Articles tagged under reflections Home

Filadelfia, Paraguay

July 4, 2009 | posted by Lars under paraguay!, reflections, updates | Comments (4)

I am glad, on this fourth of July evening, to be resting in the City of Brotherly Love.  After a truly spectacular week of biking - riding 550 miles in 6 days, staying with a “traditional” Mennonite family on a colony in Bolivia, seeing incredible wildlife (including a toucan, several armadillos, & flocks of parrots) and unique flora, eating empanadas and staying the night with the Paraguayan customs officials, and riding with a young woman from Filadelfia 90 miles into town today - it feels wonderful to rest again, here in the home of the Klassens in Fernheim Colony, in the center of the Great Paraguayan Chaco.

It seems serendipitous that, on the day the USA celebrates its independence, we would be reminded by our host town’s name of the undergirding importance of love, over all.  We, it seems, are not so independent after all; and maybe that shouldn’t even be our goal.  Life seems much richer as it is given freely and shared with others; exclusion and self-preservation may be the way of the nations, but it doesn’t seem like the way of Life.

That said, we had delicious asado - barbequed steak & pork - and ice cream made with milk from the colony’s dairy today for supper with the Klassens.  It reminded me of celebrating the fourth with family and friends in what feels like a parallel world back home, where the hamburgers, homemade ice cream, and fireworks all seem to point, not to our individual autonomy, but to our community.  We, when we live well, live as if we need each other.

Meanwhile, back on the Altiplano…

June 20, 2009 | posted by Jon under bolivia, reflections, updates | Comments (6)

Altiplano: (high plain) An extensive plain that sits at around 11,000 feet above sea level and occupies parts of Chile, Peru, Argentina, Bolivia, and Ecuador, the altiplano is the largest high plateau in the world except for that of the Himalayas in Tibet (Wikipedia).

Besides pondering how many pounds of dirt and rock were underneath our wheels as we rode through this high plain, these past three weeks bring so many rich and varied experiences to mind that I am at a loss as to how to tie them all together, so I will call upon the help of the three photo albums that we just posted to supplement the small tidbits I will leave you with below, in more or less of a chronological order.

• While in Cusco, we had the privilege of staying with Shultz Family, missionaries there with EMM who are closely tied with the Mennonite church in Cusco as well as PROMESA, a Mennonite affiliated bilingual school begun in 2005.  Looking back on it, our time with the Shultz´s was, I think, one of our most comfortable long term stays on this trip.  By the time we left (8 days later), I essentially felt like a member of the Shultz family, and was continually amazed by the quality of the home cooked food that came out of their kitchen.  The hospitality didn´t end when we left either, as we were sent off with 4 sandwiches, 6 homemade bagels, trail mix, dried apples, 8 peppermint patties, and a variety of fresh fruits.  Lars and I talked about how our experience with the Shultz Family provided us with an excellent example of how to be hospitable to others in our own homes when we return to the US.

• Almost three days of riding outside of Cusco, along the northern shores of Lake Titicaca, we had the good fortune to stumble upon a local government capacitation initiative to teach women from the outskirts of Puno how to naturally dye alpaca yarn to use in knitting various handmade clothing articles to see in the artisan markets in Puno and elsewhere.  It was wonderful to see all of the colors, to chat with the women, and to share with them the excitement of learning a new skill.  They also shared with us some wonderful potatoes (baked in the earth), which we dipped into two delicious sauces, one which was also made of earth (see a theme here?).  We left this roadside capacitation project full of hope for these women and more sure than ever that the best way to encounter interactions like this is by traveling slowly, by bicycle.

• Leaving Puno, we encountered our first paro, or strike.  This strike was a nationwide initiative to call attention to deals the Peruvian government was making with international corporations in the selva, or rain forest portion of Peru that gave the corporations basically free reign over the land, with little regard or consultation to the people actually living there.  We encountered people demonstrating, making speeches, and many sparkling shards of broken glass and rocks on the road, which made for nice traffic-free riding

• Arriving in the tiny town of Acora after dodging glass shards and spending our last few minutes of daylight, we sought out the local parish, but were disappointed to find no one there.  A few minutes later a priest came running up to the door, hurrying us inside, telling us we were crazy for being out here in this cold, doing what we were doing.  Many cups of coca tea and pieces of bread with fried eggs later, we learned that Victor, a German priest that had lived in Altiplano for many years, was not your typical Catholic priest.  He was living way out in the campo, helping the farmers to manage their crops and livestock in ways that made sense, were inexpensive, and provided better yields in an already harsh environment.  Victor was one of those people that it was just easy to connect with, and we thoroughly enjoyed talking to him before we retired to our cozy room for the evening, only to have Victor knock on the door and gift us each with some German chocolate sent by his mother.  It was delicious, but even more so for the generosity involved.

• Fast-forwarding to the more recent, after memories of fiery sunsets over Lake Titicaca (yes, our camera batteries DID run out right at that moment), seeing friends in La Paz, and an exhilarating descent into the Cochabamba Valley, we arrived in downtown Cochabamba, where we were met by Natalia, an SPI participant who offered to host us after hearing about our trip.  Our stay with them has been a blessing, especially since I have been battling a rather fierce GI bug for the last few days.  However, I can report that things are improving, and that I am well hydrated after 1.5 L of Mandarin Gatorade, 2 L of sugar/salt water, and a variety of soups and broths made by our wonderful hosts.

So what is to be taken from each of these experiences?

Notice the people around you.  Open your house to them. Teach them something new.  Provide them with new work. Stand with them in injustices.   Usher them in from the cold.  Live with them out in the sticks. Give them part of your mother´s care package.  Care for them when they are ill.

These are lessons that I have learned from the past three weeks, but only because I was on the receiving end of almost all of them.  May I (we) have the courage of employ such practices in our own lives, so that others may be on the receiving end of God´s provision.

Futher up and further in

May 30, 2009 | posted by Lars under peru, reflections, updates | Comments (8)

I sing the mighty power of God that made the mountains rise,
that formed the creatures with a word, and then pronounced them Good.
Lord, how thy wonders are displayed where’er I turn my eye,
if I survey the ground I tread, or gaze upon the sky!

The Peruvian Andes.  I really hesitate to write this entry, because I haven’t the faintest clue how.  The past week has been such a sensory, holy experience, that I’ve long resigned myself to - at best - sharing a shadow of these days.

Rather than write, I would much rather step you through the frames of our photos and invite you to a 6:30 supper of potato soup and avacado in the dark of the new moon on the dry western slopes of the Andes, under a sky scattered with ancient light, after which a psalm from the lectionary echoed what the stars sang, “proclaiming [God's] faithfulness at night.”

I’d even prefer to let the letters of this text blur and to climb with you through the pampa alpine meadows, where alpaca graze and the light scent of juniper fills the chill air, which puts hats over ears and sleeves on cold arms.

But you’re not here with me, so my job here is a bit harder.  For now, I’ll try to focus on just one theme from the week, one that has been accentuated for me by spending the better part of a month in the desert:  water.

Western Peru lies in the rain shadow of the Andes, so while east of the mountains lies “the lungs of the world,” where the dense jungle of the Amazon River basin converts a sizeable amount of carbon dioxide into oxygen, hardly anything grows to the west without heavy irrigation and soil fortification.  As we climbed the western slope, however, we began to see the ecosystem diversify, as more cacti were able to survive and various grasses began to appear.  Finally, as we neared the crest of that first ridge, I heard a strange, glad sound.  Looking to my right, there was water, flowing from the earth, around the grasses and over the embankment to the side of the road.  As we descended into the valley and continued deeper into the mountains, this image of water laughing to itself as it overflowed roadside aquaducts became something expected and normal, as did rich green pastures and an abundance of all types of life, as a result.  These springs and glacial waters became streams, which fed into lakes and rivers, which we followed through 1000 foot gorges as they headed north and east, toward the headwaters of the Amazon.  Many towns and villages take advantage of this running water, and create their own reservoirs in the hills above, providing natural water pressure.

As I mentioned earlier, this picture contrasts strongly with the situation in Peru’s coastal region.  While there two weeks ago, we learned that Lima, where one in three Peruvians live, receives less than one inch of rainfall per year.  Because other sources of water are precious few and there is high “water stress” for the 8.5 million Limeños, the Peruvian government is in the process of completing an extensive aquaduct and purification system designed to pipe water from the Andes to the coast for irrigation and human consumption.

Now, this is not inherently bad - people have to drink, after all; but it does raise for us the issue of responsible water consumption.  There have been predictions that in the next century, wars will be fought over water rights (though they’re already playing roles in places like Darfur, and the courtrooms of Florida, Georgia, and Alabama); people live and die over access to clean drinking water (an important distinction, which Jon and I have been feeling in the form of 6L bags of water we purify and drink each day).  How do we, who exhort each other to “pray for peace, and act for peace” on nice white and green flags (at least in the US & Canada), live humbly and love our global neighbors in this regard?

Think about daily water usage and ways to conserve and appreciate it.  Maybe you could put bricks in your toilet to reduce flush volume, or follow the infamous addage, “if it’s yellow, let it mellow; if it’s brown, flush it down” (you’re free to define ‘mellow’ however you’d like!).  Maybe a timer while taking a shower would be helpful, or turning off the water while lathering.  If you water your lawn, think about times when you’ll lose least to evaporation, or just leave the watering to the rain.  Maybe a self-imposed water tax would be appropriate, levying a certain rate per gallon from your water bill and giving the amount to an appropriate organization of your choice.  If you’re really adventurous, you could do what some good friends in Camden, New Jersey have done and remove the U-joints from your bathroom sink and use the water to flush your toilet!

Be creative! Whatever you decide, use it as a reminder to give thanks, to remember those whose basic needs are not met, and to imagine a world where everyone has the water they need, for as followers of Christ, we are not bound by laws and regulations, but by Love.  Together, praying and acting for peace in small ways, we will be like the streams and rivers which over time carve mountains and bring life and refreshment to the land.

Let justice roll down like a mighty river,
and righteousness like a never-failing stream.
-Amos 5:24

Oh, and another reflection from the week: alpaca is delicious.

Lord, you have come to the shoreline

May 1, 2009 | posted by Lars under costa rica, reflections, updates | Comments (7)

Last summer, shortly after we both graduated from EMU, a good friend of mine went to Costa Rica for three months.  He had a job as a nurse lined up for the fall in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania and he wanted to learn some Spanish so he could care for his patients who wouldn’t be able to speak English.  He had been there the summer before, briefly, with the EMU cross cultural program, and had met a missionary couple with a goat farm who he arranged to live and work with for the summer.  On a beach outing to the Pacific while there, though, he drowned.  It’s difficult to articulate exactly how deeply Matt’s death rocked his communities, but the grief was searing.

Two weeks ago, as we passed through Costa Rica, we had the opportunity to visit the farm where Matt lived and worked, high in the mountains between San Isidro del General and the Pacific Ocean.  The 7 km (4.2 miles) between the main road and the farm are, by far, the most rugged riding of our trip so far (we had to walk our bikes back down the mountain), but arriving there was beautiful.  We arrived after dark, drenched in sweat and several skintones darker with dirt, and it was as if we were entering another world.  I at once felt comfortable and at home, eating supper with Gerardo & Helen, conversing quietly, and washing the grime from my tired body.  We spent the evenings chatting in the house by intermittent light from the hydroelectric generator (we were visiting at the end of the dry season) and enjoying the peace of the evening stillness, and the day milking goats, hiking around the property, learning about the farm, and catching up on journalling.

It is an incredibly beautiful place, and Gerardo & Helen are at least as beautiful of people.  There was a very tangibly restful atmosphere there, which was such a relief from the touristy beat of Costa Rica.  It was a peace, I think, borne of a deep and easy connection to the land - a rootedness, if you will - that resembles, somewhat, a marriage.  Each is committed to the other for the long haul, and the chafing of trying to leave the farm behind and ”make something of yourself” is absent.  I’m gushing.  It was an oasis to be there, and I am thankful for it. I hope the pictures can describe this better than I am able.

As we left, we made our way back down the mountain and to the coast, stopping briefly at Las Ventanas, a little, rock-edged cove, lined with coconut palms.

That day, I had two songs rolling through my mind as I rode - “Señor, tú has venido a la orilla” (a hymn Gerardo & Helen remember Matt singing), and “Joy in the Journey,” sung by Full Table.

Managua for Easter

April 20, 2009 | posted by Lars under nicaragua, reflections | Comments (6)

On Holy Saturday, we made ride against the winds off Lake Managua to the capital of Nicaragua.  I had called Efrain Hernandez, the pastor of the Brethren in Christ church we were planning to stay with in Managua, but was only able to leave a message, so we set off across the city with the Managua-style directions we had (”go two blocks south from the hardware store on the north highway…”).  About two-thirds of the way to the neighborhood where the church is located, a taxi driver yelled out of his vehicle at us, telling us to wait for him to turn around.  Accustomed to having people yell at us, we disregarded the incident, laughing that if we wanted to talk with a taxi driver, we could hang around.  Several blocks later, a car pulled up beside us and the driver told us through the passenger-side window, “I am Pastor Efrain, from the church.  Follow me; I’ll lead you to the church.”  We needed that taxi driver more than we thought, and spent several days with him and his church.

With our arrival in Managua, we marked a significant point in our journey - with 3 months and around 3,750 miles behind us and the same ahead, we celebrated being at the midpoint of our journey to Asunción.  However, while I know the fact at some level, I don’t feel like I’m halfway to Asunción.  Not that I know what biking halfway to Paraguay feels like, but at this point, it just feels like I’ve been biking for a really long time.  (As a bit of a celebration of the milestone (no pun intended!), though, Jon & I split a half-gallon of Neapolitan ice cream for a snack the next day in the saddle, pulling on Appalachian Trail thru-hiker tradition.  I guess that means we’re really are closer to the end than the beginning…)

The day after we arrived, the church gathered for an Easter Resurrection Service at 5:00 a.m., culminating a week of preaching and prayer meetings with a similar, highly amplified service.  Still in a bit of a morning stupor from too little sleep after a day of biking, I wondered to myself whether the disciples could really comprehend what had happened when Jesus came among them on that first Resurrection Day.  the whiplash of emotions seems so incredibly dramatic, it would leave anyone in a daze.  What were their thoughts during those days, when Jesus appeared to them, ate breakfast with them, taught them?  While skepticism and pain surely turned to joy, so much of that time seems to point ahead to the coming of the Holy Spirit and the birth of the church.

It’s easy to see the parallel of the crucifixion and resurrection as a midpoint in God’s story of redemption.  It’s rather apparent that we live in a world that still endures pain in many ways; but we also have an image of God’s way of interacting with us, in Christ.  So, it seems that in moving from Lent into the season of Easter, we’ve been freed from waiting… in order to wait.  This time, though, we set our eyes on Pentecost, remembering the coming of the Holy Spirit, which fills and moves the people of God.  It seems like a theme to me - waiting, prayer, hurting, waiting, prayer, healing, waiting, prayer, action, repeat.  Maybe someday I’ll begin to understand that, and to live it well.

What are people for?

April 1, 2009 | posted by Lars under lent, mexico, reflections | Comments (4)

This reflection based on Mark 12:20-33 was first published on EMU’s Lenten Reflections ‘blog.

As I’ve traveled through Mexico over the past several weeks, I haven’t been able to get the idea of self-sacrifice and self-sacrificial love out of my mind & soul. There are many ways this text interacts with my recent experiences, but this seems to stand in stark contrast to the rest. It’s so contrary to any other voice in the history of the world, and it nestles itself right at the core of the Gospel.

I’ve seen huge Aztec temples built and inaugurated with the sacrifices of thousands of laborers and captive warriors; read of massive corporate riches amassed at the cost of millions of people’s pensions and retirement funds; and participated in the incredible luxury afforded to those at the core of the developed world while those at the periphery sew it together and move from home to the ‘misery belts,’ or try to fight their way closer to the core. Where did we ever get the idea that this is what people are for? Did we somehow forget that we, too, are human?

Jesus seems intent to remind us what it means to be truly human. He compares humans and their lives to seeds, whose sole purpose it is to give their all to allow for new life to spring forth. That’s the biology of a seed: it comes with just enough energy for germination, and when that is done, its job is over.

Jesus says in his own baffling way that that’s the essence of the glory of the Son of Man - the truly Human One. He says, in the words of Eminem, “Just lose it.” As he speaks, he’s not without fear, but he knows - as the voice from the reiterates - that his glorification will continue throughout future generations. Love can lead in no other way. This will be both the eternal glory of humanity and the unending shame of “the prince of this world.”

It’s the perfect culmination of the process of selflessness. The world cannot understand a life devoted entirely to Shalom, and so exposes its own lack by raising up - by crucifying - Love. Yet, we have no room for indignation. It is we who have not understood; it is we who have set the nails to Christ’s body. We, the residents of this world, must live - for now - in this twilight. We must recognize our complicity in both the evil and the holiness of this world. For, if we are willing, it will be the soil of our transformation.

LORD God –
We await Your Spirit
of Patience, as we live with ourselves, both holy and detestable; and
of Humility, as we offer ourselves daily, by Your love, to Your world.
Open our eyes,
that we may see Your color and design in ourselves.
Unstop our ears,
that we may hear Your melody and harmonies in the world in which we live.
For it is by Your Son that we are healed,
Amen.

People of … Maseca?

March 30, 2009 | posted by Lars under guatemala, lent, mexico, reflections | Comments (6)

In Central America, the tortilla is more than just a food staple, it’s a way of life.  Corn has been cultivated in the region since before the first European encounter; according to the Maya creation story, humans are literally “people of corn” - it was from corn, not soil, that God formed the first beings.  Traveling in culture with this collective history, when eating the occasional tortilla-less meal, Jon and I have been asked if we want any, because for many, if tortillas aren’t present, you haven’t eaten.

As a result, tortillerías - or tortilla ‘bakeries’ - are everywhere.  I remember from my cross-cultural semester in Guatemala the sound of the women in these shops patting out the dough by hand over the comal and a low-burning fire.  Fresh tortillas, made at home or in one of these corner stores, were present at most meals.

But throughout Mexico, the picture was different.  There was no light clapping overflowing into the streets, only the faint whirr of the occasional tortilla machine and the painted Maseca logo on the outside of the store.  “Quality & Consistency,” they promised - a promise as valid in southern Mexico as it is in Harrisonburg, Virginia, where you can also buy the flour.  Three years ago in Guatemala, the corn for tortillas had come from the farms in the countryside and was made into nixtamal (or hominy, an intermediate step in making tortilla dough, a process which incidentally enriches the corn with essential nutrients) in the same neighborhood where it was eaten.  There had been no national corn processing company so prominent as Maseca; that was the work of many smaller-scale farmers and corn processers.

Our last evening in Mexico, I asked our host, a restaurant owner and partner with INESIN, about Maseca.  Sometime in the past, tortillas must have been made by hand in Mexico, and now they’re not.  I had my strong suspicions that the shift was connected to the 1994 beginning of subsidized corn imports from the United States through NAFTA, but I wanted to hear the story.

The change in her town began “somewhere around ten years ago,” she told us, when it became cheaper to buy the 20 kg. bags of ground corn than to grow and process the corn grown locally.  She emphasized that the taste of tortillas made with Maseca is notably more bland; but since farmers have stopped sowing corn because they can’t get a good price for it anymore, they’re becoming the only option.

Regardless of the reason, for a culture so closely connected to cultivating and consuming corn, this is a significant shift.  Clearly it has implications for farmers who no longer are able to farm; but what happens to a culture which once understood their Creator through their work and food when those are exported and imported?  How is the health of a people affected when the staple of every meal contains more starch and fewer necessary nutrients?  Increased diabetes rates may be the simplest of the outcomes.

In Guatemala, I still hear tortillas being made; but then again, CAFTA is still very young.

Thought kernels:  Where do we fit into this picture?  Where do we find our identity?  How do we understand our God?

Can we just get along?

March 25, 2009 | posted by Lars under lent, mexico, reflections, updates | Comments (7)

If you’ve been following our route map recently, you’ve noticed that we’ve made some tracks, and regardless, we’ve had a recent drought of postings.  We’re doing fine, and Jon’s bike is back on the road, we just haven’t had the internet access or energy (we’ve been in southern Mexico and Guatemala, after all!) to post.  We’re now in Guatemala City at SEMILLA, the Anabaptist seminary here, but the past two weeks are worth some collective thought, so we’ll take it in steps.

While in San Cristóbal de las Casas (Chiapas, México), we stayed at INESIN (Institute for Intercultural Studies and Investigation), an ecumenical Christian center which promotes peace in Chiapas through intercultural and interreligious dialogue.  It’s important work in a region as torn as Chiapas has become - the religious landscape shows some of these, with Christianity, both Roman Catholic and ‘evangelical’ - neither of which recognizes the other as ‘Christian’ - and pantheism, woven deeply into the fabric of many indigenous communities.  Add in politics, community organizations, international missionaries & corporations, and indigenous rights movements and it’s a picture which demands more historical background to be even marginally understood.

Geographically, the state of Chiapas lies on Mexico’s southern border with Guatemala, is about half coastal plain and half rugged, heavily forested mountains, and contains nearly 40% of Mexico’s water resources.  Thanks in part to these mountains, for several centuries after the Spanish conquest and into Mexican statehood the large indigenous population of Chiapas (which shares more common history & culture with indigenous Guatemalans than with those in the rest of Mexico) remained largely unified - poor and Catholic - and voted as a single block, as well.  Over the past century or so however, foreign missionaries, strong community leaders, movements for land reform, the introduction of a multi-party political system, and the Zapatista National Liberation Army splintered the state - and its communities - along so many deeply inflamed conviction-etched lines that in many places communities exiled their members who believed differently than the majority, leading to at least 400,000 internally displaced persons in Chiapas in the mid-1990s - fully 10% of the entire state.  Military massacres throughout the ’90s in response to the Zapatistas’ uprising in 1994 (when they demanded what had been promised but not given to the indigenous peoples for centuries) contributed to increased instability and distrust, and brought the perfect storm into the international spotlight.  All the while, the government signs away rights to the region’s biodiversity and plentiful water to multinational pharmaceutical and bottling corporations.

While the situation now has cooled enough that people aren’t dying, the divisions still run deep and painful.  It’s in this context that INESIN operates, offering workshops in their facility and in communities, allowing people to study the Bible and get to know each other in a setting not aligned with one political party or denomination, and teaching elements of sustainable agriculture, conflict transformation, and prevention of family & gender violence to interested community members.  It’s a small effort, rooted in the community and led by a handful of chiapeños and international volunteers (including a couple with MCC), but it’s been a while since I’ve seen something truly worthwhile happen fast.  Maybe someday, community by community, Chiapas will celebrate and find strength in its diversity.

Maybe someday, the church, too, will find similar strength and reason to celebrate.  “We all have strengths,” director Martín Guerrero reminded a group while we were there, “we at INESIN don’t believe that the many churches should lose their identity to be one church - it’s that diversity reminds us of the many forms of God’s grace.”  Their message seemed clear: ecumenical doesn’t mean floating in and out of whatever church serves your needs - it means being rooted and it means finding common roots; it means being able to celebrate and learn from the unique ways each community of faith follows Jesus Christ.  It means the hard work of learning to live together.

But this is our work.

Wandering in the Wilderness

February 27, 2009 | posted by Lars under lent, mexico, reflections | Comments (16)

Two days ago, in San Luis Potosí, we marked Ash Wednesday, the beginning of a new season in the church year - Lent. For many of those in the Roman Catholic majority, the day was the beginning of a time of fasting, marked by ashes on the forehead from the hand of the priest. (Paradoxically, it was also the day of a late-night carnival downtown…) The day was a significant milestone for us in our journey for several reasons, as well. From setting out on January 6, we had been on the road for 50 days prior to Wednesday. We began our journey on Epiphany, the day celebrating the visit of the magi to the newborn Jesus. It’s a day and a season, it seems, where the gold & incense play a secondary - if allusive - part to the realization that even as an infant, Christ has come as “a light to all nations,” and that even in its infancy, His reign is one which turns power on its head, distressing a grown king at the birth of a peasant boy, and causing wise men to travel thousands of miles to visit this boy. In the season of Epiphany, we celebrated not just the mystery of God incarnate, but the revelation that this Savior is for all the world and presents a very different reign than this world can comprehend.

Now, after a quick slip in to Ordinary Time, we find ourselves in Lent, the 40-day season preceding Easter. Forty days, like the years of the Israelites’ wanderings and the duration of Christ’s fasting and temptations. It’s a time to remember our own humanity, our own weakness; a time to wander into our own deserts with God, so that He may also lead us out. It’s a time to find our wounds and press into them, make them hurt, make them bleed, so that we are prepared to be healed by Jesus’ own wounds and blood. The healing is certain - we will be made whole - but first we must prepare ourselves by probing deeply into our need.

So, we wander (we hope more metaphorically than physically) in order to explore our humanity and our brokenness, in order to be tempted by apothecaries who promise remedies other than that of the Healer. During this season, Jon & I have decided to allow for at least 15 minutes of silence for prayer before setting out each day as we embark on this journey through Lent, knowing that before we arrive at Easter in Managua, God will lead us through the wilderness, through our own wretchedness, to the brutality of the passion and beyond, so that we, with Christ, may experience the resurrection from the dead.

Thirty-seven days to Managua.

Thought kernels (thoughts from the past several days): • How do I measure time, and how does that point to what I value? What ‘calendars’ do I use? • What are my wildernesses?

The $1 donation

January 14, 2009 | posted by Lars under reflections, united states | Comments (4)

I wrote this in my journal on Sunday about our time at Rutba House, but am only now getting to post it because of a combination of our internet access and schedule.  For a bit of context, though names have been changed, Jamaal is a child at Rutba House, Zane is a lifetime Walltown resident, and Rutba One is one of two houses Rutba folks live in.  More will come about our current affairs - and there is much to share! - soon.

I have to tell the story about Zane, and with it the story of Claire.  This evening, after supper, Jeff walked into Rutba One, as he had several times before throughout the weekend.  Zane is a slave - to alcohol - and his master makes him shoplift and steal things like Super Soakers to give to Jamaal.  This time, he came bearing no such gifts, but he was drunk; and this time, the conversation turned to the guests - us - and our journey, which was incredible for Zane to comprehend.  He kept asking, “‘ey… ‘ey… how you gettin’ there?” and whether it’s farther than Colombia, and warning us that there’re a lot of crazy people out there.  At one point, though, when the concept connected with him, he said, “‘ey… man…” as he dug around his pockets to pull out three crumpled ones.  “I ain’ rich,” he said, “but take this,” as he offered me one of them.  “You’ll need it.”  I took the dollar and thanked him for it, trying to fathom this gift.  Not two days earlier, Jon & I had played the receiving end of a similar situation with our host Claire, who handed us each a sum of cash, insisting, “you might need to get a hotel room… you know, with his leg and all.”  Accepting these gifts are humbling reminders of the economics of providence, which have supported us both serendipitously and lavishly already, less than a week into our journey.  We are provided for - and that, well - and we are reminded of Christ’s words, “freely you have received, now freely give.”  May such abundance always flow through our lives.