Easter

Easter was one of the most joyous and real holidays that I have celebrated in a while. Somehow the meaning of holidays and events seems to be a little shaded or tilted towards family traditions or individual preferences for me in the states, but here, it is dominately celebrated in the same union of spirit, for the same singular cause. Easter here was about Christ, walking with Him in a way that most of us never dare to outside of our daily lives. It wasn´t about the baskets of goodies burried around the house, or the special family brunches, or even different musical festivites on Sunday morning. It was about Christ, plain and simple. Beautiful.

We had the honor of being invited to paricipate in one of the renactments of Christ´s death, which meant that we would parade through the streets of Duran, following a man carrying a cross, with hundreds of witnesses doing the same. We were elected to be the town people, the bystanders that watched Jesus brutual walk up the mount. The procession started in the heat of the day, and the 3 hours that followed didn´t prove to be any cooler than high noon. We wore sheets, which looked like togas, to better prepare ourselves for the dress of the day. These proved to increase the heat, and made the journey a tad more realistic at the hint of suffering we tasted under all our layers. It was so moving, to be walking down the middle of the main street, cars haulting and stoped for blocks, and hundreds of people walk silently and mournfully behind the man carrying the cross. At times it was too bright to see anything, and in those blind moments of surrender, I felt like I could have actually been right there, broken hearted, witnessing the painful march, all done out of love, for me.

Later that night we did another procession to the church for 9pm mass. We started out a group of 30 of us, carrying candels and singing to the guitar that strummed along behind the cross. As we passed through the woven dirt roads of Arbolito, more and more people came out of their houses, carrying their own glowing prayers, their hopes and hearts. Before long, I turned around to find that there were hundreds of people, families, walking and singing into the cool April night, candles waving over the darkness. The most memorable thing for me was seeing all our of kids, all the little people that we pour our hearts to through our afterschool programs, wandering through the mountain of people, running up and grabbing our hands, walking arm and arm with us, singing and smiling together towards the goodness of God. It made me feel a familiar feeling, that of a community embraced and settled in love, reaching out and being enough.

The next night we had a mass at the larger church across town, and this one was also a candle light service, and being a part of their worship, of the lighting of the incense, of the kindling hope for what tomorrow, Easter Sunday, would reveal and change for the world, made it all seem like something very Divine, very much a part from our ordinary and human lives as volunteers.

I think that the focus on Christ, what He suffered and what He went through to deliver us over to eternal life, is what surpirsed and awed me the most. I had never put so much thought or energy into it, and it had never been displayed for me in such a community sense, where everyone worked at making it real and visible so that all might understand and live differently in light of what happened.

Christ rose. He is alive, and we are alive with Him.

That message still reverberates in me, to my bones. All of us, living as One, because of God´s love, displayed and written in death. Death turned to Life.


Peace be with you.

Better Late than Never!

Yup...I am still alive, and still in Ecuador, although you might not be able to tell from the lack of blogs I have written in the last few months. I even got an email from one of my biggest fans...a man named Dan Kemme...asking me to please update, even if its just a few sentences a week. haha! It really is not in my blood to write short things, but I will try to be better about updating!

Washing of the feet

As a Rostro de Cristo (“Face of Christ”) volunteer, one of our goals is to strive to see the face of Christ in the world around us. A few months ago, I was blessed with a moment in which I saw His face alive and right in front of me. I have wanted to share the following story with you since it happened, but reflecting about it on Holy Thursday brought it even more meaning.

In the rainy season, the streets in Arbolito turn into rivers and mudpits. Some are worse than others, but they are all pretty bad and make getting around much harder. Huge puddles of standing water allow bacteria and diseases to grow, even sometimes below people’s cane houses. In Sector Four, the poorest and most dangerous section of Arbolito where our friends Kika and Lucy live, a few houses even fell during the rainy season due to the weakening of the foundation in the wet ground. This season makes life a little more difficult for the already difficult lives of our neighbors.

One day in February after a particularly strong rainstorm the night before, I was walking with Carolyn to visit Lucy. Around Lucy’s house were some of the worst puddles that we had seen. It was literally impossible to walk to her front door because the entire street was filled with water, and even walking around the side to the back door led through lots of mud. Carolyn and I had been tip-toeing and puddle-hopping the whole way to Lucy’s to avoid getting our feet too dirty. However, as we took the route around the side of the house to the back door, I mis-stepped, and my foot landed in a big pile of wet mud. With a nice big “schhlooop” sound, my whole sandal got sucked in. “Shooot!” I said as Carolyn and I laughed and I pulled my foot out. It was just caked with mud. Lucy laughed at me as we walked through her back gate and toward her house. She handed me a little bucket of water so I could clean my feet before coming inside. I stood on her cement step, trying to balance as I took off my sandal, poured water over my feet, and tried to use my free hand to wipe the chunks of sticky mud off. I clearly was having a hard time and looking totally awkward, haha.

At that moment, Michelle, an 11 year old neighbor and friend of Lucy, got up from where she was sitting in the house, and walked over to me. “Mira” (Look), she said simply, as she took the little bucket from me. She removed my sandal and set it next to my foot. Then, with care, she proceeded to pour a stream of water over my feet and wipe the mud away. She did it matter-of-factly and almost nonchalantly, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary or special about what she was doing. I felt like I should protest – my feet were so dirty! But I was speechless. I watched, amused and deeply touched, as she passed her hands over my feet until they were completely clean. “Gracias, Michelle,” I said, unable to really express the wonder and deep gratitude I felt in my heart. God was right there in that moment, staring me in the face. My heart was full for the whole afternoon, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the power of the moment. Washing feet is something we do in church once a year, as a symbol, to people’s whose feet are really already clean. Nobody REALLY washes each other´s feet, right?! It was such a small act, but it spoke volumes. When I got home that day, I took out my Bible, and found the passage about the washing of the feet.

“If I, therefore, the master and teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to wash one another’s feet. I have given you a model to follow, so that as I have done for you, you should also do. Amen, Amen, I say to you, no slave is greater than his master, nor any messenger greater than the one who sent him.” (John 13:14)

So, there it is, plain and simple. Jesus tells us explicitly in this verse that we are to serve others, no matter who we are, earnestly, humbly, with love and care. I have been thinking a lot lately about the phrase "Blessed are the poor in spirit." I don't think I ever really understood what that meant, but after living in Duran for 9 months, I am starting to get it. It is just this earnest and simple love for others, an understanding of our need for God, and faith in Him that is truly inspiring. When I looked down at Michelle’s face that day as she scrubbed away at my feet…wow…I saw the face of Christ alive, staring right at me. It was so beautiful! She saw that I was in need, and so she helped. As she washed my feet, I knew she wasn't thinking about any barriers of race, nationality, age, wealth...How I wish that I could have such a simple, humble heart whose only instinct is to reach out to a neighbor when they are in need - even when it means stooping down to wash mud off of someone's stinky feet. I feel so blessed to have received this little but POWERFUL reminder of God’s call to love others. Every day, I continue to learn what it means to lower ourselves in the humble service of others and to encounter the joy that God offers us when we do so.

Allowing ourselves to be nourished

I´ve learned something about God´s love this past week. Mom and Dad were here visiting, and in their week here we received countless invitations from neighbors to share meals with them. So we accepted, and ate homemade ecuadorian meals until our sensitive american bellies were full, full, full. Mom and Dad offered to buy the food they´d cook, or to pay for the desserts they served us that they normally sell from their homes, and no one would ever accept any kind of payment or reimbursement. Mom´s [grateful] reaction to this hospitality was ¨how do you ever get back at these people? how do you ever get even with them if you can´t give them anything in return?¨

Well, the point isn´t to ´get back´, ´get even´, or try to match or even outdo their hospitality. It´s a lesson in humbly receiving. Our neighbors here have a beautiful gift of giving, wholly and selflessly. And sometimes we just aren´t so good at being on the receiving end of that. I´m finding that this year is a lesson in receiving the generosity and love that is poured out for us, in allowing ourselves to be humbled in a way that we are not used to and not always comfortable with. Sort of like God´s love, right? I mean, who among us thinks that we´ll eventually be able to ´get even´ with the love shown to us through the creation, redemption, and sanctification of humanity? The Incarnation, Crucifixion, and Resurrection? We can´t match that. But we can open our hearts to it, humbly receive it, let it take root within us, and reflect it to others in the way we live our lives. Jesus washed feet, but also had his own face wiped. And that Face of Christ is in the giving and receiving of love, which often takes place over a delicious ecuadorian meal. So maybe God´s love is like when you drop by a neighbor´s house and somehow end up with a heaping plate of rice, lentils and plantains in front of you when you didn´t even think you were hungry....but it´s so yummy that you eat it all anyway.

[thought: i wonder who brought the bread and wine to the Last Supper?]