I ended up near a shelter, and
a 10-year-old little boy named Manuel came up and asked me if
I was from the United States. I asked him if he thought I was
from the United States and he responded “yes.” I asked
him, “why?” and he said: “Primero, Usted, es
altotote y nosotros chaparitos.” (You are really tall and
we are short.) “Segundo, Usted es güero y nosotros
morenos.” (You are white and we are dark).
We ended up talking for a long time and he told me that his house
was (past tense) pink. He pointed toward the river and said that
he had lived there, and now he and his family were all in the
shelter. He introduced me to his whole family and we talked for
a good while. He asked me who my favorite soccer team was, and
I let him know that of course it was the Jaguares, the team from
Chiapas.
As I was about to leave, he told me to wait and he went to the
room in the shelter where his family was staying with about 20
others. He brought back an orange Jaguares jersey, just his size.
I looked at it and smiled and handed it back. “No,”
the little boy, whose house had disappeared along with almost
all of his material belongings, said, “I want you to have
it” and he gave it back to me with a huge smile.
To get back from Tapachula on Thursday I had to walk over three
huge mudslides in the dark and driving rain—led by two folks
who were drunk, but insisted on not letting me go alone—strange
to encounter drunk angels of God. After maybe 7 to 10 miles of
walking in driving rain and in the dark, some folks from the Salvador
Urbina community were able to pick me up in a car. They actually
had to walk several miles to meet me after a mudslide cut their
path off coming down the mountain.
The community of Salvador Urbina took care of all our physical
needs while we were there. It reminded me of the Scripture where
Jesus told the disciples not to take a lot with them into the
villages and rely on the community’s hospitality. Needless
to say, this was a difficult thing for our group of North Americans
who are used to paying for their hospitality.
So often, we U.S. Christians do not think we can be in mission
unless we take something material to share with those we are going
to be with, or unless we build something; and yet, in the Scripture
Jesus and the disciples modeled a different kind of mission.
It was amazing to experience the care of the families who had
families in the flood areas and had no way of hearing from them,
some knowing that their families had lost all their material belongings,
including their houses.
Equally amazing was hearing the testimonies from the community
of how our presence was a calming presence that gave them strength
and hope in the midst of the despair.
To experience such generosity, joy, and hope in the midst of
such deep suffering is truly one of the mysterious Christian paradoxes.
To feel impotent in the face of such tragedy and yet to discover
the importance and power of presence. In the midst of feeling
powerless, I discovered the power of incarnational ministry.
Mark
The 2006 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p.
66 |
