One last set of notes from Nouwen's Latin American Journal...

On the anonymous martyers of El Salvador (Wednesday, March 24, 1982):  "They are men and women who were killed because, in some way or another, they witnessed for freedom, human dignity, and a new society....We celebrated Bishop Romero's death in the Church of Ciudad de Dios.  I am increasingly impressed by the Christian possibility of celebrating not only moments of joy but also moments of pain, thus affirming God's real presence in the thick of our lives.  A true Christian always affirms life, because God is the God of life, a life stronger than death and destruction.  In him we find no reason to despair.  There is always reason to hope, even when our eyes are filled with tears." 


And in his conclusion:  "A treasure lies hidden in the soul of Latin America, a spiritual treasure to be recognized as a gift for us who live in the illusion of power and self-control.  It is the treasure of gratitude that can help us to break through the walls of our individual and collective self-righteousness and can prevent us from destroying ourselves and our planet in the futile attempt to hold onto what we consider our own.  If I have any vocation in Latin America, it is the vocation to receive from the people the gifts they have to offer us and to bring these gifts back up north for our own conversion and healing."

Pastoral Presence

"...I have come to believe strongly that a 'pastoral presence' is more important than any plan or project.  This conviction has grown out of the observation that, more than anything else, people want you to share their lives....The greatest news of all is that God is with his people, that he is truly present.  What greater ministry, then, can be practiced than a ministry that reflects this divine presence?  And why worry?  If God is with his own, his own will show me the way." - Henri Nouwen (Sunday, February 21, 1982 journal entry from ¡Gracias! A Latin American Journal)

Nouwen on Gustavo Gutierrez

" Gustavo stressed the 'eruption of the poor into the history of Latin America.' The suffering poor have become the pastoral agents who point to a new way of being Christian, a new spirituality, characterized by a call to conversion not only of individual people, but of the church as a whole. This conversion promises a way of living in which effectiveness is sought in a climate of grace. Such a climate allows us to experience a real joy that comes forth from suffering, helps us to live as 'spiritual infants' with the poor while fighting against poverty, and makes it possible to find freedom in a communal life. Although all of these are among the classical themes of a Christian spirituality, they have found new articulation and meaning in the context of the eruption of the poor. What struck me most was Gustavo's ability to integrate a spirituality of struggle for freedom with a spirituality of personal growth. He placed great emphasis on the importance of personal friendship, affective relationships, 'useless' prayer, and intimate joy as essential elements of a true struggle for liberation."

These words speak to my current struggle with the idea of a theology of liberation... perhaps the liberation is not from poverty and oppression, but from our own isolation in the material wealth of our culture. Perhaps we are the ones liberated when we walk in solidarity with the poor. In order to walk with them and find our own liberation, we must join their struggle for liberation from their own chains of bondage... Perhaps true liberation comes with only a small step away from abject poverty - both spiritual and material. We need help each other step away from the bondage of poverty - and the bondage of materialism, so that we have the ability to make a true choice to walk the narrow path between the the two.

SMC Valle Nuevo Delegation (Day #8 - last entry)

(August 9, 2010 reflecting on June 26, 2010) In my journal I have written: Isaías 30:21 Ya sea que te desvíes a la derecha o a la izquierda, tus oídos percibirán a tus espaldas una voz que te dirá "Éste es el camino; siguelo."

This is the text of scripture from Isaiah 30:21 which reads in English: Your own ears will hear him. Right behind you a voice will say, “This is the way you should go,” whether to the right or to the left.

We went to the lay led worship service on Saturday morning, I also wrote the following observation: "Two of the women - up front & closing doors - are wearing all white. It gives the impression of being set apart." I definitely heard that still small voice during this prayer session. I wrote: "...when I think too much about the future - in many ways (it) doesn't compute. It is when I pray that (I can see) the way forward. Nothing really computes at all cerebrally about my future and the uncertainty of (it). Today my prayers were in tongues, saying, I suppose, the words my mind won't allow me to say - pouring out my heart and coming only in this way to a peace - regarding the future - and in those moments I am at peace about walking (forward)..."

This day of prayer and saying goodbye was a very personal one for me - not filled so much with reflections on the stories I had heard, but filled with the anticipation and the uncertainty of the future that awaited me upon my return to my own life and people. My time in Valle Nuevo, once again, was a healing time for me. We gathered for lunch at Angelina and Pedro's house - and I was met with the overwhelming affection of their daughters - who threatened to kidnap me and not allow me to leave. The sharing of my own story with them and with a few others has formed a bond, a connection - one that I have a desire to continue to cultivate. I have come to a new place within the past year between my first and this, my second visit to Valle Nuevo. My desire to remain connected to people who are far away seems somewhat attainable now - though I have been so completely overwhelmed by this idea in the past. Bit by bit, even since June, I have been able to very slowly reestablish communication with some of my own people. My hope is to also remain connected to Valle Nuevo in someway throughout the coming year - probably through email communication with Morena. We share a common vocation - I recognize in her the passion for teaching children that I know in myself.

Now, as I write this last reflection - it is hard to believe that I have come to the end of these writings - I look forward to tomorrow and the continuing on of reconnecting, and remaining connected to the people God has put, and continues to put in my path. We left Valle Nuevo on this day, and left El Salvador the next- but I have written nothing further written in my journal, and so, I will end with one last thought.

The very last words I have written in my journal are the following, one phrase on top of the other with a line dividing them, as if it were a fraction. "Voz de duda / Voz de paz." (Voice of doubt / Voice of peace.) The way forward after a tragedy is sometimes very confusing. When my thoughts are filled with the voice of doubt, it is only within my prayers that I can come to a place of peace about the future. The faith of the people of Valle Nuevo has taught me to listen to that voice of peace.

SMC Valle Nuevo Delegation (Day #7)

(Reflecting on Friday, June 25) Friday morning, I had a little time before we set off to Tomasa's house for her interview. I wrote in reflection of the previous evening - good personal conversation with Morena - about children, love, life in general. She spoke of my sons as fruit "fruto". "Un fruto que perdure..." I read that morning in scripture. My time in Costa Rica before my trip to El Salvador was a time of closure and reflection on the 13 years of my life invested in the people there. My children are fruit of that investment - but they are not everything. Their is also the house - in which we practiced so much hospitality, and now, in turn, César and Irela Rodríguez, with their son Matias, continue to do so. There were many lives touched - and my life was touched by many...

"Embrace wisdom..."

I had been carrying around an empty journal - something I needed to give over in some way as a symbol of the closure I had experienced. This day the opportunity arose - because Joel had run out of pages in his own notebook from the 17+ hours of interviews we had done. I was happy to put the journal to good use, and out of my hands.

In my own journal, I wrote: "...I've never been quite so anxious to get home..."

Friday was an important day. We finally interviewed Tomasa... and I think, at that point, I came to the end of myself. I had translated roughly half of the interviews - and Tomasa's was particularly emotional for me. As a woman of deep prayer, Tomasa seems to me to be the spiritual leader of this community. I feel, even now, a strong connection to her struggle and her wisdom. She started her story all the way back in 1970 - the year I was born. It was in this interview that I finally understood the structure that had followed them to Honduras - the forming of base communities. Just yesterday, I read in Nouwen's Latin American Journal an easily understandable definition of these base communities. People are encouraged to "meet regularly with people from their block, discussing common problems in the light of the Gospel, studying Scriptures, and praying." Once again I am struck by the absurdity of the question we SMC folk were asking ourselves a year ago: "Can Valle Nuevo be considered a community of faith?" This structure of base communities took the form of organizational survival units in Honduras. Every 10 families formed a unit with a leader. From there they assigned jobs - building dwellings (not once did I ever hear anyone call these "tents") farming, teaching making shoes, furniture, cooking, gathering water, ...and the list goes on. The idea of "organization" being "sacred" is something that rubs me a bit the wrong way. I actually tend to be very organized in many ways, but often feel stifled by the imposed organization of others. But for the people of Valle Nuevo - this organization brought a structure to their lives that was essential to their very survival - and not all of them did. There were many casualties not only to the violence of the military, but also to disease and malnutrition. There were spiritual casualties as well - some have never recovered mentally from the horrors of the war - and some did, indeed, lose their faith. Many of the organizations that have come to help the town of Santa Marta rebuild are far from faith based. The humanistic tendencies among some of the educated youth - stepping away from the church, are evident. The particular smaller community of Valle Nuevo within Santa Marta, however, seems to hold their faith dear. Tomasa seems to hint that structure and organization outside of a community of faith are to be observed with caution.

The other point of Tomasa's story that stands out in my mind was the moment it came to translate a particular horror of war that I had heard reference to before and have since read about in Ivonne's journal. Ivonne describes a particular story of a particular family, but it seems to have repeated itself - as I heard of this happening in the context of three different interviews. I hesitate to share this here, as it invokes a sobbing in me and seems too horrific to put into print. However, that these stories not be forgotten echoes in my head, so this I will share... and perhaps it is because my own children were born with the cutting open of my own womb - in a state of emergency where three lives were held in balance - that this part of the Valle Nuevo story is so emotionally charged for me. When the death squads would come to exterminate a family - upon encountering a pregnant woman, on more than one occasion, apparently, they would cut open her womb and rip the unborn child from her, leaving them both to die.

It is hard to believe that this same day was our trip to La Victoria, the radio station that even now continues to be harassed with death threats to their broadcasters for speaking out on issues of oppression and injustice (the most recent being the presence of the Canadian Pacific Rim Mining Corporation in the community of San Isidro. From there we made the long trek to the Lempa River, accompanied by Pastor, Margarita, and Juana. I almost forgot to mention the amazing lunch Margarita prepared for us beforehand - and the sharing of her story. She seemed disappointed that we didn't eat very much. I don't remember much from her story - probably because I had taken in about all I could hold in a week. But the trip to the Lempa - a large portion of which we had to walk as it was impassable in the bus we took - was significant. Walking with Margarita - watching her wash the mud off the feet of some of my former delegates along the way - listening to their memories as they sat on the stone wall overlooking the Lempa - and the song Juana sang - that tells the story of the crossing. All these moments and memories are very special - even sacred - to me.

Margarita and Juana, pointing to the place where they were able to come out on the other side of the Lempa River.

SMC Valle Nuevo Delegation (Day #6)

August 7, 2010 (referring back to journal notes from June 24, 2010)

Today, as I write and reflect on my time in El Salvador, friends and loved ones are celebrating the memorial to the life of Art Gish on this earth - which ended tragically in a recent tractor accident on his farm in Ohio. His words about the influence international observers can have during a conflict recalled to mind the words of Ivonne Dilling as she described the strategic way in which they would visibly host internationals in the Honduran refugee camps - helping to keep the harassment of refugees by the soldiers at bay.

...o.k. the events of each day in Valle Nuevo, especially when which interviews occurred, is getting fuzzier in my mind. Recently reading over Tessa's notes on some of the interviews reminded me of what I wanted to comment on specifically from the interviews of Pedro and Angelina. They were my hosts last year on my first trip to El Salvador. I knew that they had been a part of the guerilla movement. This time, we were supplied with more detail. Pedro's point that they wouldn't be where they are today without the struggle in the war - is hard to process for us peace loving SMC folk. Would there have been a way forward without the taking up of arms in the face of such violence? It is hard to say. I learned a new word, that I didn't know how to translate. As Angelina described the way her uncle was killed - just near to where the school now stands - she said he died "a puras pulgaradas". I knew the word had something to do with thumbs...and then it was mentioned that it was a method of torture. I was spared an exact description of what this thumb torture entails - but that it led to this man's death is enough for me to draw the conclusion that it is probably more horrible than the images I can conjure.

By the end of the day on Thursday - after having led the second children's group in playdough activities, which is the only thing I have clearly placed on my recorded schedule - I wrote the following: "The feeling is so strange. I am enjoing being here - and all that I am doing - immensely beyond all that I felt last year - and yet today I am missing home. Missing getting back to defining my life. Sure, I could make a place for myself anywhere I choose - but I want to be back home...The partnerships between spouses that have formed out of this tragedy are so beautiful...I am fulfilling a very specific role here for a short time - but this is not my place. My place is with my people. God, give me the clarity to express what you would have me tell of the story here to my people at Sojourners. This is the second night I have written, rather than read, myself to sleep."

SMC Valle Nuevo Delegation (Day #5-continued)

August 4, 2010 (reflecting on June 23, 2010) Today I have read from Nouwen's "Latin American Journal" the following: "I wondered how the poverty, the lack of good food and good housing would affect me; I was afraid of becoming depressed by the misery I would see. But God showed me something else first: affectionate, open, and playful children who are telling me about love and life in ways no book was ever able to do. I now realize that only when I can enter with the children into their joy will I be able to enter also with them into their poverty and pain. God obviously wants me to walk into the world of suffering with a little child on each hand." This is something I had tried to articulate, without much success, about my time in El Salvador. I was blessed by the opportunity to work with the children both this year and last, and to chat with teachers after the class, comparing notes and ideas - it was a great exchange. Nouwen's thoughts above reminds me of the third verse from a song I wrote years ago while working with children in the shanty towns of Costa Rica. I'll just include the whole song here.


Psalm 23

Can you hear his prayer? He's prayin' for his mama.
"Please lend her life," he prays.

Take my outstretched hand to walk with the children
through the valley of the shadow of death.

Can you feel his pain? The flesh cries out but the wounds go deeper.
He sleeps outside to escape the crowded loneliness in his home.

Take my outstretched hand to walk with the children.
Lead them to still and healing waters.

Can you see her smile, as she jumps to the music?
It's only once in a while, her little face is not stern.

Take my outstretched hand to run with the children,
through the growing, lush, green pastures.

Can we help them learn of Your wonderful promise?
Can they read in Your word, of your beautiful Son?

Take my outstretched hand to walk with the children
as they grow in grace and knowledge of You.

Take my outstretched hand. Come walk with Your child, Lord.
Anoint my head with oil. Renew my soul.

"Ball Play" Day one of two sharing my "Growing with Books" curriculum with kids in Santa Marta, Cabañas, El Salvador this summer.

SMC Valle Nuevo Delegation (Day #5)

July 29, 2010 reflecting on June 23, 2010

The details are beginning to get fuzzy at this point. I have a reference to our interview with Dominica (or Dominga - I never did find clarity on how to pronounce her name correctly) and her son, Pastor. Dominica is probably close to 100 years old by most people's accounts. She is a delightfully affectionate woman - who is given to embracing the hands of those she is talking to - like she is holding a precious treasure that she will not easily let go of. When asked to tell her story - and I think specific reference was made to the time in Honduras and the return... She begins with a long pause after the words "Eso sí...." (Roughly translated, "Yes, that...") The introduction and the pause gives the feeling of heavily significant memories - as if they were tucked away in a large family album or Bible that must be lifted from a locked trunk and dusted off. There is a recording of this interview, so I won't go into details (not to mention the fact that I don't recall which details in my mind come from her own telling of the story.) I did write down in my notebook "Viera la alegria" ("If you could see the happiness!") upon how she felt when they were finally able to return to El Salvador. She also, according to my extremely sparse notes, referenced the night of November 11 when the soldiers camped in this very space where we were gathered for this conversation. "Diós nos ha querido, quizás." ("God has loved us, perhaps.") - This phrase holds in it the weight of reflection on the years that have passed - and a hope, it would seem, recognizing that things really are better now. But there is also that nagging grain of doubt in the comment which in my mind begs the question...through all the suffering, was God loving us even then? Pastor clarifies that they returned to this place in the 3rd wave - mentions the importance of the "directiva" community leaders that were formed through their experiences in "the refuge". The last words written in my notes on this interview are: "Como se trata de perdonar." (This could be translated in two ways: "How it is all about forgiveness." "How we try to forgive." It is unclear if the forgiveness is a solid reality in this story or something that is evasive and hard to grasp. Regardless, it is crucial to the story of continuing on after so much suffering inflicted upon them by their fellow Salvadorans.

This was also the day of the community leaders meeting with the lawyer and topographer responsible for the land legalization process. We looked at the maps - with each agricultural plot portioned off, ready to be turned in for revision to the governing authorities. Carlos Ávalos from Habitat for Humanity was also there. What most caught my attention in this meeting was the discussion on how to distribute the lots - with great concern placed on the fairness of the process. Pastor pointed out that it would be unfair, for example, for him to choose a lot close to the one Rosita is assigned simply because it would be convenient. There must be a completely random lottery - basically a pulling of numbers from the hat so that the distribution is random and no favoritism can take place. Some of the lots are more desirable in terms of land formation or location, but the topographer took great care to ensure that every lot measures exactly the same in square meters.

SMC Valle Nuevo Delegation (Day #4)

July 28, 2010 - reflecting on June 22, 2010

On our schedule it says we were to visit the muro de memoria (wall of memory) before heading out to Valle Nuevo - I think this is actually how it worked out. My favorite photo of this place was taken last year. I was impressed by the way this presumably Salvadoran family is reflected in the names of those lost to violence.

On this visit, we had a tour guide (or bus driver) who mentioned, among other things, that the izote flower (I was familiar with this flower as "itabo" from Costa Rica) is also known as the peace flower. This is a new picture I brought home with me this year.

I then proceeded to distance myself from the larger group listening to our guide as I took photo after photo of the headings on each panel - a collection of very similar photos to I portray somewhat of the immensity of the monument and the number of names it bears. Since I wasn't paying much attention to the composition of each photo, I was surprised to find this one, with thorns reminiscent of the crown of our suffering savior peaking through.

"Tomasa" is the first name I have written in my notebook under "22 junio" - next to the words "enterramos a 7 por día". This reflects the conversation that enfolded a while after we had arrived, greeted everyone anew and settled in. I don't remember if her words came before or after I thought to break out Ivonne's book to ask Pastor if a photo in it was of him. It turns out that it wasn't, but as they pored over the 20 some pages of black and white photos (Pastor, Tomas, Angelina, Rosita) found in the middle of the book - the reactions were varied. It was as if I had transported them back in time - Pastor pointed out all the people he did recognize - and became very somber - "¡Sí, dabamos lástima!" he said - ("We sure did look pitiful back then." I was worried that I had made a mistake - stirring memories of a time that none of them have photos of. Tomasa began to tell of those times - that they buried seven people a day back then (this is how I understood this memory, but in later tellings I am wondering if she was talking about just one specific day in which seven folks died.) The elderly and the children suffered the most - because they couldn't fight off the sickness. I was surprised that none of them had seen this book before - because they all think so highly of Ivonne. Of course, it has only been published in English - and it is only a very peripheral telling of their story - simply Ivonne's experiences of being with them in the refugee camps. Tomasa sounded almost indignant as she pointed out: "You all have a book - we don't have a book to remember by." In reaction to the jogging of Pastor's memory and the somber mood it put him in - Angelina tried to turn the tide of sentiment by stating repeatedly that their time in the refuge was good. They were together, safe, and organized. Many of the skills and relationships formed there have carried over into their life after the war. Rosita, ever the comforter, was the one who reassured me that it was o.k. that I had brought out the book - as I tried to apologize for bringing back sad memories.

I was excited to have the opportunity to stay with Morena's family this year. When I was dropped off at their house, together with Gretchen, there was a workshop in session. I met Jaime, who is Vilma's brother and discovered that he is teaching some of the adult education courses in Santa Marta. Pastor and Rosita's house - the new one built by habitat - serves as a classroom. I was excited to see the alphabet on the wall there upon our arrival. The workshop at Salome's and Felipa's house involved a number of the local farmers - learning to make organic insect repellent. The leader from REDES explained to me that they are working on an initiative to promote the use of native seed for the corn crop. This particular concoction they were making - ginger, garlic, vinegar, (can't remember if there were other ingredients) was to combat a worm called "gallina ciega" (blind hen) that eats the corn.

After dinner - the whole delegation joined us at the house where we were staying - we heard from Salome - our first recorded story - he never really finished - and could spend days on his stories. What impressed me the most was the way in which he spoke of the centrality of Bible teaching in his family and how they identified so closely with the story of Exodus. We will be studying this book at Church of the Sojourners this fall - but more in relation to what it has to say about sabbath than exile. I have identified closely with the concept of exile - though my choice to leave my home of 13 years was not motivated by the violence of war. There was the emotional upheaval of a marital separation and the overwhelming need for a new support system. The people of Valle Nuevo rediscovered their support system during their time in Honduras. It is interesting to me that they never spoke of a refugee "camp". The described their dwellings - which we would call tents - like you'd find in a camp - without using the word "tienda" which does exist in Spanish. They only talked about "the refuge". I don't even think this distinction is intentional - it is simply their own understanding of their experiences - and the difference between their own and my own functional vocabulary is notable.

Lastly, as I reflected in my bed on that first night, I wrote: "Feeling energized by being here in Valle Nuevo - ready to share, translate, participate, facilitate. It feels good to be able to give back- to the measure in which I have received in this place." What I have received from the folks in Valle Nuevo - especially last year on the brink of a divorce - was a peace and healing through the mutual sharing of stories of suffering - stories that cannot be compared, only shared.

SMC Valle Nuevo Delegation (Day #3-continued)

July 20, 2010 (reflecting on June 21, 2010) Today I read Henri Nouwen's words, which seem to address an inner struggle I have had in walking with suffering people, particularly in Latin America, and in facing my own suffering as well: "I wonder if the spirituality of liberation does not need to be deepened by a spirituality of exile or captivity. I wonder if a spirituality that focuses on the alleviation of poverty should not be deepened by a spirituality that allows people to continue their lives when their poverty only increases. I wonder if a spirituality that encourages peacemaking should not be deepened by a spirituality that allows us to remain fiathful when the only things we see are dying children, burning houses..."

Our visit to Centro Romero brought back to memory all the connections I had experienced the year before. The jesuit priests, their housekeeper and her daughter were all cruelly murdered by a death squad on my nineteenth birthday, November 16, 1989. This past year was the 20th anniversary of that massacre. In San Francisco we commemorated - and since it was my birthday, folks around me honored my request, by getting together to watch a documentary produced in 1990 called, "A Question of Conscience". This year, I looked at photographs I somehow had missed the previous year - the absolute mutilation of human flesh caused by the firearms. All I could think about as we drove away was how to form my response to my children who have been asking to own a BB gun recently.

Our visit to the consulate proved fruitful. I was struck by the "good cop, bad cop" staging as the one who really worked in the day to day of visa granting and denial sat in silence as the deputy consular seemed to show sympathy to our plea. How I long to have a more balanced exchange with Morena - have her come and visit and participate in the teaching of my classes here. But she is exactly the kind of person who is most likely to be denied a visa - young, educated. As the Deputy Consular pointed out - if he puts himself in her shoes, would he want to come back to El Salvador? But he has no idea of the ties that hold her to Santa Marta, to her family - he is the product of a materialistic society that would not choose a life of simplicity and love over a life of abundance and loneliness.

My notes are sparcer from this point on, and my memory is fading. I do hope to be able to complete my reflections soon.

SMC Valle Nuevo Delegation (Day #3)

July 13, 2010 (reflecting back on June 21) Our agenda: El Arbol de Dios, Centro Romero, La Divina Providencia, and our appointment with the Deputy Consular at the US embassy.

I am not really sure what order we made each of these stops now almost a month later. This morning I am reading Henri Nouwen's journal ¡Gracias! and am reminded of something I heard when I first arrived in Latin America...it goes something like this: "Those who come to Latin America for a month, sometimes write a book on their experiences. Those who come for 5-10 years sometimes write only an article. Those who come to live for longer have a difficult time forming even a paragraph about the life they learned to live there." That is not to discount the books written by those who have had only a short stay in Latin America - the outsiders perspective is an important one. It just is something I carry in my mind whenever I try to write about my life - 13 years of which was lived out in Central America. Nouwen writes of Latin America: "impressive wealth and degrading poverty, splendid flowers and dusty broken roads, loving people and cruel torturers, smiling children and soldiers who kill. It is here that we have to hunt for God's treasure." This is a true but extremely limited portrait of Latin America - in Costa Rica, for example, there are no soldiers. Poverty, yes, though it is well hidden from the eye of the tourists...but here I am to write about my time in El Salvador. The story of Fernando Llort is such a story of hope. It has been a great privilege to meet him two years in a row - he has such a familiar quality about him - like a long lost uncle who has the capacity to embrace his audience with the glimmer in his eye. This year, I brought home a print of some one of his musings.

I translated it to read for our kid's week celebration this past Sunday at Church of the Sojourners:

We still hope & wait ...
We still ask...
We still sing...
We still dream...
that the birds, the flowers, and our loved ones will return;

We still hope & wait to be able to plant some day: love, tenderness, and the faith of some winter roses.

We still hope & wait that from our womb will be born a double enlightenment: Flower of a Mixed Race and Fruit of Good News.

A rose of dark complexion shows up on the brush of the One who painted the Dawn.

We still wait and hope for justice and peace.

Give us peace and corn, bread that will be enough for everyone, a home, temple, and school, a faith that is lighted by our united hands, by your starlit eyes, under the influence of your love.

Give us a hope that lights the paths of justice and peace in all the world.

May we learn from the campesino (farmer) his virtues.

We still wait and hope that the dryness of our hearts will be converted into a flowery and fragrant garden that transforms our people into fertile ground.

We still wait and hope that God will be be born once again in our land, preparing his crib in our hearts and that the new race will be born.
Over the mountains peace was announced...
We still wait & hope for the voice of the turtle dove in our land; that dove of mine that makes nests in the holes of the rock, in the cracks of the precipice
Let me see your form, let me hear your voice, let me see your face because your words are very sweet and your appearance is gracious. You bring down that mysterious rose to announce that in our bitter moments we are never alone, you are the sign and substance of our new race, you are connection, tie, and home.
We still wait and hope for you to burn the bitterness of our sweat turned to tears.
May the milk of hope be our sustenance.
One day, I will get up early and I will walk out to the field to see if what we planted has begun to flower, to see if the joy has returned as a flowering rose in spring and to see if the cornfields are full: There you will demonstrate your love to me, and I will demonstrate mine!

Don Fernando told us the story this year of the time he saw a boy scraping a copinol seed on the ground - revealing the white center. He had an epiphany at that time that the white center could be a canvas for art. These seeds are now found in the artisan markets, and I brought back some formed into crosses with symbols of El Salvador to give to our children here at church. This story of the copinol seed is how "La Semilla de Dios" got it's name - (The Seed of God) the art workshop that was started in La Palma and has now been replicated in numerous villages throughout El Salvador.

In 2009 when Jim Fitz asked don Fernando why he decided to give his art to the people, he said, "Because God told me to do it." His faith is so evident in his countenance. He did study theology, after all. I was excited to recognize his art in the staff of Romero in Divina Providencia - both last year and this year, and this year the staff had been turned, so I got a new view.

Speaking of Divina Providencia, the hospice center where Romero lived and served until he was assassinated there in 1980, as he performed mass for the people, this was a place that impacted me greatly on my first visit. There was something about the blood stained clothes, the quotes on the wall. What they represented of a life lived out in solidarity with the poor - that made this place holy ground. This year, I entered Romero's house only briefly - long enough to discover the new view of his staff, and then sat and waited for my fellow delegates as I continued to read Ivonne's book. The chapel was filled with new feeling in the posters marking the 30th anniversary of Romero's martyrdom. He is referred to as Saint Romero by some of the people in El Salvador. He truly was an inspiration, spiritual guide, and Christ figure to the people there.

(...to be continued...)

SMC Valle Nuevo Delegation (Day #2-continued)

July 13, 2010 (continued reflections on June 20, 2010)

I mentioned briefly in my last note the focus group of university students - all from the Valle Nuevo / Santa Marta area. This morning I feel this session is worthy of more reflection, though both Joel and Tessa took copious notes that night - there are some things that stand out in my mind. The fact that each and every one of the students there plan to return in some capacity to the small village of Santa Marta is impressive. Again, they mentioned the blood that was shed so that they could live a better life - it is an obligation in the best possible sense to return.

From the earlier questions mentioned, we morphed to "How has your parents' story formed you?" and "Why do you want to go back?" and finally settled on: "¿Qué significa su comunidad para ustedes?" (What does your community mean to you) and "¿Cuál es su visión para el futuro, tanto para su vida personal como para la comunidad de Santa Marta?" (What is your vision for the future, both for your personal life and for the community of Santa Marta?)

I don't think that anyone spoke really of their visions for their personal life for the future, other than how their particular field of study might fit into making a better future for the community of Santa Marta. I remember one student saying: "Santa Marta is my life." One is studying veterinary medicine - and has a vision of improving animal health in Santa Marta, and thereby improving human health as well. I am happy to hear this concern being addresses - as it was something specifically noticed by one of our delegates from last year's visit. Also, there were two students there from another community, a community that was not persecuted nor forced to flee during the war. What impressed me from the young man from this community was that he wants to look to Santa Marta as a model. The youth of his own community are filled with apathy and it is very difficult to organize them away from the threatening influences of drugs and delinquency. Are we, as christians, called to seek to put an end to suffering, or are we called to simply walk with one another through the suffering? The model of Santa Marta would suggest that beautiful things grow from severe suffering. There are tragic consequences as well, so I'm still not sure how to sort all this out. I see the spark that ignites the anger of many who surround me when they are witness to injustice. It is a spark that I lack, and I'm not sure why. Perhaps it is my own acquaintance with grief. Perhaps it is something in my chemical make-up. I have not profound conclusions on this issue.

SMC Valle Nuevo Delegation (Day #2)

(Written on July 12, 2010)

June 20, 2010 - My little notebook reads: "Today's agenda: breakfast, Misa Popular, Artisan Market, Anthropology Museum, University Students." We will be doing a "Red de Relaciones" (Relationship Web) during our time with the University Students tonight - a sort of focus group to elicit some stories. As we share a bit of our own stories over breakfast, and what has brought us to El Salvador, I realize that I'm still learning to be comfortable with the emotions that my story invokes in others. This comes to me as the emotions register on the faces of my fellow delegates in the brief telling of my own story and I write it down in my little notebook - a banana paper notebook that I bought in the airport in Costa Rica on my way down. I was in Costa Rica closing a chapter of my life that started over 16 years ago. This process is ever present in my mind as I interact with the emotions and stories of others here in El Salvador.
Joe shares about a new word: Xenofilia - "love of the stranger" that is translated in the Bible as "hospitality". This is set up in opposition to the new wave of Xenofobia that is growing in our own nation - a nation I do not feel strongly connected to - I didn't even vote in the last election - though it was ever so tempting to be a part of the wave of hope succeeded in electing our first black president - it was a hope I felt the need to resist, in standing for a hope that is not in the political powers of this world. And as the treatment of the immigrant population worsens in many areas of the country - I find myself bewildered as to an appropriate response on an individual level. I work with over 40 immigrant families from Mexico, Central, and South America each week - mostly mothers with their babies and toddlers, but also some fathers. I lived as an immigrant - not always legally - for 13 years in Central America - but I realize my situation was very different. A world without borders has always appealed to me, but what do I have to say to the political powers that enforce such imaginary lines drawn in the sand? I definitely love the stranger - the work I do with these families is often the highlight of my days - but it is probably not enough - I am very thankful for those who are actively advocating for the rights of these families. My work is on an educational level - I do what I can, but it is probably not enough.

Other jots in my notebook:

See I am making all things new.
Come & See & you will find where love lives. (This is a line from a song my good friend, Katie, wrote.)
God is forming a people. (This is a phrase TimO. uses quite a lot, and it is the one of our Schools for Conversion topics.)

And my notes on the Misa Popular (that is the popular mass that meets in the basement of the national cathedral - very focused on the encouraging writings of Monseñor Oscar Romero - at least the two times I have attended this mass:

Who do you say that I am? (¿Quien dice la gente que soy yo?)
Praying for brother countries, countries at war. (paises hermanos, paises en gerra). I am impressed that this tiny little country, the smallest one in Central America, finds a way to look out beyond itself to pray for countries like Pakistan - identifying with the destruction that war brings and praying for their brothers in such countries.

There is a little girl in the congregation - maybe 10, like my own boys - playing on her little DS or PSP or whatever electronic device she has been given. It catches my eye - not sure what to make of it.

Todo profeta es un hombre o una mujer de oración (Every prophet is a man or a woman of prayer).

Los cambios en un pais no son inmediato (the changes in a country aren't immediate) - this is not the first reference I have heard to the growing disillusionment of the people after the first FMLN candidate, Mauricio Funes, took office one year ago. There are still many problems in the country, but his firmest supporters understand that he can't make all the problems go away in an instance - I hope they understand that he can't really make the problems go away at all - but I also hope that this new government is taking steps to meet the needs of the people where they are felt the most - and that the changes will be sustainable.

...una relación profunda con el Señor. (...a deep relationship with God.)

They are still angry at the Arena party - the "14 families" - are now only 3-4 and our driver could name them. (I'm not sure now, as I write on July 12, how this ended up in the middle of my notes of the popular mass...)

Peter is the first to answer - the passionate one - the one who acts first and then thinks...

He (the priest) speaks to the hope that the people had in the new president "When we have a new president, El Salvador will be better..."

Romero no tenía miedo a involucrarse en el dolor del pueblo - y el dolor lo cambió...Cuando Romero hablaba, el pueblo escuchaba...(applause)
(Romero was not afraid to involve himself in the pain of the people, and the pain changed him...When Romero spoke, the people listened.)

He's preaching a 3 pt. sermon - not something I've heard much in the catholic context, but then again, I haven't really been to mass all that often.

There are even latino (Salvadoran?) tourists who come, take pictures, visit Romero's tomb, bow, and leave in the middle of mass.

'77 Romero homily: Don't confuse the liberation that Christ brings with the temporary liberation (economic, political)...We will continue to struggle for a better El Salvador.

¿Quien Soy para tu vida hoy? (Who am I for your life today?)

Are you ready to carry the burden of the difficulties that it means to live this dream?

Besides Mass - I was deeply moved by the following find at the MUNA (National Archeology Museum)

An ancient altar at the MUNA (National Archeology Museum in San Salvador)

It looks as if the blood stains are still there.

Our driver, who walks around the museum with us - confirms in his own understanding the feeling I get that there were at one time human sacrifices done on this altar. He understands this as the way the ancient people looked at the world, that someone had to die to ensure a good harvest and safety for the rest of the people. I think about how this ancient history seemed to repeat itself in our own time - so much blood shed. It feels as if I am on holy ground.

Later, during our focus group - the university students make reference to the blood shed by their own family members - that motivates them to continue to study and to return to their community to make a difference - to bring better education, health care, economy, to their people. The have to do this, they have no other choice. They would be dishonoring the dead to do anything else with the lives they have been given. Translating their stories was emotionally draining, and by the end of the day I was truly spent. But I really enjoyed the fellowship, and getting to break bread with some young people I had met the year before. I do hope I can find the time in my life to continue in communication with some of them now that I am home.

SMC Valle Nuevo Delegation (Day #1)

June 19, 2010 - Juan Santa Maria airport, Costa Rica - waiting for my flight to Managua and on to San Salvador I read the "Suffering Together at Valle Nuevo" study that Nancy had given me last year - and was impressed by the following quote: "No matter how deep the pit into which I descend, I keep finding God there. He is not aloof from my suffering but draws near to me when I suffer. He is vulnerable to pain, quick to shed tears, and acquainted with grief. God is a suffering Sovereign who feels the sorrow of the world." - Nicholas Wolterstorff

I deeply identify with this quote and it somehow embodies my emotional connection to the people of Valle Nuevo. My trip last year came at a time when I was coming to the end of my struggle to maintain a hope for marriage reconciliation. The pain of my own story resonated within me with each story of suffering told by the people of El Salvador. My recent reading of "Come Be My Light" - a collection of the private writings of Mother Teresa, confirmed in my heart that those who find themselves meeting God in the darkest places are in good company.

One of the questions in the study was: "How are the villagers of Valle Nuevo dealing with their grief? Is it significant that they are dealing with it together as a community?" This question I have written down in my journal to perhaps spur more questions in the story gathering we are headed into this year.

My own questions:

"¿Se puede señalar un momento clave que marcó la transición en su comunidad, o vida personal pasando de la crisis a una vida de paz? (Can you point to a moment of transition in your community or personal life that marks the passing from crisis into a life of peace?

"¿Ha sentido la soledad en su vida? ¿Cómo se distingue la soledad de los momentos de caminar acompañado? (Have you experienced lonliness in your life? How do the moments of lonliness distinguish themselves from walking with others?"

As I look back (I am writing now on June 28, 2010) I think these questions are more of a reflection of my own process, and aren't really representative of the questions we used in our interviews.

Third Level

For the past month and a half, I have been writing reflections in the notes section of my facebook page on my participation this year in the Shalom Mission Communities delegation to Valle Nuevo, a small community in the town of Santa Marta, Cabañas, El Salvador from this past June.  In an attempt to allow others (non-facebook members) to read these reflections - I have started this blog, but hope to continue with the blog for other purposes.  Today I wrote my last Valle Nuevo reflection and will begin to post them daily here.  Having written with a pen back in June, reflected on those writings and my memories during the month of July, and then posting each of those reflections here during the month of August - it feels as though we are on a third level of memory here - much like the levels of dreams within dreams in the movie Inception. Regardless, it feels good to be done and to move on to my daily thoughts - of course, my next project is to begin to go through my journals and photos and to form some sort of coherent record of my past - but that will take a very long time and I don' know how much of that process will end up here on this blog.

Finding God

I really like the vision of ministry that Nouwen describes:  "It is the vision that ministry means first of all searching for God where people are lost, confused, broken, and poor.  Often I have gone to such people to bring them back to God, to the sacraments, and to the church.  But that is acting and living as if God is where I am, and as if my first task is to bring others to my place.  When, however, God is with the poor and marginal, then I have to dare to go there, live there, and find him there.  I now realize that I can be with people without having to make them think my thoughts and say my words.  I can be free to listen and slowly to discern where God shows his merciful face to me." (From Nouwen's "Latin American Journal - ¡Gracias!" - journal entry on Wednesday, February 10, 1982

The only problem I find here is my recent struggle with the theology of liberation.  What, exactly, are we seeking to liberate people from?  If we can find God among the poor and the oppressed - does liberating them move them to a place that is further away from God?  Does the alleviation of suffering bring people to a place more like my own - where it is difficult to find God?  But, actually, I don't find God elusive.  Maybe the liberation from poverty and oppression involves with it an acknowledgement that once we have been liberated, we must choose to return to the dark places - to walk with those who cannot find the light.  Perhaps this is a whisper of the calling that Mother Teresa heard to "Come be my light."

Quoting Nouwen

I've been reading Henri Nouwen's ¡Gracias! - A Latin American Journal that he wrote during his six months in Bolivia and Peru in 1981-1982.  His Wednesday, February 3, entry deeply resonates with me:  "Writing letters has become extremely important for me during this long absence from home.  I have discovered in myself a growing freedom to express to my friends my feelings simply and directly.  A deep change is taking place in me as I write down what is most joyful and most painful for me.  I find myself hardly interested in telling about the daily events of my outer life, but strongly compelled to share openly, even nakedly, what is happening within me.  I no longer feel that I have anything to lose:  all I have I can give.  Writing letters is becoming a way of self-emptying, of being nothing more and nothing less than someone who wants to give and receive love.  It seems that the poor people of Pamplona Alta have taught me this.  They keep telling me without words:  'All you have is yourself, so do not hide it from those you love.' "

It seems there are a few people, at least, who are interested in reading what I have to say.  Perhaps, just maybe, this blogging can be for me what letter writing was for Nouwen.  I can no longer say that I am "away from home" for I have been in this new place for three years now, and it has become my home.  I also hesitate to add to the overwhelming amount of words that already exists out there.  A part of me feels like everything there is to say has already been said. But then, maybe some of it needs to be said again...I am unsure...

Designing what you read of me...

There was about a year in my life when I was attending a church that met in a library.  I was so distracted by the book titles that I found it hard to concentrate on the sermon.  The template design I have chosen is reminiscent of that time in my life.  I love that these books have no titles on the spine - thus you won't be distracted from my ever-so-important ponderings :)