Life is Life
It’s 5:30 in the morning here; 4:30 for those of you on the East Coast of the U.S.
The gentle roar of our refrigerator’s compressor reminds me that, despite some minor inconveniences (like somewhat dirty water, the occasional power outage, and bachata music being shared by our neighbor from time-to-time), we basically live a comfortable, American life--in a different country.
We’re not really being challenged to live under difficult circumstances. Even in a developing nation, where people are going hungry on a daily basis, where basic medical care isn’t even available, much less denied, to many--where the human spirit is both alive-and-well and crushed simultaneously. We have more material things than most of the people we encounter every day--and many people back home.
They're so poor but so happy
There seems to be a carefree spirit here. It’s the same carefree spirit I remember from my childhood when each day was new - was an adventure - and wasn’t filled with the stress so many of us in the U.S. know today. My hometown was poor, but wasn’t the poorest by any stretch of the imagination.
We were a typical community in the U.S. holding our PTO (parent-teacher organization, pre-Harper Valley PTA) meetings and our county-wide sports tournaments. Our summers were spent at the pools & rivers, in the gardens, tobacco patches, and hay fields. The obligatory week of Vacation Bible School, the obligatory church revivals held semi-annually (if not quarterly), and the weekly grazing (which we called fellowship) after church on Sunday marked the region and religion I grew up knowing.
We also idolized professional athletes and rock musicians, with their images plastered on our bedroom walls, and their maneuvers running through our minds as we made every effort to imitate them. Aside from the obvious cultural differences, this town and its people are not so different from where I grew up.
Are the children here happier than I was growing up? Children are creative by nature and will find things to occupy their minds and time. Children will find sticks to play with, bicycles to ride, rocks to throw, papers to color and draw on. Imaginary friends, animals, or other children offer chances to have conversation and develop personalities. It’s only after children begin to grow up that creativity gives way to necessity.
The pang of hunger that could be temporarily ignored as a child becomes compounded by the weight of providing for a family. Suddenly, the “live for today” mentality no longer works because tomorrow is coming and there’s no food to eat and no job by which to earn money to buy food. The failure to plan for tomorrow has many adults hamstrung with no education, no job, and no hope both here and in the States. "Where there is no vision..."
When does helping hurt?
As I drive, look, and walk around Jarabacoa and the surrounding communities, I see an inundation of organizations bringing aid to a country, a city, a people hurting and in need. Some organizations are Christian, others are not. This has caused me to pause and reflect on more than one occasion. What differentiates us, one from another? A further, and more important question I've come to ask is, "Why should the focus be on the differences?"
As a believer in Christ, I struggle with many questions from time to time: What are we doing here? What am I doing here? Is any real difference being made? Are we like most of the mission teams that came to my hometown when I was growing up—a couple weeks of fun water balloon fights and some bible lessons, with emotional goodbyes at the end? Or are we making real, tangible differences here? Are we being changed, or further engrained in our beliefs and doctrines?
Am I becoming part of the culture where I’m living, or am I remaining an American living abroad amongst “these people”? Have I truly left my culture in order to identify with another? That isn’t really the American way. They are supposed to assimilate into my culture. After all (as the Puritans thought), it's their manifest destiny to obtain God's good fortunes, too. (The Call, Os Guinness, p. 115)
Contradiction in Lives
I grew up having slight disdain for those rich people living in our neighborhoods who didn’t quite understand what ‘real life’ was like. They never invited us over for dinner (and we never invited them over, either). They always did some grand thing at a local hospital or school to show their benevolence—but I never knew them on a personal level. Looking back, I don’t think I ever cared to know them. I simply was too young to care, or later on, was too caught up in my personal injury--or that of my family--to reach out for relationship. Living in another country now, watching the occasional news events about my home country, I see that America and her church, have become those rich people to the world.
We bicker and gripe over this political issue or that humanitarian cause as we all sit on our money, while the world watches in famished disgust. We indulge our self-promoting causes, we protest when we should be reaching out. We debate when we should be listening; we impose when we should be taking the posture of servants. We deny when we should be welcoming. Although there are exceptions to every rule, bread is bread, whether it's whole-grain, pita, or pumpernickel, and the United States is one giant bread store.
What to do?
I’m one of the billions of people who ascribe to one of the major religions of the world. I’m one of the millions upon millions that worship only one god in my religion. I’m one of the millions who claim that this same god is the only real god. I’m also one of the millions who claim this one true god interacts with us on both corporate and personal levels in daily life--who claim this same god had a son that came to live on this planet where I live in such a way that he guaranteed the way for me to live eternally in the presence of that same god. I’m one of the milliions upon millions who was born in the United States and has had the privilege of never actually having to put my life at risk for the religion or god I hold so dearly. The greatest threat to my life has been, essentially, someone shaking their finger at me, saying, “You can’t do that (pray in school, say 'under God', etc.) anymore” – with absolutely no consequence; this potential public shaming has come to be called persecution.
When I see what's taking place in the Middle East, China, and other non-Christian-friendly areas of the world, I have to believe that we North Americans don't actually know what persecution is. We seem to think that because gay marriage has been deemed lawful that the end times are near. Much of the Christian world has been suffering prison, beatings, beheadings, crucifixions, or mustard gas--just to name a few things--for centuries and now that we have to let Syrians into our country, that the Great Tribulation is now ready to begin. Since when did the U.S. become the linch-pin of God's plan for mankind?
As the roosters continue to crow, the birds continue to chirp, and the refrigerator continues to hum, I'm sitting here on our couch being reminded that I don't have to suffer--I "made it out". This reminder has been wonderful to me, because it causes me to remember one thing: we're all poor. Period. Without Jesus, this -- missions, para-church organizations, church -- is all worthless dung (as Paul puts it). I don't have to change a community. I don't have to solve the problem of hunger and poverty. I don't have to introduce a new, better way of living. I can love Jesus and tell others about Him whether I'm eating at Ruth's Chris or sitting on someone's front porch with nothing but day-old bread and a tiny cup of coffee.
He'll make the change. I simply need to be available for His use.
And so do you.
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