April 2000

Dear Friends,

As I move through this "Ordinary Season" in the church calendar and wait for the days of Holy Week and the rains that everyone hopes will come soon, I often see passages of Scripture "come alive" in the people and land and life of Guatemala. I want to share some of the times and places that Scripture "takes on flesh" for me.

I thought of the verse from Nehemiah, "the joy of the Lord is your strength," as I visited with a women’s group in an indigenous community, for I saw both joy and strength there. Joy was in the dancing eyes and laughter of a girl chasing after soap bubbles. Her laughter, curiosity and lack of fear in the face of strangers with soap bubbles contrasts with the many of the children I see who are listless, unresponsive and hide behind their mother’s skirts at the sight of anyone new in their community. I saw strength in the indigenous women. I remember especially Cristiana, 29 years old, with five children, who told us of the women’s work. The day we visited was the second day of a training session; first they had learned to make soap, then how to use plants for medicinal purposes. The teacher not only verbally shared her knowledge, but in the best of "hands on education" allowed each women to cut and prepare the plants. Their was pride and strength in their voices as they spoke of their accomplishments. Cristiana spoke of the need for funds to continue their work, not begging for help, but stating their situation and their hopes and dreams for their families, which needed the financial support of outside sources.

The words in Romans, "Share with God’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality," are taken seriously among the poor of Guatemala, but perhaps all have not heard, as is evident in this experience. "I don’t have room for you to stay the night with me," those words came tumbling back into my head as José said, "If you can’t stay for lunch with us, at least have a piece of watermelon, and take this bag of mangoes home with you." I had stopped by to leave a small birthday gift for José’s wife, Wilma, and they insisted I stay for refreshments. We sat outside in plastic chairs under the mango tree; their son had moved his small table and typewriter outside to work on his paper for his studies at the university. I could not imagine someone having the fortitude and determination to take university courses in this environment! José’s home is pieces of plastic and tin held together with string. Wilma cooks over a wood fire outside. They do not own the small piece of land. I am sure that if I needed a place to sleep, they would have found room for me, probably by giving me whatever bed they had. The words, "I don’t have room for you to stay the night with me," were spoken by a woman who lives in a city with a home that would look like a mansion to José, Wilma and their children. I am sure she meant that she had no extra room for me to sleep in, but I could not help but think of the stark contrast between her words and those of José. I remembered the many times I have slept in one-room homes; sometimes a mattress is pulled off a bed, put on the floor, and miraculously two beds appear; other times two, three or four people occupy one bed. I try to understand why those who have so little, are the ones most open to share. Do those of us who have so much feel we must hold on to it or lose it? Have only the poor truly heard Jesus words that if you give your life away, you will find it? Are the lives of the wealthy of the world defined only by what we have?

In the book of Acts, Paul quotes Jesus words, "It is more blessed to give than to receive." Many of the poorest people have understood the meaning as those words, as I was reminded by the gift of two pieces of fruit. I was walking the dirt path back to the seminary, carrying in each hand a sweet, warm, ripe piece of fruit, another example of the spirit of giving, the generosity of the poor. I hardly know the woman who picked this fruit from her tree; her daughter, whom I see from time to time at the seminary, saw me walking down the path and after the usual greetings, she called me over to the house. Do you like mangoes she asked? I nodded my head, and quickly she ran to her Mother to get the two mangoes for me. These two pieces of fruit speak to me of far more than food to eat, for I know that the family usually sells their fruit to make a few centavos to buy corn or beans. Instead of keeping the fruit for their use, they freely gave it away, expecting nothing in return, for that is the custom among the poor, to give

The words of the psalm, "O God, you are my God, my soul earnestly seeks you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water," came to me as we drove for what seemed like forever on the dirt road. Spreading out before us on either side was dry, dusty, flat, tired land. This lifeless, dry land is waiting, waiting for the rains that everyone hopes will arrive in the next month, rains that will bring life and hope to this dry, dusty, thirsty land. I thought how like the land many of the Guatemalans are. People whose lives are dry, dusty, thirsty; people who are waiting and hoping, for in Spanish the word "esperar" means both to wait and to hope; one cannot wait without hope, nor hope without waiting. I wonder as I have so often when will the waters come to bring life to this thirsty land and people.

The women I am working with know the meaning of the Scripture that reminds us to "encourage one another daily," "be faithful in prayer." There have been many times when I traveled with a group of women long distances to "encourage and pray for their sisters in the faith." Let me tell you of just one such visit. At the end of a very long day, I could wash away most of the dust that clung to my body and clothes; I could wash away some of the tiredness, but I could not wash away all I had seen and heard and thought about on the visit to an island called "El Chico." I could not wash away the picture of Hermano Juan who came to meet us in a boat, ferried us to the island, returned us safely after our visit. It is Juan and his family who hold the church congregation together. He told us that even if no one comes for worship, he reads Scripture, prays, preaches and sings. I could not wash away the sight of that small group, "the remnant" who gathered in front of the church building for their photo. I could not wash away the knowledge that the people who live on the island have no electricity, that medical care is a two-hour trip in a boat and by bus, that their diet consists mainly of fish and tortillas. I could not wash away the memory of the children who eagerly gathered around to hear me read the story of the Runaway Bunny, nor the memory of the l0-year-old girl who read the story again and again to the same group of children. I could not wash away the beauty of the Pacific Ocean, a clean beach with grayish black sand, a breeze pushing away for a brief moment the intense heat of the sun; but there were no people on the beach; it would be a luxury they could not afford to have time and energy just to sit and enjoy the beach. I could not wash away the words spoken by the people we visited, "please pray for me, pray for my family, the husband of my daughter was killed, the husband of another daughter abandoned her." I could not wash away the memory of the circle of prayer as we gathered around three little girls whose Mother had asked us to pray for the children, who are all sick. I could not wash away the questions that filled my mind. How do you minister to people who live such an isolated life on this island? We spoke words of prayer, does God not expect us to be at least a part of the answer to these desperate prayers?

Daily I see the Scripture that reminds us to "trust in the Lord God," lived out in so many people here. I remember especially Marta. She and I had traveled together on the bus to the convention of the women of Pacífico Presbytery. When we arrived I went to greet the women who were in the outdoor kitchen preparing lunch, and then went to arrange things for my workshop. I wondered where Marta was until I went into the church sanctuary and saw her kneeling in prayer on the hard cement floor. "Marta knows the most important preparation for the day!" I thought. As I stood quietly at the back of the sanctuary, I remembered what she had shared with me during the bus trip; she has 11 children, one of whom died, a husband who abandoned her for a year and has now returned to live in the same house , but does not talk with her. She told me that she has always gone to God for help and that God had given her the strength she needed. Marta knows in the depths of her being the meaning of the words, "God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble."

It is exciting to see the way the women understand the words from James, "faith not accompanied by action, is dead." After a Bible study discovering the ways women lived and worked for God in the past, I asked each group to present a skit about their ministry today. It was wonderful to watch the way in which they integrated what we call "spiritual" and "material" ministry. In one skit there was a woman with a baby who was sick. A group from the church came to visit her. She spoke of her concern for her baby, her lack of money to buy medicine, that she felt no one cared for her. The church group then read Scripture, sang, and prayed for the mother and baby. They also gave the mother money for medicine and rice and beans to eat. Truly they brought "good news to the poor" through their visit.

I give thanks to God for the way that Scripture takes on life for me and pray that God will continue to open my mind and heart to receive these blessings.

The abundant life

I think most anyone who comes from the United States to live in Guatemala, and truly lives with the people, will sooner or later find herself having to redefine the meaning of an "abundant life."

After only a short time here it is clear that the abundant life has little to do with having the latest style or being able to go to certain places or add regularly to your bank account. The abundant life has little relation to the size of your house, wardrobe or car (if you have one). Here, one comes to understand that the abundant life is one in which you have access to the basic essentials of life: education, health care, a place to live, food to eat. The abundant life is always a life shared, with family, with friends, with the community. The abundant life is lived in a spirit of gratitude, gratitude for a clean bed and a night of sleep; gratitude for a cold shower and, on the few occasions there is a warm or even hot water, gratitude overflows! Gratitude for a plate of steaming hot black beans and tortillas. These things, and many more, are not in abundance here; you can’t be sure that you will always have them, so there is an element of surprise, and sometimes awe, when once again there is food to eat, water for a bath, a safe arrival after a bus trip. My prayer is that all God’s people everywhere will know this abundant life.

Cutting down trees or planting seeds

As I begin my work with the presbiteriales in Guatemala I see that I have several options for how to go about my work. Since I like to think in concrete images, I can envision my work in one of two ways, cutting down trees or planting seeds. If I see my work as cutting down trees I will try to make some radical changes in the way things are done here, and believe me there are days when I would like to do this! To cut down trees would mean doing away with what seems to me to be out of date, unnecessary and useless. To cut down trees would mean bringing in my ideas and plans after I have done away with those old trees! Although there are days when I surely would like to cut down at least a few of these trees, I know that is not the way to go about my work. A much better image to follow is that of planting seeds. I can plant seeds of new ways of being and doing; seeds of new ideas; seeds of new ways of looking at Scripture; seeds of hope for what God is doing in our midst. I can plant these seeds, and wait. Others will have to do the work of watering the seeds, pruning back the vines, fertilizing the soil, and those others are the Guatemalan women. And all of us will have to wait for and depend upon the work of God to produce an abundant harvest of new life.

Rev. Ellen Dozier

The 2000 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, page 236