| Martha was my supervisor. She is a member of
the executive committee of the Presbyterian Women, the pastor's wife of our local
church and the church nurse. When she was a child there was only enough money
for a couple of her siblings to go to school. Her family sent her brothers. She
worked to help pay for their education. She started elementary school when she
was 21, paying her own way. Later she felt called to seminary. Getting permission
from her husband, she begins her studies. However, he was very clear that he
would never allow her to be ordained, a decision reinforced by her father. She
opted to stop fighting him on the issue for the sake of peace in her home. She
prays everyday that God will touch their hearts and help them to change their
minds. She continues to use her theological education to do ministry in her local
church and at the presbytery level despite the fact that she can't have the title
of pastor
Vila is a 13-year-old girl from my church. When she reached the third grade
her parents took her out of school. Her mother had given birth to her 7th child.
Vila, the oldest daughter in the home, was taken out of school to help her mother
with the household chores. Their family, like most in my village, washes all
of their laundry by hand in the river. Laundry for 9 people takes a long time.
Vila and her mother also make by hand at least 100 tortillas a day to feed the
family. There is little hope of her returning to school.
The stories of Patricia, Martha and Vila could be the story of countless Guatemalan
women. Unfortunately, there is nothing unusual about these stories. Each Thursday
I led bible studies with the women in my town. We were exploring spiritual gifts.
I asked the women what they thought their spiritual gifts were. All of them told
me their one and only spiritual gift was, la limpieza, cleaning the church. They
also told me that they believed that God only gives you one spiritual gift.
I also worked with the Executive Committee of the Presbyterian Women. In April,
we were invited to the presbytery meeting. We elected our two delegates who obediently
and willingly fulfilled their responsibility. The rest of us went to support
them. Many of us traveled an entire day by bus, leaving our homes at 5 am. During
the meeting we slept on the floor of a church member's home while many of the
pastors stayed in a near by hotel.
When we arrived at the meeting we were politely greeted, but with some distance.
We sat in the back. The meeting started and all the bodies represented were welcomed,
except ours. We began to realize that our invitation there was not a sincere
desire for our presence but more the fulfillment of an obligation.
The agenda turned to the issue of the ordination of women as elders and pastors.
The national church has approved the ordination of women but many present at
the meeting disagreed.
We listened as the majority of them rejected the ordination of female elders
and pastors. Saying things like it goes against the Holy Scriptures. Most of
the women I was with are studying in seminary. Their advisor is an ordained female
pastor from the PC(USA) with a PhD from Princeton. We knew that no woman would
ever be ordained as a pastor by this presbytery anytime soon.
The time came for the executive committee of the Presbyterian Women to present
our report, as all our past work and future plans must be approved by the presbytery.
We were condescended too and treated as though we had no knowledge of our own
work or how to implement our plans. We had carefully followed the changes they
had suggested at the last meeting but they still said we were not doing enough.
We were treated as their unknowing and naive children, not as theologically trained
colleagues. Even at lunch we were shunned by our own community of faith. Pastors
and elders ignored us; they shot us dirty looks. We know we were no longer welcome
there. Why? Because we are women.
We stood together stunned. We had worked so hard. Progress had been made.
We thought we were finally beginning to gain their respect. But we had just been
pushed 5 steps backward. We pulled together. We tried to encourage each other.
Martha said, 'Ay hermanas, para mis nietas, paramis nietas, hago la lucha, para
mis nietas pastoras.' "Oh my sisters, for my granddaughters, for my granddaughters,
I am in this struggle, so my granddaughters can be pastors". We left the
meeting broken. We were beaten down. We struggled to make sense of it and to
move forward. How should we respond? We were determined but hurting.
Part 2
In July we were still struggling to understand what we had experienced at
the Presbytery meeting. The wound was still fresh. It was then that God sent
us a gift. A group of four women, came from Fairfax Presbyterian Church in Virginia,
my home church.
Carol, one of our pastors, Ann, Trina, and Carolyn, my mom, came to build
relationships, to learn how their sisters in Christ were living and to support
me. These four women will tell you all kinds of gifts they received through the
warm hospitality and grace of Guatemalans. I don't think they knew the gift of
healing they were bringing with them.
I had been living with the Guatemalan's for almost a year. I had witnessed
and experienced their joys and pains. I am a member of both the group that received
the delegation but at the same time I am a member of Fairfax Presbyterian Church.
I both served on the delegation and was served by the delegation. My dual role
was quite a blessing and taught me a lot about the power a short-term mission
project can have.
While they were there, we visited, led workshops and learned to make tortillas.
One of the most poignant moments for me was a morning with the executive committee
of the Presbyterian Women. The plan was for each group, the women from Guatemala
and the women from Virginia to plan and share a workshop. The workshop that the
women from Fairfax brought included a foot washing service. Pastor Carol, read
the story from John 13. We talked about the passage. We talked about service.
She then explained that she, along with Ann and my mom were going to wash the
feet of the women as Jesus had washed the feet of the disciples. The Guatemalan
women were a little unsure about the whole thing. They had never experienced
anything like this. They sat with their arms crossed looking a little suspicious
but open. Pastor Carol knelt down in front of Marina. She slid her shoes off
and gently held her feet with great care over the bowl, slowing pouring over
them the perfumed water. She looked Marina in the eye and said, "You are
a child of God. I wash your feet in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy
Spirit. Do unto others what I have done for you." As I translated her profoundly
gentle words in to Spanish, my mom slowly and deliberately knelt in front of
Marina. She winced in pain on the way down holding on to my arm for support.
My mom has severe Rheumatoid Arthritis. Getting up and down off the floor is
painful and difficult. She dried Marina's feet with a towel, hugging each foot
with her motherly hand as if to say, "Thank you for the love and care you
are giving to my daughter while she was far away from home." She looked
in Marina's tear-filled eyes, smiled with her whole being, mother to mother,
and then reached for my arm to help her up. The women were watching with great
interest. They had uncrossed their arms. They were all aware of the presence
of the Holy Spirit among us. Pastor Carol, Ann and my mom worked their way around
the circle taking the same care with each wounded and tired set of feet.
What they had done was a symbolic act of love and service for a group of wounded
women who spend their lives serving their families and their God with little
to no recognition. These women are what keep the church going. This was probably
for some of them the first time that anyone had ever humbled themselves before
them in reverent service to them. It was the first time for many of them that
anyone had ever said, "I see you as a servant of the Lord and I validate
your work." It was a gift that only God could bring to us. The women in
Guatemala still talk about that event, as do the women from Fairfax.
They didn't bring hammers and nails and they didn't build a house or a school.
But they were busily building the whole week. They built hope. They built bridges
of friendship. They built a space of healing. They built relationships that we,
none of us, Guatemalan or North American will ever forget. |
