Ecuador has taught me a lot in 5 months.
Things I never imagined and in ways I never could have envisioned. It’s
impossible to share all that has run through my head or made its way into my
journal, but I would like to share a few of the reflections I’ve drawn (and a
few quotations from books I’ve read here in Ecuador).
“Ministry
is entering with our human brokenness into communion with others and speaking a
word of hope. This hope is not based on my power to solve the problems of those
with whom we live, but on the love of God, which becomes visible when we let go
of our fears of being out of control and enter into his presence in a shared
confession of weakness” – Gracias by Henri Nouwen
I feel I am constantly being humbled and
affirmed during my time in Ecuador. A few weeks ago I had another eye-opening
experience. I visited one of my close neighbors while she and her daughters
were doing pedicures. She beckoned me in and filled a tub of water to wash my
feet in before painting my toe nails. I had this odd, sudden pang of shame – hesitating
to take my sandals off and reveal my dirty feet covered in dust and grime from
walking the streets of Mt Sinai all day. This moment reminded me of the concluding
prayer session of our senior MAGIS retreat (a church leadership program at Holy
Cross) where we did a foot washing ritual. It was harder to be the person
having one’s feet washed than to be the person doing the actual washing. The
same held true in this moment, and by extension how I felt at that moment about
my time and “service” in Ecuador. It is relatively easier to sit with somebody else
in their own vulnerability – to attend to another’s wounds. But to expose one’s
own weakest, unkempt part (the foot in this analogy of the body) is not quite
as easy. It is important to learn to be comfortable in both roles – as the
washer and the “washee”. In this year in Ecuador I have constantly been humbled
and invited to bear my own “dirty feet” and sit in solidarity with others
bearing their own “dirty feet,” without shame or doubt, in “a shared confession
of weakness”.
“It
is difficult not to have plans, not to organize people around an urgent cause,
and not to feel that you are working directly for social progress. But I wonder
more and more if the first thing shouldn’t be to know people by name, to eat
and drink with them, to listen to their stories and tell your own, and to let
them know with words, handshakes, and hugs that you do not simply like them,
but truly love them” – Gracias by Henri Nouwen
The mission statement of Rostro de Cristo
focuses on a mission of presence – not of doing but of being. I have gained a
new appreciation for the ministry of pure presence in this year. I have had two
deep and moving conversations with neighbors where they said never, never did
they expect to ever host a “gringita” (term for American) in their home. It was
again, such a humbling moment for me. It didn’t matter what we did together in
my visit or what we talked about. Just my willingness and actual desire to
enter her home, to sit in her own space, and open myself and receive her was
enough – enough to move her to tears. All that any person needs or desires is
to be recognized, to have his/her own humanity dignity recognized and affirmed.
As I believe Mother Teresa once said, ‘our greatest fallacy is that we forget
that we belong to each other.’
“To
find oneself alone in a great city, without a single friend or acquaintance,
without provision of any kind, whether it be physical equipment or the support
and security one derives from ordinary human relationships; to be poor even as
far as language is concerned, unable to express oneself, to tell people what
one is, what one knows; always to be in a position of inferiority, a child just
learning to speak, contemptuously dismissed in every discussion, painfully
aware of the poor impression one is always making, and of the pity, or else the
hostility, with which one is regarded – all this brings home to a person better
than empty theorizing what poverty, in the radical sense of dis-possesion,
really means. Not only does it take away external attachments, it makes one
truly humble of heart; for to be poor is to be humiliated, and it is from
humiliations that one learns humility” – Essential Writings of Pedro Arrupe
Throughout my time here, and in my doubts
and the struggles of the first few months to learn the language, I have
questioned how my lack of fluency has affected my experience. How would my
experience change if I did understand everything, if I could converse without
even thinking? While at times I definitely beat myself up for not knowing the
language perfectly, it has come with its own unique gifts in this year. Sure,
there are questions that go unasked or stories that I don’t fully understand.
But does that go against my mission here as a volunteer? I don’t believe so.
A few months ago I sat on rice bags in
between two homes hiding from the brutal sun with a neighbor as she recounted
her life growing up in and raising children and grandchildren in poverty to me.
Mid-way through I thought to myself what a shame it was I didn’t understand
everything perfectly, and what a disservice to her this was. But upon leaving
and hearing her barrage of gratitude for my visit I realized it didn’t matter.
She just needed somebody to recognize she was there – hidden between the two
homes – present and suffering. She just needed an ear willing to sit and listen
to her thoughts, all that occupies her all day.
Similarly, the first couple months working
at Ana’s after school program I left most weeks feeling useless and incompetent
without the proper vocabulary to effectively teach or discipline the kids. What
a humbling experience it has been to be greeted every single week with warm
hugs and flowers picked from nearby trees and again upon leaving. We are loved
here for who we are, not necessarily for what we do. Humility and gratitude are
two of the biggest graces I have learned from the example of my neighbors.
These are lessons I could not have learned without silence and idleness.
Last week as a neighbor and I were shaking
with laughter she told me, “you have to laugh at the world before the world
laughs at you.” This quotation brought to mind a presentation given by Fr. Jim
Martin during our orientation back in July entitled Laughing with the Saints.
In part of his presentation he presented the case for what a tool humor is:
humor evangelizes; humor as a tool of humility; humor welcomes; humor heals; humor
deepens our relationship with God. Then when I think of my time spent visiting
neighbors I think of how much of that is spent laughing – A LOT. We laugh at my
terrible dance moves, our bloopers of Spanish mistakes, and random events of
our lives (me getting chased and nibbled on by our new puppy was popular!). I believe
it is through sharing our humor and laughing at the world that we also share
our authentic selves.
“The
easy smile of the poor and their readiness to celebrate have a basis in
reality. While they show us that life is more cruel and evil more tenacious
than we ordinarily admit, they also help us recognize that there is something
going on in the world that is much more wonderful that we had imagined” – A
Call to Discernment in Troubled Times by Dean Brackley
I can in no way neatly conclude all of
Ecuador or these 5 months into one post. All that I can conclude is that Ecuador
is abundant – it is sadness and its joy – both felt with every fiber of your
being. Every single day is a unique adventure.
Love and miss you all,
Colleen
