Nothing says 'gringo' like a group of white people standing on a street corner, looking both helpless and lost, yet not too lost because none of them need look very far to find another individual proudly sporting the exact same t-shirt advertising the love of God for all the Spanish-speaking world to read - in English. Does this mean I truly have become a local? Whatever it means, I couldn't help but chuckle to myself as I traversed the main thoroughfares of Iquitos running errands this morning; that's when I saw them. They stuck out like sore thumbs. Having just read a book on cross-cultural ministry (which I highly recommend in my 'Good Reads' section below) the thought occurred to me that, as Christians, we like to announce our presence, drawing as much attention to ourselves as possible, whether intentional or not. In our culture, t-shirts are cool, especially when they identify us as part of an elite group such as a sorority/fraternity, athletic organization, or, yes, a mission team. I'm certainly not bashing t-shirts, as I have been an avid collector myself in years past, but I am giving voice to a frustration I experience with greater frequency in direct proportion to the amount of time I live here that begs the question, 'Would Jesus wear a t-shirt?' Trite, I know, but valid nonetheless. Please forgive my cynicism - it is my current struggle. Have no fear, God is working it out in me in sometimes very painful ways, lest anyone would think my sarcasm is going unchecked!
Another truth that is becoming more and more apparent is that you can't really get to know people unless you can talk to them. I have been building relationships here for 7 years now and each time I return they are strengthened a little more, not by virtue of the fact that I am here, but because I have a greater ability to communicate than ever before. Learning Spanish and being able to sit down with people and have conversations without the aid of an interpreter has changed the dynamics of every relationship I have here. It has peeled away many layers of surface judgments (on both sides) to reveal the depths of the humanness of us all. For example, I went to Pastor German's house this week for what would be my final visit of the summer. Enith, her 3 daughters, and I all sat around the table laughing and talking about how we need to lose weight and how hard it is to do. At Maria's house for my farewell lunch, her husband excitedly showed me the trophy he'd received the previous weekend for winning a tournament with his, as he called it, 'old men's soccer team,' while her daughter described her agony as a mother whose 11 month old baby will be having surgery in Lima next week because she was born without bowels. At Margarita's house, during my surprise dinner last night, we laughed at her daughter talking about the boy she likes. Later I was fussed at for taking her daughter's side regarding the benefits of sleeping late, which Margarita says is just plain laziness. We take conversations like these for granted at home, because if we don't talk to people there, it's because we don't want to. But when you live in a foreign city with an unfamiliar language, you begin to realize how valuable little chats are to the process of relationship building.
I have relished the moments over this past week that I have been here alone, during which time I've been able to get outside the 'commercial district' (so to speak) of Iquitos and spend more time in the true neighborhoods, observing families going about their everyday lives. I have seen families all sitting down together at the dinner table, parents disciplining their children, little ones arguing over whose turn it is in a game of marbles on the sidewalk, and adults sitting in their rocking chairs enjoying the company of neighbors. I am eternally grateful for these opportunities, because they have been invitations into real life here, not just the practiced scenes acted out for groups of gringos (and, yes, as much as we like to think otherwise, during the one week per year that our mission teams are here, what they see are carefully rehearsed scripts which allow us, in some ways, to see what we want to see rather than what is real). But these are all things that one can't possibly begin to understand without coming here to live, minus the clock-breaking, arduous schedule the mission teams are on.
My light skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes belie the fact that I am not a native of Peru - I have no need of duplicated garments to announce my presence. And I don't ever want to yearn for or need an audience in a church to share my knowledge of and love for my Savior; I hope the simplest of my everyday words and actions indicate that my true home is not of this world. Nathan exemplifies this in his Peruvian legacy. During the course of his time as an intern here, he had a conversation with Villa and a few others in which they tried to convince him that it is acceptable to have girlfriends in addition to his wife. Without being the least bit judgmental, Nathan explained to them that he loves only one woman that way - his wife - and he is committed to her because he believes that is what God wants. It was a quick conversation with high impact; Villa has not stopped talking about it. I cannot count the number of times he has said to me, "Nathan really loves his wife." I've tried to follow that up by saying he should imitate Nathan and love his own wife to that degree. Whether he hears me or not, because I am a woman after all and naturally I would say that, he definitely heard Nathan. There was no t-shirt, no announcement that he was the gringo here to teach the ways of God to the unsuspecting locals, no showy church service - there was simply a conversation between two men in which one man set the example for the other in a non-condemning, yet convicting way. Nathan has taught me more than he realizes.
Certainly I have gained greater acceptance from the locals, because time, language, and a shared love for the culture is making me one of them. The gringo groups, however, who come here now as part of the Amazon Mission Fellowship are slowly beginning to reap the same benefits. I have watched returning individuals from all over South Carolina, West Virginia, Missouri, and Pennsylvania being embraced more openly this summer in their respective sister churches, because they are no longer participants in the 'get in, build something, get out' school of missions. Instead, they are choosing the messier, more difficult way; they are getting involved in the lives of those they seek to serve and by whom they are served. The road they are traveling now will absolutely have some rough spots - maybe more rough than smooth lengths - but aren't those stretches of unpaved, muddy, hole-laden road the ones that really teach us who we are, who those we live and work with are, and ultimately, most importantly, who God is?
No comments:
Post a Comment