Central America Service Program MMXIV @casp2014 - Tumblr Blog

God

For too many people, God is equal to the difference of fortuities minus difficulties in their lives. God pulls the universe's outcome strings. If this equation comes out to be negative, they have a poor self image, believe in an angry god or default to Epicurus and fail to believe in any sort of deity at all. For North Americans, the equation often comes out positive, and so we believe that God has blessed us. This gets us in all sorts of trouble, conflating military might with Jesus, confusing material success for a god's intervention in the world or as modern people might say, attributing success entirely to one's intelligence or hard work instead of their lot in life.

If I believed in this god, I would no longer be religious. Guatemala's history doesn't let you believe in this god. In fact, count me in as a wilder atheist than Christopher Hitchens when it comes to this god.

Jesus, on the other hand, both claimed to be the power wielding God of Abraham but did not choose to wield power over the great slot machine that is the world. In the history's most profound act of solidarity, Jesus relinquished all power and authority to bleed slowly. Instead of destroying suffering, Jesus felt suffering.

I admit that I'm confused about what Jesus dying & resurrecting actually does metaphysically, if anything at all. Traditional theories of atonement don't seem logically necessary to me. "The wrath of God was satisfied" as the hymn goes, confuses the hell out of me (ha!). Maybe substitutionary atonement makes theological sense, but I'm certain of my incertitude in this respect.

Nonetheless, in God so refusing to wield power to destroy evil in the world, He reorients us toward loving and sacrificing to destroy evil. The scriptures are adamant that God is love and that Christ literally is other people; the stranger, the sick and the downtrodden. On the cross, Christ shows what God really is: compassion.

Throughout the years, CASP has been the call to confusion, agnosticism and atheism. And rightly so, if, for whatever reason you believed in the god which is outcomes. The opposite has occurred, I've been called to conversion to Christ which is self-sacrifice and love.

And now I see God everywhere.

-Niko

Dieting for Dummies

1. Travel by bus, standing-up to remote Nicaraguan community. Preferably one presently inhabited by Elisha Job Deitz, without electricity and whose community includes at least one drunk guy who will later offer you an award-winning Estelí cigar.

2. Spend full day following local guide (Eli, in this case) around coffee farms, back roads and small trails in beautiful but rugged country. Eat packed lunch of meat and rice prepared at breakfast time at 1:00 pm.

3. As you meet people along your hike in the Nicaraguan mountains bordering Honduras, unthinkingly but graciously accept and consume any and all food, coffee or other beverage placed in front of you.

4. Spend following day emptying your guts through multiple means of exit.

5. Curl up on bed or in hammock and drink grapefruit Fresca.

6. Have an awesome friend who travels an hour to the nearest pharmacy and picks up some antibacterial medication.

7. Exit on foot the next day, proud of your quick turnaround and increased resistance to previously foreign developing world bacterium.

The Cost of Ease

Obviously living in another part of the world will cause you to question the social, political and economic dynamics of your own society. Frustrated with some of these dynamics I decided to write down a little bit of what I have experienced here.

I have it all, yet I can never have enough

Brainwashed to believe that happiness is equivalent to stuff

Seven months of sobriety from this drug called consumption

A liquid addiction that runs through my veins

The reactions of my actions, I am now aware

But this thirst to have it all still remains.

I have been programmed to receive,

Receive sedative joy from a box of light

This light that ignites a fire of necessity and craving for the best

And it’s not “their” fault, whoever “they” are

For they were not the serpents that made me indulge in the Apple products

The very products that have come to plague my society

For today, family relations are just circles of loneliness,

A cycle of virtual worlds, which are virtually fake

And the simple security of a “refresh” that never goes away.

It makes human relationships scary, when they are not on line with their page,

But the very being of a person a profile can never begin to define.

I am so much deeper than a face,

I am a book that social media has attempted to erase.

God designed me to care and dared me to question.

Where true happiness is found if not in this web of capitalism?

I shall never discover what the answer is,

But I now know what it is not nor can ever be.

I have sampled the freedom from this curse, and realize the true cost of ease.

How can I keep investing in this consumerist scheme?

First me, second mine, and third I are the way it is,

But this “I” stands for something much different than independence.

It signifies the origin of ignorance and incapacity to face a world of facts.

I can look in the mirror and see the sin of this buying and selling game

I realize it is a sin, the church has continued to vend,

Raising funds for new building in which our children can play,

A six-year old boy risked his life to step foot in my nation today.

My nation of freedom and bravery-

Yet my freedom is locked in a box and the only key is consumption

Bravery has been redefined to hit a like or share button when something strikes our hearts.

Passionate action in the name of the King is a thing of the past,

My Savior lived for the poor, oppressed, and the weak.

Be like Jesus I say, but only when it’s convenient.

How can I carry my cross, when I can’t carry out a promise?

To change the world’s definition of what American means,

And lessen my dependence on a cycle of destruction.

- Mirra

A Tale of Two Geese

Two weeks ago I found myself in one of the stranger situations one can find themselves in. It started with a question to my companion in rural development work, Barney: “What are we doing?” “We are waiting,” he replied. “For what?” “You’ll see,” was his less-than-satisfactory reply. So we continued to sit there on the side of a dirt road in the Middle of Somewhere, Nicaragua: where power lines end and horses begin. Soon enough, a man came walking down the road with a sack and Barney indicated that this was the guy. I soon came to learn that Barney's father-in-law had commissioned Barney to buy some geese for him. We were now picking up these geese to bring back to Santa Lucia, the town we live in which was two hours away by motorcycle with nothing but dirt roads and bumpy highways.

The birds were magnificent, large and using their brightly colored beaks they had a natural curiosity for life outside of their sack. This is all fine and good in a normal situation but can prove somewhat difficult when they are in a sack for a 2 hour trip by bumpy road. With the final warning that these geese tend to be a little “bravo” or aggressive we set off for Santa Lucia with the two large foul seated semi-comfortably in my lap. With their long necks stretching out of their sacks they immediately expressed their anxiousness and nervousness about the situation; they intended to bite Barney repeatedly, in what was undoubtedly a scheme to get him to total our Yamaha 200 all-terrain motorcycle. What had been a relationship of mutual respect and understanding between me and these birds was quickly replaced by one of repression and force as I wrestled for control of their heads on the back of this fast moving vehicle.

As I employed various forms of repression, a fitting narrative formed in my head. These Nicaraguan, populist geese just wanted the freedom of self-determination and probably democracy while I wanted law order and to carry out the political will of Barney’s father in-law. I was Somoza in this relationship and these valiant Nicaraguan birds were the large water fowl versions of General Augusto C. Sandino fighting for "Partia o Muerte" ("Party or death") under a banner of red and black. This narrative proved fairly spot on as these geese gave it their all; they occasionally got a wing out or employed the guerrilla tactic of militant pooping. This is not the fun goose poop you find in parks and throw at siblings but rather a nasty liquidy bomb designed to drench Barney and I. They would also pretend like they were enjoying the view of the beautiful country side while resting and planning their next guerrilla action, catching me off guard.

As preordained by history I, the brutal dictator Somoza, was able to control the Sandino Geese for the remainder of the odyssey. I delivered these geese to their new residence where they wait for what I imagine to be a gruesome fate. I myself returned home exhausted and covered in goose poop wondering what aviary guerrilla movement will be inspired in 40 years by these rebellious geese. Will my son have to contend with the Frente Gonzista de la Liberacion Avionista (FGLA) (Gooseist Front for Aviary Liberation)?

-Dana

Some fun photos from our friend Dana

-Niko

Freddy Mendez, my boss at the Nehemiah Center and Whitworth liaison for Nicaraguan CRC programs, gives a training session on entrepreneurial character. This is some of the work that I'm doing: taking pictures, writing about the work the program is doing and supporting Freddy in very "interny" capacities. ("Niko go buy us some waters at the store" "Niko, will you pass these things out?")

Just a little up the street from Eli's house.

-Ben

Lo que el Pueblo Dice, Pasa

I found myself in the Western city of Chinandega a little over two weeks ago. I was headed back to Managua after doing translation work for the donors of the Nehemiah Center's Business Program.

Passing through the Bus terminal, side-stepping putrid water and squished bananas, I arrived at the "taxi interlocal" terminal. It is a "microbus" or large van transportation service which crams 15 or so Nicaraguans (I have always been the only pale-faced "chele" on the minibuses) and takes us somewhere. In this case, this minibus was my means to return to Managua.

I sat in the back of the van and took note that the seats had filled and the van was on. Why were we not leaving? The heat oppressed. The dark seats reverberated the sun which gives life in such a way to distort the sun's rays into a decaying force. My sweat and my body became one and I slowly melted into my seat.

In one moment, the van erupted into what can only be described with a Spanish word, "alboroto". I guess an english equivalent would be that "all hell broke loose". The drivers and workers were loading a motorcycle onto the roof! Cries like "Hey, that's dangerous!" were interlaced with colorful obscenities. The rose to a level of vibrance English swear words do not. Once they finally lifted the motorcycle onto the roof and gasoline dripped down the side into the van, one particularly convincing and upset lady announced that we would all have to leave the van and board the other. The people's consensus agreed and the bus was vacated within ten seconds. Even if I had thought that the motorcycle on the roof strategy was a cunning display of effectiveness and economy, I had no choice but to follow suit.

The whole time though, I'm laughing uncontrollably. I could not stop because the whole situation was so bizarre and reflected my perspective of what I thought Nicaragua to be. Having so strangely confirmed my hunches that Nicaragua has a revolutionary populous, my joy could not be contained.

As I sat in the other bus, my laughter tapering off, my new Pinolero friends - having realized how funny I found the situation - started making comments about Nicaragua and chuckling themselves. The anger had propagated into conversation and into joyfulness. And the conversation did not end until we were halfway to Managua.

-Niko

Being White, Wealthy and Christian

These are the three things I am capable of distancing myself from when I'm in the States. There's always someone whiter, there's always someone wealthier and I can always say that "I'm not really that type of Christian".

While in Nicaragua it's much harder for me to distance myself from these categories. I'm almost always the whitest and the wealthiest (not individually speaking, since I'm a student, but my family is US middle class). I distance myself from these three identity categories because of my knowledge of history. These three categories have been good indicators of oppressors. (Also they've been indicators of good things as well, like academics and famous politicians, but that's usually because other groups have been socially excluded.) I do not want people to identify me with the conquistadors of history, the US politicians who justified slavery or US diplomats who coordinated coups on Latin American populist leaders.

The profound thing that I have encountered is that most Guatemalans and Nicaraguans do not see me as an oppressor, not in the slightest. They create more generous images of me than I thought they might, or more generous images than I give myself. What a thing for me to do anyway! I made the assumption that they would interpret my skin, relative wealth and religion as a memory of the past, a past which for the most part, they did not experience.

But at the same time, I do not want Nicaraguans or Guatemalans to forget the past. They've suffered at the hands of US foreign policy and to know that story, I think, might be in their best interest. There are forces coming from the Global North which even today might seek to exploit them. (Although not a technical term I'm thinking of "asymmetrical free trade agreements".)

As for the image I create for myself, I am able to choose other images of white Christian men in history. I can choose to be like Stanley Rother, a white priest who stood in solidarity and helped the poor. I can choose to be like Jim Wallis, the president of Sojourners. I can try to be like Shane Claiborne. And of course, while I am socially confined to certain constructions of identity, I can also choose to be like Dorthy Day. I can choose to be like John Perkins. I can try to be like Ghandi. I try to be like Mother Teresa or Oscar Romero. I can try to follow my (probably) Arab savior. I can choose to listen. I can believe that Nicaraguans have as much to offer to me, as I do to them. I may not be Nicaraguan, I may not be indigenous, but I can do my best to put myself in their place and choose to follow in the footsteps of others who have done practical solidarity well.

-Niko

Nothing we do is complete, which is another way of saying that the kingdom always lies beyond us. No statement says all that could be said. No prayer fully expresses our faith. No confession brings perfection, no pastoral visit brings wholeness. No program accomplishes the Church's mission. No set of goals and objectives includes everything. This is what we are about. We plant the seeds that one day will grow. We water the seeds already planted knowing that they hold future promise. We lay foundations that will need further development. We provide yeast that produces effects far beyond our capabilities. We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing this. This enables us to do something, and to do it very well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord's grace to enter and do the rest. We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker. We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own.

Oscar Romero

Thoughts from the Outskirts of Managua

I have been living with my family for three days now. So far have gotten food poisoning once (due to a tamale that wasn't at he right temp). But I am feeling better now AND couldn't be happier with my family.

My mom is from Brasil, is hilarious, and works as a professor at the place I will be having my internship. My father, Enrique, is someone I still need to get to know. But I know he loves basketball and today we went to play, but all the hoops were full. Tomorrow we will try again and that will be fun. He too seems very comical. I have a younger sister who is 11 and a brother who is 10. Natalia and Diego are great. Diego has liked me since the beginning and Natalia seems to be warming up to me. There is also a baby sharpé dog named Chester who loves to attack my feet. On the weekends a 15 year old named Miguel stays with us. He is the god son. And then an 18 year old, Enrique Jr. who I assume to be from a previous marriage of the father stays with us on the weekends as well.

I have gotten to do errands and just spend time with the family a lot. It has been wonderful. They are very caring and I have a really good relationship with the mom, Elis.

The home is on the same road as the place (Villa Esperanza) we stayed in November on our week trip here from Costa Rica. Which is crazy! Who would have thunk. It is quaint and perfect, no internet which, like I wanted, forces me to speak only Spanish and spend my time getting to know the fam.

Today we went to a Lutheran church, which was a new experience for me. Then we came home ate lunch (the food poisoning) and went to the park to play some basketball. Then came home I got sick and we all watched high school musical 2 in Spanish. I then took a cold shower and am now writing this blog I intend to post tomorrow at work. It's gonna be my first day, if I feel better and I am excited.

-Mirra

An Update from Ben Wiseman, his new Excitements and Struggles

I wake up kind of frustrated (possibly lonely), not too different from any day, but a little different because I have little idea what the day holds and that is annoying (maybe more exciting). I take a cold shower to freshen up then put on my my silly prize-bracelet from Antigua that I am still wearing even though I hate bracelets, but it makes me feel good because it reminds me of #Janterm2014#chocolate#quetzalteca#romanticwalks#italiancheese and all my compañeros/as.

After waking up the day is pretty great. I realize that I am doing the thing I dreamed of, which animates me. My parents here are so so nice, which animates me. My internship site seems to do real things, which animates me. I learned today that I am going to become an mini-expert in water security and water quality in rural areas of Nicaragua, which animates me too. And people keep saying my Spanish is great!!! Which i don't get, but definitely is animating.

Hope y'all are well animated, the chocolate and Italian cheese can always wait.

-Ben

Quick Update in Which I am very Tired

Although a flowery blog post would be something I would like to write right now, it is something I'm not going to do. I'm incredibly exhausted. But because we have a lot of new changes happening I thought I'd write a smidgin of a post.

Six of us are now in host families in Nicaragua. Melissa and I are with the same family but in different houses on the outskirts of Managua. Mirra is not far from us. Ben and Lizzie are a bit to the south of Managua. I do not remember the names of the towns at the moment. Kelsey is also in Managua, but on the other side of town. I think.

We flew first class from Guatemala City to Managua on Thursday morning. As a result we all got to eat breakfast in the "Copa Club". How strange it felt to be in such a luxurious place! Sagen, our fearless leader, did not get first class. An ironic situation indeed. The man deserves lots of praise and some gold chains. In any case, a Chilean guy saw that we had all abandoned him and he invited him in to the club since he is an actual member of the club.

We spent the past two days learning from our Nicaraguan coordinator, Freddy Mendez and taking time to sleep and work at a retreat type dealio. A "guest house".

Okay. That's a thing that has words.

-Niko

Whatever is foreseen in joy Must be lived out from day to day. Vision held open in the dark By our ten thousand days of work. Harvest will fill the barn; for that The hand must ache, the face must sweat. And yet no leaf or grain is filled By work of ours; the field is tilled And left to grace. That we may reap, Great work is done while we're asleep. When we work well, a Sabbath mood Rests on our day, and finds it good.

Wendell Berry "X"

Responding to the Revolution: thoughts from Melissa

I think I can probably speak for everyone, and know I can at least speak for myself, when I say that this last month in Guatemala has been an immsensely joyful, challenging, difficult, at times lonely, growing, and, now looking back on it, genuinely good and gracious time. I was reflecting on all of it earlier this morning and was overwhelmed with gratitude and thanks for the experiences I've had, thoughts I've struggles with, relationships I've made, feelings I've felt, doubts I've faced, and truths I've encountered during my short time in this beautiful and incredibly unique country.

If you don't know much about the culture and history of Guatemala I 1) don't blame you, because before my little venture to Central America I also knew very little and 2) definitely recommend you spend a little time on google, wikepedia, or another preferred search engine giving yourself a brief little history lesson on this small but culturally rich country. The indigenous culture here is prominent and beautiful, the recent history of civil war, genocide, and complete destruction is incredibly recent and visible, poverty is a tangible reality even in the 'wealthier' of towns, and the people have proved to be incredibly kind, gracious and full of a wisdom I needed to hear.

Through different encounters I've had with seeing the children 'lustradores' (boys often between the ages of 8-12 who shine shoes all day long, talking with the people at Innerchange (check them out, they're rad http://www.innerchange.org/location/guatemala), going to the case de inmigrantes (Niko already kinda talked about it in a previous post), contrasting my abundance of wealth and opportunities compared to the majority of guatemaltecas, and reconciling the truths of the Gospel and our calling as Christians with the needs/hurts I've seen around me, I think I've maybe come to a little more complete and whole understanding of what the heart of Jesus looks like. I've learned that the Gospel is incredibly hard and difficult to actually live out and when Christ asks for our all he actually means it. I've seen the joy of people who have witnessed pretty horrific and incredibly sad things in their life yet still, for some reason or another, find the ability to hold tightly to hope. I've heard the stories of people who saw the needs of their community and, with obedience and a whole lot of trust, are now responding by tangibly doing something about it. I've met people who have sacrificed their comfort, abundance, preferences, and plans for the sake of other's and for the sake of the real, deal Gospel. I think I've realized that the heart of Christ is really among the poor, marginalized, and forgotten and that it is my responsibility as a follower of Christ to live for, among and with these people. I don't really know what that means or what that looks like at this point, but I'm pretty confident that its worth wrestling with and attempting to live out.

During the time of having all these thoughts and feeling called by our God to doing something with the knowledge I have, needs I've seen and resources I have, I've been reading Henri Nouwen's diary of his time in Latin America called "Gracious." When I first started reading it I said that it was rocking my working, but now I think the better description is that its reconciling my world. This is a quote I read during my first few weeks in Guatemala and it's stuck with me ever since. It talks about prayer and living for the poor which are two things I really want to do. I think it's worth reading...

"True prayer always includes becoming poor. When we pray we stand naked and vulnerable in front of Our Lord and show him our true condition. If one were to do this not just for oneself, but in the name of the thousands of surrounding poor people, wouldn’t that be “mission” in the true sense of being sent into the world as Jesus himself was sent into the world? To lift up your hands to the Lord and show him the hungry children who play on the dusty streets, the tired women who carry their babies on their backs to the marketplace, the men who try to forget their misery and the homeless squatters, together with their laughter, friendly gestures, and gentle words - wouldn’t that be true service? If God really exists, if he truly cares, if he never leaves his people alone, who is there to remind him of his promises? Who is there to cry out: “How long will you frown on your people’s plea?? ... Turn again, we implore, look down from heaven and see. Visit this vin and protect it, the vine your right hand has planted.... Let your face shine on us, and we shall be saved” (PS. 80)? I feel that in a world rushing to the abyss, the need for calling God to the task, for challenging him to make his love felt among the poor, is more urgent than ever. Prayer is the ongoing cry of the incarnate Lord to the loving God. It is eternity in the midst of mortality, it is life among death, hope in the midst of despair, true promise surrounded by lies. Prayer brings love alive among us. So let us pray unceasingly" (Nouwen 11-12).

So those are some of the thoughts that have been going on in my mind this last month and likely in the minds of my fellow CASP-ians as well. At the beginning of this time of being challenged and struggling with the things we saw, we quickly coined the word 'revolution' as being the form in which we live out our convictions, passions and callings as Christians. We would promptly start a sort of revolution to do something about all this head knowledge we've gained and respond to the anger, frustrations and hope we've encountered. However, our good friend Eli has recently re-named this movement with a term that I think encompasses what we all long to do even better. He calls it "the kingdom of God." This revolution we want to start began long before our time and now we're feeling incredibly called to join it and allow it's power to change our lives and the lives of those around us. This "kingdom of God" is the preferential option for the poor we all believe in, it is living incredibly simply and being good stewards of our abundant wealth/opportunities, it's living for, among and with the lost, marginalized and forgotten, it's responding to the Gospel in a way that demands our everything, and I am confident that it is incredibly worth it.

That's us. 8 predominately middle-class, kind of quirky, christian-liberal arts students traveling around Central America being broken and being opened to this revolutionary reality of the kingdom of God. We realize we've still got a lot to learn, a lot to see, and a lot of room for growth so we'll just keep taking it one step at a time. We leave for Nicaragua at 4am tomorrow morning where we'll all have the opportunity to start responding to these callings and convictions we have by serving in some sort of way in all our different internships. None of us know what to expect, but I think we're all excited, nervous and I believe ready for this unknown. Thanks to all y'all fam and friends for your prayers, good thoughts, support and encouragement during this adventure and time of growth we're all on.

Que les vaya bien and next time you'll hear from us it'll be from Nicaragua.

--Melissa

The Underbelly of Immigration

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on who you ask, the dreams of many Guatemalan children are to reach the United States. Of course, in my own cynical thoughts about the US, I would like to tell these children that the US is not what its cracked up to be. And that American Dream? (Which really ought to be called the US dream, because hey! guess what? I'm still in America right now.) Let's just say it enslaves at least as many as the people who achieve it. And even if they do achieve it, are they happier than the Guatemalans I have met on my trip? Are they happier than my host family in Costa Rica? I'm not sure about that. But then again, my privilege is showing. The amount of poverty in the US pales in comparison to the poverty in Guatemala. These kids have every right to want a better life.

Again, with Cambio Interno, we went to the "Casa de la Inmigración" which receives children who were caught by immigration authorities in Mexico. These kids come in on a bus paid for by the Mexican government. These kids have essentially just been incarcerated. Their dreams have been dashed. The goal of the home, which is run by the Guatemalan government, is to provide a comfortable place and good image of their own country. They are given a meal, a talk and a bed for the night. Their parents or relatives are notified and have at most 72 hours to pick up their children.

For the 50-some children who came off that bus last night, what I imagine to be an abrupt vision of gringos met their eyes. Their dreams of reaching the United States had been shot, but for some reason, there were these US citizens helping move their spiderman backpacks and Nike drawstrings into the building. What a confusing situation for these kids. And maybe not even decipherable. Especially for the young children. One kid was six. Of the fifty children, two were girls.

Our role was simple: to observe and to think. We also prepared hygiene bags that they give to the kids: soap, shampoo, deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste. A few of us helped serve the dinner of chicken, sauce and rice. I tried a bit of the plantain drink they offered the kids. In hindsight, it was quite tasty.

For us, we're still interpreting and thinking about this experience. Our vision of immigration was amplified last night. No longer is this just a question of Mexican immigrants. It's not a question of numbers of immigrants or work visas. These are real human lives, Guatemalan children we saw yesterday. They want to go to the place that I freely come from, return to, leave with haste, love deeply and criticize often.

-Niko

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