We hear it so often in stories that the context of the action is a feast. In mythology, the gods are feasting when a golden apple causes problems. In the Scriptures, there are wedding feasts and religious feasts and feasts that nobody wants to attend. In contemporary storytelling, there are retirement dinners and receptions and extravagant meals with ice sculptures, which make a great background for high drama or low comedy.
But after our last trip to El Salvador, I'll never hear the words, "And there was a feast..." the same again.
What the preamble, "And there was a feast" leaves out of the picture is the massive production that goes into setting the table in the first place. In the canton of El Tablon Cerna, we prepared a festive meal for the school dedication. But, long before we arrived, the preparations were laid. the people of the village set aside the tree branches, lumber, tarp, and wire that would be necessary for building shelters. They spoke with the Pastoral Team about how many ovens needed to be put together for that day, so they could have the requisite number of bricks on hand and the wheel barrows needed to haul them to the right place. Meanwhile, the Pastoral Team was shopping, shopping, shopping for potatoes, carrots, chickens, juice bags, spices, bottled water, and disposable dinner ware. Somebody was gathering all of the pots, pans, knives, spoons, and other cookware that would be necessary to prepare and serve a feast for 500 people.
We left the planning to those who have more experience and sense about these things than we do; but we did have the privilege of participating in all of the preparatory work that goes on long before someone can say, "And there was a feast...." When we first set down pails of water and gathered a few chairs around to peel the potatoes, it seemed like that pile would take forever to peel. And, because we offered ourselves so willingly to the tasks, I noticed that a few people in the community had to go home and scrounge up some extra knives for us. Outside of Juan's house were the potato peelers; inside were the carrot peelers, standing in a group, chatting away the best we could over our language differences. Behind the house were three women cutting chickens and draining them onto a pila, while a couple of very happy dogs were lapping up the water that ran down the side. All around, fires were burning, instructions were going out, and people were scurrying around to get the right stuff in the right place at the right time.
At first, everything was spread out. Potatoes were in one place- unpeeled over here, peeled over there, sliced in the bucket. Carrots were in another place, also divided according to whether peeled or sliced. Chicken were whole in one place, skinned in another, cut up in another, and boned yet another. Eventually, however, everything started coming together. All the potatoes were peeled and sliced and in buckets. Likewise the carrots. And, finally, they were all joined together in large pots cooking over the three side-by-side brick ovens. Then, the dinnerware was brought out, unwrapped, forks were wrapped into napkins, plates were on one side of the serving pots, forks and juice bags on the other.
By the time the guests came walking down the path, (this is the part signified by the words "And there was a feast..."), a good five hours of bustling work had been done that morning by a happy, busy group of people. It was lovely.
Whenever I hear the words, "And there was a feast..." I will think of that morning in El Tablon Cerna and breathe a quiet word of thanks for all of the people who labor for hours just to make those words possible.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Soul Journal: Educating Rita
I first saw the movie "Educating Rita" as a student in seminary. It is about a teacher in England who teaches working adults. one of whom is Rita. Rita is a hairdresser, with a strong Cockney accent that gives her a sort of low-brow sort of personality, while the teacher (Michael Caine) seems pompous and highly cultured in contrast. In the end, it is Rita who is educates the teacher, teaching him about life in ways that he did not know from all of his book learning.
One of the big events of our trip was the dedication of a school in El Tablon Cerna. The school has significance for many of us in several ways. It was funded with money that came from the death of two women. One was Ruby Hartsook, who lived a long and admirable life, mostly in Des Moines, Iowa. When Ruby died, her son Larry chose to put a significant amount of her estate proceeds toward the school. The other woman was Trina Fischer, who did not have the privilege of living a long life. Trina died last year after a courageous, difficult battle with cancer. She had taken a journey to El Salvador with her father Bill and had expressed her wish that her memorial money would be given toward the school. So, part of what was on our hearts was the bittersweet memory of two very precious friends, whose deaths were transformed from mourning to hope by these donations.
The other significance of the school lay in the need for education if the community is going to work together effectively. Let me illustrate. The first time Larry Hartsook and I went to El Salvador was back in 2001, right after 2 successive earthquakes had rocked the country one month apart. We arrived with lots of money, as well as blankets, twine, tarp and other such supplies that we purchased and carried own in as many suitcases as we could muster. When we got to El Tablon, the Pastoral Team encouraged us to work with the community in distributing an equal share of supplies to each family. So, we asked for someone from the Directiva to keep track of who got what. After some time, they produced Marta, who was about 12 at that time, to be the scribe. They asked a 12 year old because she was better at reading and math than most of the adults who lived in the village. There is no doubt that a fully functioning school is absolutely necessary for this community, particularly as it tries to organize itself for economic and communal projects.
So, the occasion was joyous on every side for a variety of good reasons. To the casual observer, it seems that we were giving them a great gift and were sharing the benefits of our own wealth and education for these poor and ignorant folk. But, for those of us who were there, it was an entirely different feeling. Using their peasant wisdom and know how, the people of El Tablon Cerna began carving out holes, in which they set posts made of thick branches with forked ends, on which they set 2x4s, on which they put some corrugated metal, with string and wire for connections. In this way, they built a canopy to provide shade for the for overflow crowd as well as a shelter for constructing 3 brick ovens. They knew that we needed a wall behind the ovens for a wind block, if we wanted to keep the flames burning; they knew that the metal roof would keep the sun out and the heat in; and all that kind of stuff. The amount of pre-planning and organizing was impressive- every time we needed one more thing, it seemed to arrive out of nowhere, but of course that was only because someone had thought to bring it and have it available. The kitchen operation was equally impressive, as a small mud-and-stick home became the place where several hundred meals were prepared, cooked, and served. It was both exhausting and humbling to see this community in action.
I believe this is the beauty of relation-centered mission. It is not that we are the saviors here. But, neither do we have to romanticize their situation and demean our contributions in order to admire theirs. It is a mutual offering of love, insight, and support to one another, just like any good relationship. Educating Rita; and being educated. That's the beauty of it all.
One of the big events of our trip was the dedication of a school in El Tablon Cerna. The school has significance for many of us in several ways. It was funded with money that came from the death of two women. One was Ruby Hartsook, who lived a long and admirable life, mostly in Des Moines, Iowa. When Ruby died, her son Larry chose to put a significant amount of her estate proceeds toward the school. The other woman was Trina Fischer, who did not have the privilege of living a long life. Trina died last year after a courageous, difficult battle with cancer. She had taken a journey to El Salvador with her father Bill and had expressed her wish that her memorial money would be given toward the school. So, part of what was on our hearts was the bittersweet memory of two very precious friends, whose deaths were transformed from mourning to hope by these donations.
The other significance of the school lay in the need for education if the community is going to work together effectively. Let me illustrate. The first time Larry Hartsook and I went to El Salvador was back in 2001, right after 2 successive earthquakes had rocked the country one month apart. We arrived with lots of money, as well as blankets, twine, tarp and other such supplies that we purchased and carried own in as many suitcases as we could muster. When we got to El Tablon, the Pastoral Team encouraged us to work with the community in distributing an equal share of supplies to each family. So, we asked for someone from the Directiva to keep track of who got what. After some time, they produced Marta, who was about 12 at that time, to be the scribe. They asked a 12 year old because she was better at reading and math than most of the adults who lived in the village. There is no doubt that a fully functioning school is absolutely necessary for this community, particularly as it tries to organize itself for economic and communal projects.
So, the occasion was joyous on every side for a variety of good reasons. To the casual observer, it seems that we were giving them a great gift and were sharing the benefits of our own wealth and education for these poor and ignorant folk. But, for those of us who were there, it was an entirely different feeling. Using their peasant wisdom and know how, the people of El Tablon Cerna began carving out holes, in which they set posts made of thick branches with forked ends, on which they set 2x4s, on which they put some corrugated metal, with string and wire for connections. In this way, they built a canopy to provide shade for the for overflow crowd as well as a shelter for constructing 3 brick ovens. They knew that we needed a wall behind the ovens for a wind block, if we wanted to keep the flames burning; they knew that the metal roof would keep the sun out and the heat in; and all that kind of stuff. The amount of pre-planning and organizing was impressive- every time we needed one more thing, it seemed to arrive out of nowhere, but of course that was only because someone had thought to bring it and have it available. The kitchen operation was equally impressive, as a small mud-and-stick home became the place where several hundred meals were prepared, cooked, and served. It was both exhausting and humbling to see this community in action.
I believe this is the beauty of relation-centered mission. It is not that we are the saviors here. But, neither do we have to romanticize their situation and demean our contributions in order to admire theirs. It is a mutual offering of love, insight, and support to one another, just like any good relationship. Educating Rita; and being educated. That's the beauty of it all.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Soul Journal: Water in El Tablon, pt.II
Throughout El Salvador there are skeletal remains of a water project that was once carried out by the government. I don't know much about it, but it was called the ANDA project, and every now and then one can find a pipe or an old pumping station with ANDA still visible on it. For the people in the countryside, ANDA was a failure- too many pipes lay on top of the ground and needed constant maintenance; pumping station were needed to get the water up the mountain; pumping stations needed generators because there was no running electricity, generators were often scavenged by people who needed the parts for their own use; and government commitments tend to change over the life of a long-term project of that sort.
So, the big government project failed and (see my last blog) the local well project failed. What next? El Tablon eventually installed some large water containment units, which they fill with rain water that they collect during the rainy season.
On our last visit, we met with a team from El Tablon and other communities, who work on water issues. They told us that the government has re-started the water project and they were somewhat hopeful that running water might be available for El Tablon in the near future. (We also discovered that electricity might be arriving there soon, but all projects had been put on hold until after the presidential elections.) We heard that it is very expensive to hook up to the water pipes. It costs a family more than an average yearly salary to hook up individually, so only a few families were able to participate on those terms. But, if they were able to put together cooperative groups who would share the costs, they could involve more people.
On our last visit, we met with a team from El Tablon and other communities, who work on water issues. They told us that the government has re-started the water project and they were somewhat hopeful that running water might be available for El Tablon in the near future. (We also discovered that electricity might be arriving there soon, but all projects had been put on hold until after the presidential elections.) We heard that it is very expensive to hook up to the water pipes. It costs a family more than an average yearly salary to hook up individually, so only a few families were able to participate on those terms. But, if they were able to put together cooperative groups who would share the costs, they could involve more people.
The committee's greater concern, however, were the ongoing costs, even they are fairly minimal. (These are realistic folks who are quite willing to work hard and pay for their own utilities, but the jobless rate and the competition among so many poor people whose skill sets are essentially identical makes it hard to generate reliable, ongoing income for budgeting.) We heard the same kind of concern regarding electricity when we talked with a group at the Health Clinic in El Tablon. They were in favor of getting very expensive (and not terribly reliable) solar panels for the Clinic, instead of hooking up fairly inexpensively to the electrical grid when it is brought in. The point is: These folks expressed more anxiety about small, ongoing costs than one-time large costs.
WHY? Why would minimal ongoing costs be a greater concern than a whopping one time cost?
In the end, we discovered that the fear they have is not really economical. It is relational. They know that there is a church, an NGO, a charity, or someone out there that would eventually donate the one-time large cost of hooking up to water or purchasing and installing solar panels. What is not so certain, to them, is if they get connected to a pipe or a grid, can they rely on others to help them meet their small monthly bills? In other words, there is more one-time, large donor possibility out there than long-term, ongoing support.
What we heard in their worries was an awareness of the difference between a generous handout and a reliable hand-in-hand relationship. The former is great and thank God for it. But it is the latter that really helps communities thrive.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Soul Journal: Water in El Tablon, pt.1
Our sister-parish relationship between Heartland Presbyterian Church and the community of El Tablon is a profound example of relation-centered missions, which means that it is the source of great joy, great frustration, and change. Water is a great example. When Heartland first voted to step into a long-term relationship with El Tablon, one of the areas that the people of El Tablon had identified for us as needing attention was the need for potable water. We accepted the challenge of addressing the need for water with little understanding of what that meant.
El Tablon is a poor community. When we first went there, there was no electricity, no running water, and most of the homes were made of stick or mud block. The primary water source represented a difficult task for many people in ET, as they had to walk a fairly long, narrow path to get to a little trickle that came out of the side of a mountain. The trickle ran into a small pool (maybe 3 feet x 3 feet, and 8-10 inches deep), where the people would dip their bowls over and over, pouring the water into the plastic jugs that they brought with them. It was very time consuming and people would queue up and have to visit with one another for a long time as they awaited their turn to get water. As a result, they would use their water smartly and sparingly, since it was not readily available for them.
I stooped into the crevice with a little flashlight to follow the trail of where the water comes from through the mountain. About 10 feet in, the water source went up the wall above my head and when I pointed my light up there, twelve million bats came fluttering down and flying out of the hole. Dang! Didn't see that coming!
The curious thing at the water hole was a huge, concrete water containment unit that was supposed to collect water during the rainy season and dispense it during the dry season. When I looked inside, it was practically empty, with just enough moisture at the bottom to glisten when I flashed my light in there. There were also lots of leaves, tiny branches, and a few creepy-crawlers in there. It was my understanding at the time that the rainy seasons did not always replenish the container well enough for it to last during the dry season. It also needed some maintenance, but the community did not have the money to perform what was needed, so the unit mostly was unused.
In the end, we (together) decided together that the best solution would be for El Tablon to have its own well- perhaps the kind with a manual wheel connected to it for drawing water. (They've come a long way since Jack and Jill, even with manual wells.) We hired a geology company that came out to measure water tables and discern the best location for the well. Then, there was the process of purchasing the land, which meant tracking down all six children of the dead guy whose land we were buying. After the lone family holdout finally relented and agreed to sign off on the land, the crew came in and began to dig. Understand that this was a long process. The plan was set in place before the earthquake, the execution of the plan followed the earthquake. I am only mentioning the earthquake because, in the end, the attempt to dig a well failed. The water tables had shifted as a result of the earthquake and El Tablon was no longer considered a viable place for digging a well. Dang.
When we discovered that a well was no longer a possibility, we were sitting in a circle in a small room in Berlin. The last person from El Tablon to speak posed a question in my direction, which the translator translated for me. "What should we do?" It was weird for me to have these folks- from whom I need to learn so much, and for whom I try never to assume superior insight- look at me and ask about something that will affect their lives long after I'm back in the comforts of my own home. I was dumbstruck and simply said, "I don't know what is best for you to do, but I can promise you that whatever you decide, we'll walk with you."
Strangely, that seemed to be as good as it was going to get. A relationship is never built on the assumption that one party is going to perfectly supply all of the other party's wants, needs, or desires. Instead, a relationship is built on being committed to one another for the journey. And when we ran out of answers that money or ingenuity could supply, we discovered relationship.
More later
El Tablon is a poor community. When we first went there, there was no electricity, no running water, and most of the homes were made of stick or mud block. The primary water source represented a difficult task for many people in ET, as they had to walk a fairly long, narrow path to get to a little trickle that came out of the side of a mountain. The trickle ran into a small pool (maybe 3 feet x 3 feet, and 8-10 inches deep), where the people would dip their bowls over and over, pouring the water into the plastic jugs that they brought with them. It was very time consuming and people would queue up and have to visit with one another for a long time as they awaited their turn to get water. As a result, they would use their water smartly and sparingly, since it was not readily available for them.
I stooped into the crevice with a little flashlight to follow the trail of where the water comes from through the mountain. About 10 feet in, the water source went up the wall above my head and when I pointed my light up there, twelve million bats came fluttering down and flying out of the hole. Dang! Didn't see that coming!
The curious thing at the water hole was a huge, concrete water containment unit that was supposed to collect water during the rainy season and dispense it during the dry season. When I looked inside, it was practically empty, with just enough moisture at the bottom to glisten when I flashed my light in there. There were also lots of leaves, tiny branches, and a few creepy-crawlers in there. It was my understanding at the time that the rainy seasons did not always replenish the container well enough for it to last during the dry season. It also needed some maintenance, but the community did not have the money to perform what was needed, so the unit mostly was unused.
In the end, we (together) decided together that the best solution would be for El Tablon to have its own well- perhaps the kind with a manual wheel connected to it for drawing water. (They've come a long way since Jack and Jill, even with manual wells.) We hired a geology company that came out to measure water tables and discern the best location for the well. Then, there was the process of purchasing the land, which meant tracking down all six children of the dead guy whose land we were buying. After the lone family holdout finally relented and agreed to sign off on the land, the crew came in and began to dig. Understand that this was a long process. The plan was set in place before the earthquake, the execution of the plan followed the earthquake. I am only mentioning the earthquake because, in the end, the attempt to dig a well failed. The water tables had shifted as a result of the earthquake and El Tablon was no longer considered a viable place for digging a well. Dang.
When we discovered that a well was no longer a possibility, we were sitting in a circle in a small room in Berlin. The last person from El Tablon to speak posed a question in my direction, which the translator translated for me. "What should we do?" It was weird for me to have these folks- from whom I need to learn so much, and for whom I try never to assume superior insight- look at me and ask about something that will affect their lives long after I'm back in the comforts of my own home. I was dumbstruck and simply said, "I don't know what is best for you to do, but I can promise you that whatever you decide, we'll walk with you."
Strangely, that seemed to be as good as it was going to get. A relationship is never built on the assumption that one party is going to perfectly supply all of the other party's wants, needs, or desires. Instead, a relationship is built on being committed to one another for the journey. And when we ran out of answers that money or ingenuity could supply, we discovered relationship.
More later
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