the beginning of this note. I don’t mind being cheesy if it means that I get to share a bit of the pure joy and freedom that we are meant to live this life with. When I was in Uruguay I felt like I was 15 years old again—that was the time in my life when I used to laugh so uncontrollably that I got the nickname, “lawnmower” for having this uncontainable laughter that would get revved up and just keep growing louder and stronger. I love laughing like that. To laugh until it hurts and to cry until there is nothing left—those are two extremes that I don’t mind arriving at, because it means that I am alive. In Uruguay, I felt fully alive, and fully aware that the God I serve is the God of life, el Dios de la vida. Everything God is and everything God does is directed toward the impartation of abundant life to all people.

Since I’ve been back it’s been my goal to remain fully alive. What I am discovering in these days, or better said re-discovering, is that abundant life is marked by growth, but the process of growing is often a painful one, as it involves pruning and requires careful attention. Human growth and character development isn’t a passive process, it’s a surrender of will and an opening up to possibilities that are out of my control. In the last month it has meant cutting things off—letting go of relationships and plans, things that I thought were solid and that I had figured out. It has meant taking initiative and making time to do the things that give me life and joy, things like writing this note, baking brownies, inviting my friends to lunch, and buying nice things without feeling guilty. It has meant facing my own fears—fears of being lonely, of living in San Juan de Lurigancho by myself, of living through another Lima winter, fears of my own shortcomings and insecurities—and actually believing that I can overcome them and thrive in my life here. It has meant living in the present and not fretting about the future, but it has also meant reawakening dreams and the desire deep within me to do great and profound things with my life. It has meant being true to myself.

So, once again, I am grateful to be alive, and grateful specifically for the life that God has given me. No one else can live it for me, so I intend to live it abundantly.

nephesh April 3, 2009

I just finished watching the movie slumdog millionaire. It reminded me of the darkness that exists in the world. Are there really people out there who trap innocent children in vicious cycles of violence, greed, and addiction—people who do things like burn out kids eyeballs to use them as street beggars? I saw a man today begging on the streets of Lima with no eyeballs. I had never seen that before. Then I watched this movie, and now I’m wondering what that man’s story is. I hope to God that his condition is not the result of oppression at the hands of ruthless evil. There is indeed evil in this world.

I was reminded this morning that I need to stay awake. What I mean is, Jesus tells his disciples that he is going to come back. We don’t know the time, the day, or the hour. But stay awake, he says. Keep watch. Don’t stop working, don’t stop waiting. In other words, don’t give up fighting for the kingdom of God to come on earth as it is in heaven. Don’t stop working to bring light into dark places. Stay alert. Don’t become so comfortable in your life on earth that you forget that Jesus is coming back, and that some day all things will be made right. The evildoers don’t win in the end.

I spent the weekend at a conference for pastors and leaders on the topic of integral mission. One of the talks was about eschatology and mission. Eschatology isn’t exactly a term that your average José Christian throws around in everyday conversation. But the word eschatos means the end of all things, so eschatology is simply a study of the end—the end of the world, the end of life as we know it, or the “end times” as it has commonly come to be known in the evangelical church. There is a lot of eschatological speculation out there. Books like the Left Behind series paint apocalyptic visions that scare people into their church pews. Some churches talk about the end times more than they talk about life here on earth. That’s a problem, and that’s what we talked about this weekend. We can pick out verses from all over the Bible, piece them together in some semblance of order, and come out with a theology of the end times that suggests there will be a series of events including a rapture, a thousand years of tribulation, a judgment day, and an establishment of a new heaven and a new earth. But nobody really knows. And you have to manipulate the scripture and interpret verses in a pretty narrow way to justify things like a rapture. But that’s beside the point. What I’m getting at here is this: our God is the God of Life. He is not the God of the dead, but of the living.

In the Hebrew mindset there was no distinction between body, spirit, and soul. When God formed man out of the dust of the earth and breathed life into him, the result was a living being, a whole person. The word used to describe this living being was nephesh, which has been translated in various parts of scripture as soul, mind, heart, living being, self, creature, appetite, desire, emotion, passion. This is an all-encompassing word that describes the fullness of what a human being is. Although the term nephesh is often translated as soul, it is not a term that simply describes a mystical kind of spirit, distinct and detached from the human body and mind. Unfortunately, that is the way that it has often been understood in western Christianity, especially in the western church that has been influenced by Greek and Platonic philosophy that created a sharp dichotomy between body and soul. There are actually modern evangelical churches that have created a “Christian Anthropology” that explains humans as beings with three different parts—soul, spirit, and body. They inaccurately use verses like 1 Thessalonians 5:23 to justify their tri-partite theory: May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. This perspective creates artificial divisions in our identity as human beings. It follows dichotomized Greek philosophy rather than the integrated Hebrew worldview described in Genesis. The big problem with this divided, dichotomized way of thinking is that it separates what is “spiritual” from what is material and physical, and it gives greater importance to things that are supposedly “spiritual.”

You can see how this dichotomized way of thinking has penetrated the Christian church in Peru. It is most obvious in the exaltation of the church building at the most spiritual place in the life of a believer. Faithfulness to the church means participating in the “culto”—the church service or meeting. There are Sunday meetings, prayer meetings, women’s meetings, men’s meetings, youth meetings, kids meetings, couples’ meetings, elderly folks meetings. You name it, the church will make a meeting out of it. The meeting itself is not the problem, the church should always gather together to be encouraged and strengthened. The problem is when the church building is the center of our spiritual lives, therefore the rest of the places we occupy in life are not as “spiritual.” This mindset seems to suggest that by going to church, praying in church, singing and worshipping in church, people can get close to God and have spiritual experiences. And while of course it’s true that people encounter God in church, it is devastating if we limit ourselves thinking that is the place where our practice and experience our spirituality. It is devastating not only for the individual who misses out on experiencing God in the mundane, everyday aspects of human life, like going to the market, washing dishes, typing on their computer, watching TV with his wife, or reading to her children, it is devastating for a world that is broken and raped and crying out for people who will bring the fullness of God’s presence and God’s values into all the spaces of human life—into the marketplace, into politics, into the education system, into media and entertainment, into the legal system, into agriculture and industry, into our understanding of history, into infinity and beyond.

This dichotomized way of thinking also turns spirituality into an escape from the world. The church becomes an escape from normal life, the kingdom of God (the “spiritual” realm) becomes something that is hoped for in the afterlife, rather than vigorously sought after here and now. But in the mind (or the nephesh) of Christ, spiritual life was no escape; rather, it was an entrance into the real world. It was an incarnation.

I’m sure that Jesus, ever present with the people, would have had something profound to say to the man on the street with no eyeballs. Then again, maybe he would have just said “buenas tardes,” knowing that a simple greeting can be full of meaning when we recognize the spirituality of every breath that God has given us since the moment he created us, breathed on us, and we became nephesh.

open arms December 30, 2008

I spent Christmas with Cameron in a small city in the Peruvian highlands.  From the balcony of our guesthouse you could watch the clouds roll in and out over the sturdy Andes mountains.  The rain came and went and the sun dropped in and chapped my lips till they hurt, and the 3,000 meter altitude left us short of breath and lightheaded, but it was spectacular.  Here are some pics from a sunset we watched:

In Peru the people celebrate Christmas at midnight on the night of the 24th.  After eating a feast of turkey stuffed with yummy ground beef and vegetables, potatoes, and applesauce they top off the night with paneton (Christmas cake) and Peruvian hot chocolate.  It leaves you in the Christmas spirit with its rich sweetness and touch of cinnamon, even if it’s hot and summery outside, as Lima is at this time of year, but fortunately we escaped to a place with a bit of chill in the air.
I thought I was going to miss out on the traditional dinner because we were traveling during Christmas, but the owner of the guesthouse, La Casa de Mi Abuela, invited us to join their Christmas dinner with all the workers from the Casa and the nearby cantina.  We ate Christmas dinner at a long table with about 20 other people—Peruvians and a handful of other wandering foreigners.  We drank calentitos (literally “little heaters”), a drink made of Pisco (Peruvian liquor made from grapes), herbs and spices, and toasted to a meal shared in family.  In Peru you can meet someone in the morning and by the afternoon they are primo (cousin), tio (uncle) or hermano (brother).  I am grateful to live in a country that opens up its arms to the foreigner.  The US has a lot to learn from Peruvian hospitality.
At midnight Cameron and I sung ‘O Holy Night’, and as the clock struck 12 fireworks erupted all through the city.  We walked out onto the balcony and watched the sky fill with sparkling technicolor.  Children all throughout Latin America were taking advantage of their chance to play with fire.  It reminded me of the splendor of that night when the true light came into the world.  Angels burst into song and the poor shepherds watched in delight.  Come Lord Jesus, we welcome you.

So I say welcome, bienvenidos to 2009.  A new year is coming and I welcome it with open arms, the way my Peruvian friends have continually welcomed me to their country, the way Don Lucho welcomed us at his table on Christmas Eve, the way our new friend Jorge welcomed us to his home after meeting us on the street on Christmas day and told us how much God loved him, that God was his papa and ours as well, and asked us never to forget him.  Jorge, I won’t forget you.  I won’t forget 2008 either.

As I welcome a new year I want to remember the last year of life that’s brought me to this point.  2008 was a big year—January: a commitment to the Latin America Mission as to 2 years in Peru; February: a quarter century of life and a new dating relationship with the best redhead in the world; March: schmoozing with celebrities at a Hollywood fundraiser for Burma, a lost passport and an impromptu trip to Philadelphia, and 2 weeks in Peru including a visit to Cusco where the mountains climb into the clouds; April: 3 weeks living in Pasadena with Beby, the wisest, kindest, coolest roommate and mentor a girl could ask for; May: springtime in Auburn, evening walks with dad, working in a special ed classroom with kids who can’t talk but never cease to communicate, and fundraising meetings with wonderful people from Auburn Presbyterian Church; June and July: another Global Urban Trek in Lima and a group of amazing students that brought me tons of joy and laughter; August: time with Cameron in California and Texas—the joy and awkwardness of  meeting each other’s families and the face to face time that makes a long distance relationship sustainable; September: relaxation and preparation—am I really about to move to a foreign country? October: yup, I  really am; November: getting settled into Lima—new roommate, new job, new language, new life; December: I’ve now been in Peru longer than any of my previous visits.  For now this is home.  Cameron came to visit for Christmas, and the new year is just around the corner…

Bienvenidos 2009.  What do you have for me?  What do you want from me? What do I want from you?  I don’t have any resolutions yet.  No big goals that I am determined to accomplish, no strategic plans or vision statements.  Just an attempt to keep an open heart and an open mind.  Come on in Lord Jesus.

to say Gracias November 27, 2008

Happy Thanksgiving!  This year my housemate Anna and I are celebrating on Saturday instead of Thursday, since today is not a holiday here in Peru and we need all day to cook the fixins.  We’ve invited about 17 of our Paz y Esperanza associates over to eat with us, if they all show up we’ll be sitting on the floor or on the rooftop, but Peruvian culture is the more the merrier   We’ve decided to have rotiserrie chicken (pollo a la brasa) instead of turkey, since we don’t have an oven and Peruvian chicken is pretty amazing anyway, but we’ll have all the rest of the traditional goodies.  As I’ve been inviting my Peruvian friends to our thanksgiving feast they keep asking me what Thansgiving is for.  I could tell them about pilgrims and native americans, but that doesn’t explain what Thanksgiving really is for me (it’s always been my favorite holiday to spend with my family).  So I tell them that it’s a special day that we set apart to give thanks to God for his provision and abundance, and to EAT with our family and friends.  I don’t know if our dinner will communicate to our Peruvian friends the true essence of Thanksgiving, but I hope we can bring at a least a little spark of it here to Lima.

So, I can’t let this day go by without giving thanks, recognizing some of the amazing graces that God has given me over the past year:

Thank you Lord the birth of my godson Isaac and my new niece Liliana

Thank you Father for my relationship with Cameron

Thank you Holy Spirit the fulfillment of a 2-year vision to move to Peru and seek the Kingdom of God among the poor of this city

Thank you Jesus the time I had in Auburn with my dad this year–truly precious moments.

Thank you for your presence with my God, for every promise fulfilled, for being so faithful to me.  Thank you for giving me a home in Lima, a ministry to serve at, and assurance that even though I still don’t have everything figured out, I never will, and I just get to keep walking forward, poco a poco.

Thank you that you are bigger than the things that keep us from you God.

Gracias.

Top Fives November 11, 2008

Top 5 things to buy on the streets of Lima

1. Choko Soda–chocolate covered soda crackers, I love them so much that I plan my walking routes so I can pass by a street stall that sells them.  I don’t know why America hasn’t discovered this delectable treat.
2. Chifles–chips made from bananas or plaintains, salty, not sweet, and oh so tasty.
3. Arroz con Leche & Masamora Morada–rice pudding and purple corn pudding/jello (served hot).  A perfect combination on an overcast Lima day when there is a chill in the air, warms you on the inside.
4. Jugo de Naranja–Fresh squeezed orange juice.  They peel the oranges right in front of your eyes using a contraption similar to the Pampered Chef Apple Peeler Corer Slicer (minus the coring part), then about 5 whole oranges are used to make the most refreshing OJ I’ve ever had.
5. Yesterday I paid .10 centimos (about 3.3 cents) to weigh myself on the street–a cautionary measure to make sure that all the aforementioned snacks weren’t taking to heavy a toll on me   I would never weigh myself in public in the US, but for some reason I feel perfectly secure doing it with hundreds of people around in the midst of a public market in Lima.  (and for the inquiring minds out there–I weigh the same that I did when I left the US 3 weeks ago)

Top 5 Extraordinary (read: funny, strange, disturbing, beautiful) Things Seen So Far in Lima

1. The DredMullet–buzzcut on the top and sides, long dredlocks in the back.  Enough said.
2. The nearly naked man–wearing less than a speedo, with a T-shirt on his head, standing on the sidewalk and rubbing his belly as my bus meandered by.
3. The Sarah mural–a spraypainted mural of a woman’s face with enormous penetrating eyes that reminds me of my friend Sarah.  She stares at me when I pass her on my bus ride home and reminds me of art and beauty.
4. Public urination–A lot of men do it, and I gotta say I’m not comfortable with this one.
5. The sunset in San Juan de Lurigancho–a mix of coastal clouds and pollution that makes for a rose-colored glow as the sun drops behind the tall rocky mountains of Lima.  Gorgeous.

Reflections on the mission of the church November 4, 2008

I’ve been in Lima for a little over 2 weeks now.  It’s been good so far.  I know that people are praying for me because I haven’t had any of the overwhelming anxiety or lonliness that I felt the first couple weeks that I was on my own in Chile when I studied abroad there.  I have past experience to build on here; I have community here, people to talk to–friends who share my vision, and there is a lot to be grateful for.

I don’t have a ton of responsibilities yet in my work with Paz y Esperanza, so I’ve been spending some of my time reading theology about the mission of the church.  Paz y Esperanza uses a term to describe this work as “Integral Mission.”  The fact that it is integral means that it integrates all aspects of human life both individually and communally.  That is to say that mission is not just about “saving souls” but it is an act of participating in the work of seeing all things reconciled to God, brought under control of the Lordship of Jesus Christ.  So the mission of the church is to see our entire lives and our entire world touched by the redemptive power of Jesus, and in particular in contexts of poverty, violence, and exclusion it means reaching out to those who are suffering and extending life and love to them.  That is good news, or gospel, and that is the message of the Kingdom of God.

Integral mission is not a new thing, it’s always been the mission of the church, but the church (and in this context the evangelical church in Peru) has not always practiced it; rather, it has often settled for a reductionist version of mission.  The result? We sell ourselves short of the totally abundant life that Jesus came to give. This has happened A LOT in Peru.  Protestant and evangelical missionaries from the first world came here in the 19th and 20th centuries to share the gospel with Latin Americans, but it came largely in verbal evangelistic campaigns, not in practical actions that touched the social or political life of the community.  This has changed a lot in recent years.  Especially since the Lausanne conference in 1974, the evangelical church has placed a greater emphasis on social action as an intrinsic part of the mission of the church.  The church in Peru is growing in its consciousness of how important it is to be involved in the life of the community and to have a perspective that sees the real needs of the community, city, nation, and world and responds to those needs.  A lot of my work with Paz y Esperanza is continuing to raise that consciousness and help the church live out their calling.

But sometimes I feel like rather than having an “integrated” life I am swinging between extremes.  On the one hand I want following God to be this totally mystical experience of knowing God intimately in my heart of hearts, of walking in the Holy Spirit and meeting God in prayer, of seeing miraculous healings and supernatural events.  On the other hand I want to see all the poverty, violence, exploitation, slavery, objectification, and opression in the world transformed by God’s justice and peace, and I think we need to be practical and strategic to do it–so we do things like form NGOs that come up with programs and projects and 10-year strategies.  But in so doing, it seems like sometimes we forget to pray; we forget to let the Holy Spirit be the leader, and the risk is that it becomes an act done by mere human effort.

I DON’T want that.  I want to be so connected to God that everything I do flows out of that connection.  Because I know that if that were the reality, then I WOULD see miracles and healings, but I would also see very well-run social programs.  What I would likely see is miracles happening in the midst of these well-planned programs.  I might see little Mariela at the feeding program at “Grace of God Church” getting healed of the emotional wounds that she is carrying around from having an abusive father.  I might see Maribel and Nataly and their brothers and sisters from Iglesia Cristo El Salvador (Christ the Savior Church) going out into their neighborhood not just to knock on doors to share the gospel, but connecting to people with supernatural words of knowledge and insight about their lives and inviting them into a community that teaches them how to live in dignity and respect themselves and their neighbors.  I want to stay open so that God can work this out in me.

In closing this post, I’d like to quote something from Rene Padilla, one the the theologians/practitioners of integral mission that I’ve been reading a lot lately (translated from spanish, bold wording added by me):

“In reality, to speak about spirituality is to speak of a lifestyle that is oriented toward the fulfillment of God’s purposes for human life and for the totality of all of creation; it manifests in a way of thinking, feeling, and acting corresponding to Jesus Christ as the model for a new humanity, and it depends on the power of the Holy Spirit.  Spirituality is putting into practice the discerning of God’s will for personal and communal life in all of it’s dimensions.  Spirituality is a gift and it is work; it requires communion with God (contemplation) and action in the world (practice).  When these are separate, it produces a true anomaly in life as much as in Christian mission.  Contemplation without action is avoiding reality; action without contemplation is empty activism without transcendent significance.  True spirituality demands missional contemplation and contemplative mission.”

Poems September 11, 2008

I’m trying to write more, so here are some poems I wrote last night:

What shall keep me
from a continuous fountain
of gratitude to God
and pure ecstatic joy?

What is ‘real life’ anyway,
if not to be completely
consumed
by the love of God.

So why do I dwell
so much on evil
Why let the darkness
get to me
When the light continually
beckons me to itself

Yet part of me must stare
at the darkness
and not turn away

For to be blind is to
see neither dark nor light

But I am a good eye

And my whole being
yearns to be full of light.
______________________

Have the great persons of history,
those wise sages and men of peace,
railed against the outrageous state of the world
or have they
simply sat in silence
at peace at rest

I can’t imagine that
it seems to me that
righteous indignation
is a necesary ingredient
in a peacemaker’s pie

It’s the salt that flavors
the sweet fruit of the vine and
makes each bite go down
in perfect pleasurable
balance

While attempting to wrap up the Trek… September 8, 2008

When we walked into Jhan’s house I wondered what the students were thinking, do they feel uncomfortable entering into this family’s life all of a sudden, is this strange to them, do they feel intrusive?  But we entered quietly and took seats on the bed next to Jhan’s.  He lay in the dark corner, shadowed by a top bunk above his own resting place, a strategic piece of furniture for this family of 6 in a square house of about 250 sq. ft.  We didn’t know what to say at first, so we sat there and let Ofelia take the lead.  With her childlike spirit she began to share with Jhan that we were brothers and sisters that had come to encourage him and pray for him, and she shared the good news that Jesus is with him and is his healer and has magnificent plans for his life.  Jhan’s mother lifted her chin to share that Jhan had recently given his life to the Lord.  Jhan nodded in acknowledgement, a nod of general agreement but not wholehearted enthusiasm.  We began to ask Jhan questions to get to know him a little better.  How old are you? 15 years old.  How did you break your legs?  I was in an accident with a mototaxi. What is your dream for your life?  I want to work to help my father.
After chatting with Jhan a bit the story came to my mind of the paralytic whose four friends lowered him down through the roof in order for him to meet Jesus and be healed.  I asked his mother if she had a Spanish Bible, and thankfully she did.  Thank you Lord that your word is in this house.  So I read the story to Jhan and asked him if he had ever heard it before.  He shook his head no.  What a treasure it was to be able to share this story with a young person for the first time, a story I’ve heard so many times that I’ve forgotten that many people have never heard it before, have never even opened up a a Bible.  After that we entered into a time of prayer, calling for complete healing for Jhan.  I was proud of my students, proud of the vision the Lord gave them as they prayed for Jhan in a way that sought the healing of his whole being—physical, spiritual, emotional, mental.  Brandon prayed that, just as Jhan yearned to walk and to work for his earthly father, that he would serve his heavenly father and be able to walk in the power of his Spirit, filled with the knowledge of his love.  Brandon also sensed a physical healing touch, like a warm energy that was flowing through Jhan’s legs and Brandon’s hands.  After we finished praying we asked Jhan how he felt, and he confirmed that he felt that tingling sensation flowing through his legs.
After we left Jhan’s house we went on a walk up the hillside to get to the next house where we were to visit a woman whose son was recently killed in an accident at a mine somewhere in the provinces.  As we climbed the hill I asked Brandon if he had any experience with healing prayer and he explained that he and his friend had read a pamphlet on prophetic prayer published by International House of Prayer (IHOP), but he’s never been through any kind of formal training, though he would like to.  Then we got into a really good conversation about healing, and I encouraged him to pursue becoming a healer.  Brandon is pre-med at one of the best universities in the country, USC.  I told Brandon that what the world needs is doctors that heal the whole person.  The world needs healers that recognize and integrate all the aspects of what makes a person human, body, mind, spirit.  May Brandon become this type of doctor.

I talk about healing a lot these days.  It’s what I yearn for in a world contaminated with so much disease and suffering.  I know it exists because I’ve experienced it myself, a healing of my inner wounds, a healing of the relationships in my family, even physical healings in my own body.  I believe in far bigger healing than what I’ve experienced personally, and that faith keeps me going.

But if I’m totally honest with myself my greatest fear is burning out as I pursue this healing and transformation.  I guess that deep down it’s a fear that God won’t come through.  I know I can’t transform anything in and of myself, and I know that God will only do through me what he sees fit to give me in the present moment.  But my dreams probably leap ahead and expect much more than my present capacity to contain what God can give me.  So I sit in resignation, wondering when I’m going to see a radical miracle for myself.  Then I condemn myself for writing such a thing.  How can you say that Gracie, you have experienced so many miracles in your life, are these not enough for you?  In a way they are enough.  But in so many ways they are not, they are not enough to comfort all the kids in Lima whose fathers denigrate their wives and demand money for their drinking habits.  They are not enough for the freaking hundreds of thousands of Burmese people who were left to die after the cyclone.  They are not enough for the murder that KT and Noretys witnessed in Caracas.  I don’t even know what enough would look like, but it’s gotta be better than this.  In a way I want my anger at everything that’s wrong with the world to get unleashed.  Pure rage.  I don’t want to fear it, I want to feel it.  I want to feel it without fear that it will drive me into a pit of hopelessness and despair that I can’t climb out of.  I want to feel it and still have hope, still have faith, because I know that if I can feel it and pass through without giving into despair, then I will be powerful like a goddess (not trying to be heretical here).  I will be resurrected.