Like Wheat Arising Green

Work has picked up the last few days. At the request of staff here, I have begun translating the articles Alexa Smith wrote for the Presbyterian Outlook (see Great Day for the Outlook), so they can be used for publicity work here in Colombia. It involved laborious usage of the American Heritage Larousse Spanish Dictionary, but I think I´ve written something for the first article that (with heavy editing, naturally) is usable.

Friday was spent in interviews with Alexa, including a discussion with Vilma Yanez (current moderator of the IPC). They spoke about the situation of the church in general, the status of certain ministers that Alexa had interviewed, and Vilma´s upcoming trip to the states as a Peacemaking Partner. As an unsolicited advertisement for all y´all living in Louisville – Vilma will be in our neck of the woods in September, and should be a delight to hear. I´d love to see everyone there!

That evening, Alexa had originally been given an interview with union organizers from the local Coca Cola plant, in order to speak with them (in part, on behalf of Mission Responsibility Through Investment) to find out more about the current status of labor conditions in the bottling factories. If you are not aware, there is a long standing boycott of all Coca Cola products because of a history of assassinations, disappearances, and intimidation aimed at labor leaders in the local bottlers here. You can find out more information at it at the Killer Coke website, which has been a central spot for information for the US campaign. I was eager to participate in this particular discussion (or, more accurately, funnel it between the participants), as I have heard conflicting reports about its current status. However, we received another one of our torrential rains that night, and so the union leaders failed to show up. Very sad.

However, that timing did allow us to sneak in an interview with a professor here, Milciades, which was a great blessing. Milciades teaches here at the University, is the pastor of a church downtown, and is the father of two of our better friends here. His wife is also a local minister who works with the displaced. He is respected throughout the Presbytery as one of their resident theologians and strong leaders.

Approximately 11 years ago, in part because Milciades has taken on the challenge of using the bible as a criticism of social sin, and because he has worked on behalf of the oppressed, Milciades´ name was placed on a list of enemies of the state, a list that includes a rotating roster of human rights advocates and peace workers falsely accused of guerrilla activity. He saw those with whom his name was listed disappear, one by one, with no stated warning letting them know their time had come. The presence of his name, among theirs, was a threat in order to quiet the truth. Other incidences have occurred as well; for example, in the last few years there a very public accusation made by one of Milciades´ co-workers that he had embezzled from the government agency for which he was working. There was no trial, he was never convicted, and his track record outside of that agency points to the presumable falsehood of those charges. However, in a nation essentially controlled by various forms of militias, where the rule of law is a farce, it is the accusation alone that can destroy the victim.

Indeed, a few years later, when Milciades was continuing his theological studies in the United States at a presbyterian seminary, his name re-appeared on the aforementioned list of enemies. There were many close to him who counseled him to stay in the states; that it was too dangerous for him to return. However, his simple reply to such discussions is that if all those who receive threats for doing the work of God were to leave, it would mean that the forces of violence had won. He stated that it is his Christian responsibility to continue his work in the faces of such threats, while maintaining a reasonable assessment of the commitment he has made to his family and others.

In the midst of such turmoil, Milciades´ primary metaphor was that of waiting for the dawn; of knowing that the night will soon pass and cannot last forever. It is a message of interminable hope and dedication. He spoke of the necessity to actively work for the construction of peace, rather than simply denouncing that which is wrong. He spoke of finding the alternative approach even in the darkest hours. I, too, saw the sunrise in his words. I saw the potential for social redemption and transformation. I am waiting anxiously for the dawning on which he elaborated so eloquently. I do hope to see it myself.

This same message is echoed in the hymnology of Colombia, which treats sowing and reaping and growth and the coming of spring as a theological act. They related injustice to the winter that will pass, and the work they are doing now as the planting of seeds that will burst into fruit in the coming months. This too is a message of hope.

In Surrey England of 1928, in another agrarian culture, John McCrum capture this sense of hope in a hymn that has captured for me what it means to trust in the midst of winter. He wrote “Now the green blade rises, from the buried grain; Wheat that in the dark earth many years has lain; Love lives again, that with the dead has been; Love is come again like wheat arising green.”

We wait in expectation for this wheat to bud, break through the frosty earth, and show us again that we have the potential for a culture that emphasizes of kin-dom over empire, reconciliation over violence, and life over death. I long to see the fruit of that potential, which is already beginning to flower.

consciously Choosing Revelry over Resignation

I am living in a nation of extroverts. Alongside our normal schedule of meetings and visitations, Christine and I have spent the last few days navigating the bustling social scene of Presbyterian ¨Jovenes¨ in Barranquilla. While ¨Jovenes¨ is often translated as youth, I´d say it more accurately, culturally applies to young adults. The IPC is a young church, bursting with the idealism and energy of young activists. The young adults we have found ourselves classified with range in age from 17 (just starting at the University, the youngest) to around 27 or 28. I´m finding myself on the older end, but just by a bit, while Christine (at 48 today) has been pretending to be much younger and enjoying every minute of it. ¨Jovenes,¨ here, has essentially been expanded to include all those who are old enough to make their own decision and take care of themselves (a capability that comes much younger here), but have not yet settled down into taking care of a family. There is a constant flux of activity.

In the last few days, we´ve been bowling at the local alley, visited the zoo with a student from the University, joined the party of a friend of a friend who came visiting from Venezuela for the meeting of the Latin American Council of Reformed Churches (AIPRAL), and had a day long series of birthday celebrations for Christine which are still just warming up. After two and a half weeks, I already feel as if I have become one of the regulars, which is a welcome feeling.

For me, this celebration serves as a release. In this same period I have, we have born witness to situations I know in the core of my being are not as they should be. Yesterday morning, we visited a displaced community on a small island, not 3 miles from the university, in the middle of the river and a 100 meter boat ride from the many of the city government offices. And yet, even at the heart of the city, la Isla was cut off from water, power, gas and access to necessary resources. Getting out of the boat, it felt as if we´d been plopped in an isolated rural community, yet the city skyline was always in sight. A group of staff from the local children´s library took us with them. The cross the river twice a week in order to bring educational programming to the community. They have one teacher for the community, who works off a cement landing covered by a tarp, and teaches first through third grade. Fourth, fifth, and sixth grades are sent to the school in another displaced community, to which they travel each morning in boats that appear as if they may disintegrate at any moment. The majority of the people support themselves through small farms on the island, where they raises green onions, coconuts, cilantro, and build makeshift pools to breed fish. However, there is no running water to provide irrigation, no power to assist in maintenance, and no manner of water filtration in order to make it drinkable, which prohibits their productivity. One of the local community leaders led us on a trek across the ¨Isla,¨ a sort of sight seeing tour of rural poverty in the middle of the city. He told us of his frustrations with the assistance they did get, and their lack of support from official organizations outside their perimeter. He recounted how a local organization had fundraised and gathered shoes for all the children on the island, and yet the day after their supposed arrival, all the children were barefoot because the shoes had been ¨lost along the way,¨ a casualty of government corruption. That anecdote, on its own, captures the depravity of the situation in Colombia….

Today we also attended a meeting of leaders in the displaced communities, as they educated themselves about potential amidst the development programs that already exist, and strategized to achieve the reparation they desire. It was another of those meetings in which I feel hopelessly lost, but know that they are only asking me for my presence.

Tonight, we continue the revelry with Christine´s birthday party. We will kick up our heels, and laugh about the depths we see each day. And so we continue…

Reading Bonhoeffer in Barranquilla

Tonight was the last of a series of lectures by a visiting professor from Wisconsin, who also serves as the editor of one of the volumes of Dietrich Bonhoeffer´s writings that is currently in the process of being published. He has been speaking to the seminarians here since at least Wednesday (possibly Tuesday) about various letters and themes in Bonhoeffer´s writing. Understandably, the idea of a costly grace, of the risky requirements of true faith, present in his writings and his life resonate here in the persecuted church. They are a voice of hope and persistence. They strengthen those who daily see the potential for their own martyrdom. His works holds a whole new depth when seen from this context.

Today was a quiet day, the first such since my arrival. The office has been closed, and German (my supervisor) was gone from campus for the day, so I spent it milling around my room, reading, and waiting in case something was needed. It is my understanding that a lot of our time here is spent waiting to see what arises. That is part of our ´ministry of presence.´ We come and go from here to lunch, or the department store, feeling at home, and yet knowing that our comings and goings are being watched and our presence along the street and at the University is now part of the public consciousness. In a meeting a few days ago, German let me know that the immigration office has come to University in the past to ask after the accompaniers. With it was a governmental recognition that they know that we are here, aware, and willing to speak out, though none of that was said.

Yet, even amidst this tension, or maybe in part because of it, the people of Barranquilla have adopted a relaxed acceptance and adaptation to whatever circumstances arise. For example, the University here delayed the commencement of classes for the semester by a week because a large number of their students either hadn´t gotten around to registering or hadn´t yet paid their outstanding bills. In my academic context, even in a school as community focused as LPTS, those types of accommodations would be seen as foolish. And yet, here, they have become part of the natural flow of academic life. Sometimes it can seem almost haphazard; however, allowing such daily freedom and spontaneity within our own lives and within our systems can lead to creative, innovative, and exciting times. Here in Barranquilla, you never know what the next day holds.

Tomorrow will come, full of surprises and delights.

Great Day for The Outlook

Included in the masses that descended upon Barranquilla last week for the 150th Anniversary Celebration was one rather rugged journalist, an LPTS alumna, who has come with a variety of articles to write for multiple magazine about the Colombian Church. Some of you know Alexa Smith, by reputation if not in person. She has been a supporter of the cause here for some time, and one of our allies in mission. When she was still on staff with Presbyterian News Service, it was her words that awakened the church to the IPC´s dilemma and informed our members about the threat to an active faith that is ever present here. Her first two articles from this session in South America were put up on the net yesterday; they include one on the Accompaniers, and one on the Celebration. While you´re at the Presbyterian Outlook´s website as well, check out Chris Iosso´s article on the conflict in Israel and Lebanon. I´m proud to state that I share a pew with him every Sunday morning!

I cut my time in the Psycho Social Support class short today, as Alexa was going to be traveling to a displaced community and meeting with leaders here on campus, and so needed a interpreter to cite their stories back to her. I gave me my first opportunity to enter the displacement camps myself, and here the beginnings of those stories that inspired me to come in the first place. It was tiring, but satisfying knowing that because of these efforts, awareness about Colombia will span into whole new audiences…

Kilometro Seven was the displacement camp we visited in the late morning and early afternoon. Two years ago, on a previous trip, Alexa had met with a woman named Lucy who shared with her about her experiences, and inspired some earlier stories. We, once again, met Lucy to see what had come about in the last two years. We heard Lucy recount the story of converting her home from it´s early primary material of plastic lining to haphazard wooden boards. We saw Lucy glow with pride as she showed us the combination kitchen and bathroom she was in the process of building in order to make her house a little more stable. The makeshift housing of 2 years ago has become a permanent residence there in that overpopulated campground. They have begun to build a life in the midst of ruin. 284 families live in close quarters. Running water in each house depends on the amount of homemade yogurt you can vend in the street. Yet these stories are all too familiar to anyone who has spent time in the two thirds world.

The tragedy is that each of these families had land of their own. They were farmers, connected the land and sustaining themselves by the fruit of their work. They tilled the earth and made it multiply. They sowed with joy and reaped with pleasure. They had small farms and business of their own that had been passed down for generations in many cases. However, their small farms happened to be located in the parts of the country that were often richest in resources. As titles were rare, and guns were plentiful, these workers of the earth were forced from their homes by the various armed forces as they centralized their powers and found ways to fund their armies. They have lost more than a plot of land; they have lost their identity, and brought to live in destitute conditions. It is like a Latin American dustbowl whose homes “done blown away” through the winds of war rather than the Oklahoma storms.

There are efforts to return the displaced to their homes, but as one leader put it, the government is promoting a return when it cannot support a reparation. The Colombian government sees the ills manifest in the displaced communities; Indeed, the ugliness of sewage running into the street is hard to hide. However, the desplazados have no desire to return only to lose their land again at the hands of the armed forces. They will not return until a guarantee has been made that they can secure their property, that they will not be forced off again, and that they will have the freedom to till their land and grow their own crops, to cultivate, without the fear that they will not be present for the coming harvest.

That does not seem to unreasonable a request; a return of what was theirs and a guarantee that it will not be taken away from them again. And yet, leaders in the displaced communities who have clamored for such legislation have been systematically assassinated, kidnapped, and forced into hiding. Some have been able to return to start their work again; Some will never have that chance. Political repression is like a disease that suffocates its afflicted by cutting out their ability to breath and therefore speak.

This is part of the story that Alexa is preparing to tell, through publications like the Outlook, Christian Century, Christianity Today, and many others. May the Holy Spirit guide her pen, and inspire her readers to act. Understanding, without action, is hollow. We shall see what she shares.

Tai Chi, Pressure Points, and a Revolving Population

Wednesday, Aug 16 (Published one day late)

The comings and goings, departures and arrivals, have ceased for a short while. We have been given the news that Milton and his family arrived safely in Texas, a great loss to Colombia but a huge relief for those of us concerned about his security. The delegations have all boarded their trains and busses for their continuing adventures in group educational travel. Tracy, my predecessor here who had been Christine´s accompaniment partner since late June, has gone home for a month and will return in September. In fact, the office here will be closed for long weekend as compensation to the staff, who have worked like “trabajolicos” (our invented word for the American concept of a work a holic) over the past few weeks. I am glad for them, and the chance to relax…

Christine (the accompanier who´s staying) and I have spent the last two days sitting in on a seminar entitled “Psycho Social Support for Victims of Violence.” When assigned to attend, I expect another three days of struggling with academic terms in a foreign language, and frantically translating for Christine what I could catch. While I understand nearly all of the words used in these meetings over the last two weeks, the use of very poor microphones, the speed of the speakers, and the lack of written outlines for most presentations has seriously tested my ability to comprehend.

However, Christine and I soon discovered that this was not to be another mentally exhausting sojourn into sitting in the corner and trying to catch on. Two sisters had come in from El Salvador from a group named Capacitar. They were teaching us, along side the ministers, elders, community leaders, and human rights lawyers beside us, some very basic techniques in the use of healing touch in order to calm ourselves and those we work with, relieve stress, and bring emotional relief. We´ve been learning about the differences between Eastern and Western Medicine, and how to apply those understandings in a holistic manner while working in communities where we may not have ready access to pharmaceuticals and other miracles of the modern world. The workshop has been fascinating, useful, and surprising. We´ve already begun using some of the self treatment techniques in order to maintain our own health and stress levels here as accompaniers as culture shock and the massive heat begin to affect us.

I´m now off to dinner with Christine, and then running errands at the Latin American version of K Mart, right down our street. I´ll write more soon!

Emy

Happy Anniversary, IPC!

I haven´t written in a bit, as the internet here on our computer has been down, but the celebration is now over and I have a bit more time to make sure this makes it on to you all...
This weekend was taken up by the festivities for the 150th anniversary of the Presbyterian Church of Colombia. There was a flood of North Americans, who came in about 4 different delegations from across the United States in order to attend and celebrate with the Colombians. I enjoy having more people to speak English with, and it was a good way to show our solidarity with the IPC, but it still felt a little imperialist at times. The Colombian church was planted by North Americans, and while they´ve done well (at least, as far as I´ve seen) at re-adapting the traditions and making them their own, I still wasn´t comfortable with how foreign certain aspects of the celebration felt - from the pounding chords of "God of the Ages" in their militaristic glory to the invitation of a North American to be the primary speaker at a celebration of the Colombian church, we´re still struggling to overcome the patristic tendencies in our relationship between the two denominations.
Overall, though, it was a weekend of great expressions and excitement. There was presentation Saturday night with two dance groups, one a magnificent dramatic Afro-Colombian dance troupe (which even impressed Christine, my fellow accompanier who spent years working in the theater), and the other an assortment of youth from throughout Barranquilla who were connected with the church. There was a huge "birthday party" of sorts last night, after the worship service, with every version of any birthday song you can think of, and official greetings were brought from more Reformed churches than I knew were in existence! Now, things are slowing down a bit - the delegations are leaving town, the officials and journalists have other business in country.
Sadly, one of the people we´ve been working with here primarily, Milton Mejia, and his family, are leaving for the States today because doing the work of God has become too dangerous. I admire the ability of the people here to continue to "sing with all their throat," (as one hymn puts it) while looking cold reality in the face. What courage....

Sharing in Celebration

Colombia is not a wheelchair accessible country. Delegations have begun to arrive for the Celebration of the One Hundred and Fiftieth Anniversary of Presbyterianism in Colombia. As we are seated in the headquarters of the IPC, the Anniversary will be here in the area. The Stated Clerk is coming, along with quite a few other dignitaries. Very official. This afternoon, I wheeled around the executive of Miami Presbytery, who twisted her foot as soon as she stepped off the bus with her delegation here in Barranquilla, and so is now in a wheelchair. There are no ramps here, which makes transportation much more difficult. I feel for her; I remember how difficult it was when I was in a wheelchair for six weeks in the states. Conditions here make it that much more difficult.

That, combined with the meeting of the Red Ecumenica (Ecumenical Network), has kept us busy right here at the Universidad Reformada (Reformed University). It´s been exciting; I´ve gotten to know a lot of people doing thrilling work, but I´m ready for it to be a bit quieter. This is a very loud country. It´s a joyful noise, a noise of celebration and music and laughter, but it can be very distracting

I spent my birthday yesterday sitting in committee meetings and translating (in small groups better than large ones). It satisfied all my nerdy needs. There was a cake at the meeting, and a small group of us went out afterwards to a restaurant that blasts 80s USian pop music into the streets of Barranquilla. It was a very good birthday.

Thank you all for your wishes! I´ll write more soon!

Emy (Colombian spelling of Amy)

I´ve spent the last few days running errands, changing money, and assisting as I can around the office. We were preparing to host a meeting of the Red Ecumenica (Ecumenical Network), which is a network of religious leaders throughout Colombia who are working on justice issues related to the conflict. Opening worship last night was an inspiration; I was so caught up in the message and liturgy (or what I could catch of it), that at times I would forget to translate for my colleague Christine (for which she generously forgives me every time :) ) Today, my birthday, I began the morning by starting to translate some of the hymns we have been singing, in hopes of incorporating them in service back home. Below, I´ve included the translation for one that find absolutely thrilling. It captures the theological spirit of the conference. Sadly, I don´t have the music for y´all. I´ll write again soon.

Buenas Nuevas Pa´Mi Pueblo (Good News for My People)

They will fall, those who oppress,
The hope of my people
They will fall, those who eat
Bread for which they did not sweat
They will fall, with violence
Those same who have searched for it
And my people will arise
Like the sun over the field

Chorus

Good news!
Good news for my people!
He who wants to hear, listen
She who wants to see, watch
That which is happening
In the midst of a people
Who are beginning to march
That which is happening
In the midst of a people
Who are beginning to awake

You are no longer yoked
Your pain has finished
Long, you have waited
Now your moment has arrived
In your hollows, my people
There is a God who has been hidden
And with strength he has awakened
Your sleeping face

Chorus

A new day is dawning
And the fields are green again
New men appear
From an earth that is renewing
And their voices, like thunder´
Are breaking the silence
And in your songs of courage
There is a God who takes joy

Chorus

We can change history
Walk to our victory
We can create the future
And break down all the walls
If we unite our hands
If we see each other as brothers and sisters
We will achieve the impossible,
We will be a people of free men and women.

And it begins

I arrived at the office and seminary last night, around midnight, after a trip that started at 3:30 in the morning. It included a 7 hour layover in Newark (trust me, not the most fascinating place to get stuck), a mechanical error that very nearly got me left behind in Bogota for my last flight, and the bewilderment that comes from entering a new country already tired and weary. However, I slept well this morning and have already found my way around campus and to the grocery store. Apparently, I come across as more comfortable here than I am, since the woman in line was astounded that I didn´t have a store credit card for the local grocery. That´s one good thing – I feel more confident knowing that you can´t tell I´m a newbie from looking at me. You´ll hear more soon. I just wanted you all to know that I was in safe and sound.

Anxiously Waiting...

Last night, I tossed and turned the restless sleep of anticipation. Today, I worked my last shift in the call center, leaving my job behind to follow what I once thought was a pipe dream. I spoke with my family for the last time before I vacate the continent, and greeted each of my aunts and uncles and cousins as they gathered to celebrate together and enjoy each other in our annual picnic.

In five hours and twelve minutes, I will leave for the airport in an act of trust. It is an act of trust that the New Creation is coming to pass through the work of peace within the Presbyterian Church of Colombia. It is an act of trust in the power of Redemption to mold hearts and end conflict. It is an act of trust that Divine Nurturing will sustain each of us as we band together to celebrate what God has done for 150 years of Presbyterian witness in Colombia. I step out, not knowing what will come to pass, but understanding that I will see modern-day miracles of faith.

Tonight, I will sleep short, but deep. I am still waiting to see where this almost fool-hardy trust will lead me.