August 2000

Dear Friends,

Greetings in the name of the Lord!

"Christ is our peace. Christ has broken down the dividing wall of hostility and has made us one people."

"The Lord has assigned to each his task. I planted the seed. Apollos watered it, but God made it grow..for we are God’s fellow workers; you are God’s field, God’s building."

Unity in faith

The second day of the convention of the Presbytery of the North began early, with 6:00 a.m. devotions. I joined the other women for a time of singing, Bible-reading, a meditation and prayer. It began as any other early-morning devotion began, until it came time for prayer. I watched and joined the women, as we knelt on the cement floor around wooden benches or at the altar rail, and we prayed. In that moment I had a vision, not some heavenly vision with angels and bright light and glorias, but a simple, down-to-earth vision of the unity that is possible among the women of the Presbyterian Church of Guatemala, a unity that is already here, though few have seen it. The unity is in the deep faith of these women. There are so many things that separate the women within the Presbyterian Church here. Many speak Spanish, but others speak only their indigenous language—and there are some 23 indigenous languages in Guatemala! They dress differently, some in Western clothes, others in their indigenous trajes. They have such different levels of education—some are college graduates, others cannot read or write. They come from different cultures, traditions and customs. Some we would label as middle or upper middle class, while others live in poverty and struggle every day to provide food for their families. I have watched as all these differences become walls, walls of fear and distrust. Walls that separate the women one from the other. But in that early morning devotion time, I saw and was a part of what binds these women one to the other, their deep and profound faith in God. A faith that has sustained them in times of death, war, sickness, poverty; a faith that has brought them joy as they entrust their lives, and the lives of those they love, into the hands of a loving God. A faith that holds them up and holds them together. What a privilege I have to be able to live and visit and be with women in so many parts of Guatemala! I have eaten tortillas and beans in communities from the south coast to the highlands and have sat at banquet tables with other communities. I have traveled in buses, the back of pickup trucks, as well as cars. I have slept in fine hotels, and in homes where all six of us slept in the one room. I have worshiped in sanctuaries with stained glass windows, an organ and choir loft, and I have worshiped with congregations under the shade of a palm tree. I know the many differences, but I also have seen the faith of all these women, faith that God really does hold the whole world in His hands. Now if I can only help the women see past the walls and barriers and differences that are very real, to see one another as daughters of the living God. If only together we can experience the reality of the words in Ephesians, "Christ is our peace. Christ has broken down the dividing wall of hostility and has made us one people."

Special joys

Many of you have experienced the delight, the joy of watching your child or nephew or granddaughter write their name for the very first time. Perhaps when they were in kindergarten, first grade or before, they painstakingly wrote each letter of their name and the 4- or 5- or 6-year-old received your congratulations. I had the joy of watching Dominga, about 35 years old, painstakingly and carefully write her name for the first time. A big smile formed on her face as she accepted our congratulations. Dominga is participating in a literacy class in her church, along with some 300 other K’ekchi women who are studying in l5 centers within the five K’ekchi presbyteries. When Dominga and the other women were children, no one thought of sending girls to school, which was only for the boys. And the 36-year civil war in Guatemala meant that in many communities there were no schools operating. So now, in their 30s, 40s and 50s, women are going to school. Most of them will probably never be proficient in reading or writing either Spanish or their native language, K’ekchi (which all the women speak), but I can literally see them growing in self-confidence and pride in themselves as they learn to recognize and write some of the letters. As one of the women told me, "before we were like blind people, but now [with the classes] we are beginning to see." Surely this is a part of "opening the eyes of the blind" that was the work of Jesus and is our work as the body of Jesus.

There were tears, but I also knew joy, as when Amanda, one of the young adult volunteers, said her goodbyes to brothers and sisters in Guatemala. There were tears of sadness because she knew that soon she would be leaving this place and these people. But I felt joy deep within me because I knew that during the year living with the K’ekchis, Amanda had given her heart, her love, her compassion, her very self to them. I was joyful because I, and brothers and sisters here, had the opportunity to know and live with Amanda.

There was a special joy as I watched Marta’s face light up as she looked at the first photo she had ever seen of her two-year-old daughter. It was as though she was seeing Irma for the first time. And then we handed the photo to Irma! I doubt she has ever seen herself in a mirror so at first she could not quite understand who was looking back at her. Then there was the dawn of recognition and wonder in her eyes…this is me! I hugged her and said, yes, this is you, a child of God.

Who would have thought that I would have known joy in a morgue! This place of death was transformed for me into a place alive with the love and compassion of two friends of the person who had died, and with the presence of God’s Spirit. A North American had died while visiting in Guatemala, far from home and family, a setting for tragedy, grief and despair. Yes, there was grief and tears, but not despair, as I watched the two friends carefully wash, dry and dress the body of their friend who had gone to be with the Lord he had served all his life. They were ministering unto him as they would minister unto Jesus.

The joy I knew there was not wonder or delight, but a deep joy that holds one up in times of death. I knew joy as I saw the tenderness and care of friends for one they had learned to call "hermano" (brother). There was the joy of experiencing in the morgue the reality that we are one people in Jesus Christ and that our faith in the resurrection binds us together, both the saints living and those who have died and are with the Lord.

Life-giving water

I remember sitting around Dina’s and Angel’s dining-room table with a member of the congregation in Selva, trying to understand and complete the forms for the Presbyterian Hunger Program. The community of Selva needed a well; this community can only be reached by walking or horseback; the women had to walk down a steep, narrow trail to reach the river where they could get water, and then carry it back to their homes in large jugs. I had been to Selva. I could not imagine how the women were able to get enough water every day for cooking, drinking, washing clothes and bathing. I knew they needed a well. After our first meeting we decided we needed to involve more members of the community in completing the forms and thinking about how they might be able to construct the well.

One of the men borrowed a pickup truck, filled it with men, women, and children from Selva, and they traveled to the Seminary, about 25 miles. Some of them had never been that far from home! We talked about the hopes and dreams and needs of the community; filled out more forms and finally they were ready to be sent to Louisville. To be honest, I had little hope that the project for the well would be funded, but I figured we would give it a try. I almost forgot about the project as time passed, but the people of Selva did not forget; they needed a well. Finally one day word came that a check would be sent for the well! Now I thought, how is this community going to get this well constructed, knowing that all the materials had to be carried in on horseback or by the people across a swinging bridge and up that steep trail, and I knew that the community did not have a history of working together. When the check arrived it was the rainy season so the well could not be dug. Wisely, the committee invested the money in a six-month certificate and earned some interest as they waited for the time to begin work on the well. I was not in the community during the time that the well was being dug and the pila (a large cement basin for washing clothes or dishes) was being built, but I heard that the work was hard, they had encountered rock, they wondered if the money would be sufficient. Then last week I received a phone call, "you have a special invitation for Sunday, to come to the dedication and inauguration of the well!" I could not have been more pleased and excited! I made the trip in the back of a pickup truck with others from the Monte Hebron Church ( the mother church of the congregation in Selva). We parked the truck, piled out and began the trek on foot, across a dirt path that leads through a cornfield, then across the swinging bridge and up the steep, narrow trail. I thought of the folks bringing the materials for the well along this path. When we arrived we were welcomed by a large number of folks from the community, men, women and children. First we gathered for worship in the wooden structure that serves as their sanctuary. As I sat there I thought, they could have asked for money to rebuild this sanctuary, since it surely needs it, but they chose to ask for money for a well, believing that the work of the Church can take place both in the sanctuary and around a well.

After worship we went outside for the ceremony to inaugurate and dedicate the well. They sang the national anthem of Guatemala. I read a letter from Deborah McEachran, a pastor in Western North Carolina, who visited Selva as a part of her visit in April with the Monte Hebron Church. I told the crowd that on this very Sunday, all the churches in Western North Carolina were praying for their partner church, First Presbyterian Hickory, who had asked for prayers for their relationship with their partner church in Guatemala. There were words of thanksgiving to God and to all who had participated in the project from the committee. It was obvious that many people had participated in making this well a reality; they told of the children who helped carry the sand up the steep trail, of the man and women who had worked on its construction, of the folks who had contributed food for the celebration. We gathered to cut the ribbon that surrounded the well and pila, and then to draw the first bucket of water from the well. All ages were involved in the ceremony, adults helping children to cut the ribbon and to give a piece of the blue ribbon to everyone. I had a hard time finding words to express my joy at seeing what had happened in Selva. A community had worked together, all the while depending on God for help, to bring new life to this isolated place. There is new life in the water that they will drink and use for washing and bathing, and I believe there is new life of a community finding that they can work together; now there is hope for a better future for their children. I saw the Scripture passage that Deborah had included in her letter "come alive" in this community, for surely as Paul wrote to the Corinthians, he would also write to this community: "The Lord has assigned to each his task. I planted the seed. Apollos watered it, but God made it grow…for we are God’s fellow workers; you are God’s field, God’s building." I Corinthians 3

I thought, some in the community had the dream of a well. Others worked to build the well, but God made it all possible, for they worked together. Surely they are the people of God in this place.

Words for all of us

Jean-Bertrand Aristide, a priest and former president of Haiti, writes as he looks out at a group of poor people who have come to his home to ask for help,

"There will never be enough money to give each person the house, the job, the school fees that they need. But we always have enough humanity to treat one another with respect and dignity. People know when they are being treated with respect, as they know when they are being lied to. They may be illiterate, but they are not stupid."

When I read these words in an article in The Other Side, I thought, yes! In his words I could hear the words of Domingo, a leader among the K’ekchis, "we may not speak your language (Spanish) or have experience in administration, but we are not fools!" I heard the unspoken words of so many women I know, "We cannot read or write, but we are people too." I heard words I long for children to speak to adults, especially when I see adults abusing children, "Look at us, we may be small, we may not know what you know, but we count too!" So many times in Guatemala the situation seems hopeless, the needs for housing, food, jobs, health care and education are so great. What can I do? What can the Church do? In Jean-Bertrand Aristide’s words, "we can treat one another with respect and dignity." I think those are good words for all of us to remember, whether we live in Guatemala or the United States.

Ellen Dozier

The 2000 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, page 236