A Benediction from the Theology in the Americas Conference, New York, June 1978

May we receive God's Spirit to understand our role in this affluent society where so many are poor, and to use the tools of social analysis to accomplish social justice.

May we receive God's strength to pay the price for disengagement from the values of the so-called "middle class."

May we be ready to renounce our money, our life-styles, our levels of consumption, and the ways we have so far used our time, following the path that Jesus walked before us.

May we confront with strength the possibility that even our lives may be called for, as has been true for so many of our sisters and brothers in Asia, Africa, Latin America, and our own homeland.

May we be sent forth to share with our communities the vision we have discovered or had reinforced.

May God bless us and keep us together in strength, hope and love.

Amen.

Brief Thoughts on Egypt

As an Iowan, I thought it wasn't right that I had never seen the movie Field of Dreams. So, now as I sit here on my first official day of break, I am listening to a man accused of being crazy for following his dreams and constantly checking Twitter for updates on Egypt. I am rejoicing in the safe return of Augie band members from this land of protest, while thinking what I would give to be in Egypt right now. I am distracted by the ridiculousness of this old Kevin Costner movie, while admiring the man's sacrifice to follow the voices in his head.

So why this obsession over Egypt? I've never followed any news stories so much nor wished so badly that I had cable to follow the stories. There is something about the energy that must be involved in the protests and uprisings. Yes, people are being hurt, but that was never the goal. People are speaking out, shouting, and marching for what they want. I admire the passion of Mona Eltahawy, the New York columnist/blogger/tweeter born in Egypt who continues to declare these events the greatest thing that has ever happened in Egypt and in her life. Passion is contagious.

People realize that things in Egypt aren't right. The Egyptian government wasn't doing squat for its people, and people started speaking out about it. I see people joining together, fighting for what they believe in, and not stopping until justice happens. They are inspired by homelessness, hunger, lack of education, and each other. I am inspired by the photos, the protest footage, the tweets, and the stories. I am grateful that even in this messed up, cruel world, people still have hope and will still stand up for justice.

The newest tweet:

michaelskolnik Michael Skolnik 

 por monaeltahawy

As I lay my eyes to rest, I am rest assured that young peopla can change the world. #egypt #jan25

A reflection from my first real Central American experience...

I had the chance to visit southern Mexico two years ago. I spent ten days visiting homes, sharing meals, and hearing speakers who shared with us about the poverty situation. We explored the theme of ethics in a society of poverty. Throughout our trip we were accompanied by a Catholic nun who spoke no English. Despite the language barrier, it was easy to see that Lucy was a very compassionate person who truly cared for people. One of our last days in the southern part of the country, and also our last day with Lucy, we did an activity where we were asked to list some key words/themes that stood out from the past week or so. Words like community, injustice, poverty, hope were common on our papers. After we discussed what we had come up with, Lucy stood up to speak. She told us that all of us were missing something important—the most important word that should have been on all our lists. And that word was Love. She told us how love covers all of those things that we had written. Even though we had seen so much pain and poverty, love was still there. Perhaps in those times of pain love is not very apparent, but that does not mean it is not present. 

Unexpected Pie

Tonight I met three friends at the Fryn' Pan to share some hot chocolate and supper (or, in my case, just a cinnamon roll). Our conversation was great, with the usual topics of religion, God, and Christianity. (Everyone discusses these topics all the time, right?) Towards the end of our time there, our waitress insisted on us getting some dessert, but we were all so full. Shortly after we had received our checks, the waitress came over and placed a piece of chocolate creme pie in front of me. As I gave her a confused look (I had just eaten a huge cinnamon roll...), she informed me that it was from a gentlemen in the booth next to us. I glanced over, gave a quick awkward thank you, and quietly asked if any of my friends would help me eat it.

Thinking I had a creeper on my hands, I hesitated to stay at the restaurant after my friends had left (I was planning to stay by myself and do a little homework). But I did anyway, thinking that I could either ignore the man or tolerate a little small talk. 

He came over, telling me that he "broke the ice" with the pie because he had been listening to our conversation. He heard how I was saying that my faith has changed--how I don't really "pray" anymore and haven't read scripture for my own personal growth for awhile. He told me that I should really try to get back into "meditating" and reading the Bible--just by spending a few minutes every night doing that. "It will help you hear that still small voice in your head that will tell you what to do," he told me. He kept saying that he didn't know what God wanted me to do, but if I spent time with God, I would soon be able to focus and hear God's voice. I thought I was talking with a very "Christian" man who felt it was his duty to convert me...or convert me back into a "better " Christian with more open ears to what God is telling me.

As we continued talking, I asked him how long he had been a Christian. He told me it was somewhat complicated, and actually that as a teenager, he was driven away from the Christian church. He had met too many "Christians" who thought their way was the right and only way and anyone who thought differently was damned, stupid, or deeply fallen. He hasn't been to church since, nor does he consider himself a Christian.

So I asked another question: what scripture empowers him? I was trying to see what he would suggest for me to read, because he had been telling me to read more scripture. He told me he doesn't read the Bible. Confused and a bit taken aback, I asked him, "So do you even believe in God?" 

"I believe in a god," he told me.

"But not the so-called 'Christian' God?"

"Right."

He told me how he had found his belief on his own and in a whole different religion. I still could not understand how this man was telling me how to be a "better" Christian, even though it was not the tradition in which he found his faith. I questioned him about this, and he responded with, "I want to help you find whatever takes you in the right direction... We need more good people in this world." He thought that my "rediscovery" of scripture and meditation with God would help me become a better person in general. He had made it clear that he was not about to impose his beliefs, rather try to understand where I had come from (the Christian faith) in order to help me.

After about a half hour of chatting, I glanced at my watch and realized I needed to get going. As I stood up to leave, he pulled a necklace out of his shirt with a pentacle on it. "I practice Wicca," he told me.

I had just been told how to grow my relationship with God from a man who practices what is often considered witchcraft. How much he actually practices this religion, I don't know. But his concern was not in how he practices his beliefs, but how I ought to practice mine. I found this chat a bit hypocritical, and I did not like that he was telling me what I needed to do, but the whole conversation was so very intriguing and a bit inspiring. This man's interest was in helping me become a good person, regardless of whether or not I believed the same things he did. He did not care what God I was finding my trust in. He was only concerned that this belief/faith/trust/religion would motivate me to be a better person. I do not know much about the Wicca tradition, but maybe this is its teaching. Maybe it's his own philosophy. Either way, it fascinates me.

Could you imagine if more folks of different religions communicated in such a way when doing inter-religious dialogue? I do not think it's helpful to assume you know what a person needs to do to grow in his or her own personal faith, but if we could have more interest in trying to understand where people are coming from and maybe not get so caught up in the details of religion and tradition, maybe then we could seek out more ways to be "good people" rather than let our differences take over and hinder our conversation and learning.

Thank you, Wicca man, for the pie.

"Our Father..." who art right here.

(I wrote this on December 17.)

I was wondering what it would be like to come back to the states and return to worship. Considering my “worship” experiences in Central America included a Sunday service at an evangelical Christian church, a Mayan ceremony, and a “progressive” Catholic mass, I was excited to return to my roots and worship within a Lutheran congregation. I was also interested to see if my view of God and faith had actually changed as I thought it had and if this was really true once I stepped back into my comfort zone, aka a Lutheran congregation.

Nothing really seemed different or hit me until we reached the Lord’s Prayer. I barely got past “Our father…” before I found myself changing up the words of this so well-known prayer. Almost instinctively I changed “who art in heaven” to “who is here with us” and “thy kingdom come, thy will be done” to “Thy kingdom come and be done now” and “give us this day our daily bread” to “give everyone some daily bread.” I wouldn't allow myself to recite the traditional words. Perhaps it is just the wrath of John Shelby Spong and his words still convicting my mind, but I just couldn't recite the same words that I have known since childhood.

I haven’t really had a chance to actually “talk out” how I feel like my faith has changed over the past four months (even seven months including changes I felt over the summer), but I have told people that my faith is one aspect of me that I feel has changed. After studying liberation theology and seeing so many empowered people, I can no longer limit my God to someone who is “arting in heaven.” My God is arting its Godself in every single person that I met in Central America and every person I continue to meet. For me, God is no longer “out there,” no longer just in heaven (whatever that means).  God has been revealed to me via Nicaraguans, Salvadorans, Guatemalans, Panamanians, and my fellow U.S. students and study abroad staff. Each person had a little God in them—actually, each one of them was FULL of this God in which I now hold my belief.

Hunger pains.

I keep thanking God that I did not acquire any illness during my time in Central America. However, my hunger pains are different since I've returned to the states. I don't know if my stomach shrank, or if it's just readjusting to food, but the first sign I know that I am hungry is not the normal grumble from within, or even lightheadedness, but a sick to my stomach I'm-going-to-vomit feeling. Luckily, I have not vomited, and the stomach pains are getting less intense.

Ironically, this painful hunger seems to align with some fears and desires I have now. While abroad, I felt myself change. I started thinking about things I had never thought about before. For the first time, I felt real anger at the systems that maintain oppression in the world. I saw true beauty in people and learned what it means to be selfless. I discovered the power of history in shaping the future. I felt passion in a new way.

People keep asking me how I'm "adjusting" since I've been back. Honestly, I don't want to adjust. I want to maintain this person who I became in Central America. I mean, I don't want to be miserable or distant because I'm no longer abroad, but I don't want to forget what I've experienced...or worse, not let it continue shaping me.

When you ask me this question about how I'm "adjusting," I will tell you, "Good! I really am feeling fine about being back." This is an honest answer--you'll see in my eyes and hear in my voice both excitement to begin another semester, get back to work, share stories from CA, etc.; and sadness of having to leave such a beautiful area of the world and the people I came to love.

But honestly, having this response is fulfilling my greatest fear. I don't want to be the same Hannah I was in August. I don't even want to be the same Hannah I was in May before I worked in a leadership role at camp and grew in so many unexpected ways.

I hunger to continue changing. I hunger to be passionate. I hunger for joy--true joy. And perhaps my stomach is serving as my reminder. But the pains are getting less intense...what happens when the hunger pains go away?

Someone once said that when the trip ends, the changes really begin. I hope and pray that's true. I don't want to return to ignorance and complacency. I cling to the memories of Guatemala, El Salvador, and Nicaragua with a firm grasp in a tight fist...trying to figure out just what I should do with them and how to "live out" what I've experienced. And I hope that I don't squeeze everything out of this rich fruit of memories without making some damn good juice.

Beneath the peel.

(Click to see larger photos)

Dime cuánta agua habrá de caer del cielo, 
para que me quite la pereza y este mal.

Soy los hombres y mujeres que trabajan en la tierra,

fumigando el alimento que después te comerás.
Soy de bananera, soy del trigo, soy del maíz.
Y nadie pregunta por qué tengo miedo al sol,
Por qué tengo extraños dedos,
Por qué no puedo dar de mamar.
Y nadie pregunta qué tengo por dentro,
serpientes y santos corruptos,
divinos del banco mundial.

("Canción tóxica" por Perrozompopo)

They live under sheets of plastic—cooking, sleeping, and living off a few basic foods supplied by the government and thriving off each others’ determination.  Five hundred individuals call home an area filled with hundreds of tent homes, made of plastic and cut wood, filled with rock furniture and hammocks--located across the road from the national palace and the tallest building in Managua which houses the congressional offices.  This is the result of a march that occurred almost five years ago. Six different times, folks have marched from the city of Chinendega to Managua, in protest of the use and affects of the pesticide known as Nemagon.

As early as 1958, chemical companies have known that this pesticide can cause serious health implications for anyone exposed to it. In 1979, the EPA banned the chemical in the United States. But the fruit companies (currently known as Dole, Del Monte, and Chiquita) continued purchasing and applying this dangerous pesticide on Central American banana plantations until 1986. By 1993, almost 17,000 plantation workers claimed to have been affected by this harmful chemical. A few of the many health problems related to nemagon include sterility, blindness, liver damage, kidney failure, lung cancer, brain cancer, miscarriage, joint damage, and breast cancer…just to name a few.  The people we met in the community have also lost their homes and land which they’ve lived away from for the past few years. Even if they wanted to return to Chinendega or wherever else they marched from, they would have nothing to go back to. Some are blessed to have children outside of the community that send them a little money (a new type of remittance). Many are living with fatal diseases, and many have already been lost.

As we spent time with this community, I could sense their pain. They told us that this is not a political struggle—the government has in fact responded to them by giving them food, water, electricity, some medical attention, and is now building them houses. (During our interview with the community’s council, noise from the construction of these houses across the road filled the air.) They were selfless enough to tell us that they don't want to distract the government or keep them from helping other Nicaraguans. Even if the government has not provided the best assistance with legal matters dealing with the transnational companies, the people are oober grateful for what the government has done for them; they just wish the transnational companies that actually applied the chemical would show even a fraction of the attention that the government has.

As we did research for our projects, we came across a few court cases, in Central America and the U.S., many times resulting in forced payment by the companies to the victimized workers, but many noted that the results of the cases often ended up in appeals by the companies. (I don’t know if that’s correct law terms…essentially, the companies found some way out of having to pay…either by claiming false evidence or lying witnesses.)  Many indemnifications have been issued, in which the companies paid a small sum of money to many workers; there was an instance in 1997 when thousands of workers received $100 if they signed not to sue the companies. One hundred dollars to compensate for over 20 years working in contaminated fields and living even longer with the resulting illness or the inability to have children. A lousy $100.

As I researched this issue, talked with the people, and created a project, I found myself so angry. I find myself so disgusted with the companies.  I understand that these companies need to look out for their own well-being, but how can they look at these affected people who are living with chronic conditions and not have any sympathy? They argue that it is debatable whether it was nemagon that caused all these people’s problems. They argue that some people claim to have been affected when they didn’t even work in the fields (women, for example) but fail to recognize the fact that the pesticide remains on the plants, even through packaging (where women mostly worked, even though they did cover in the fields and chemical application sometimes).

Through this frustration, however, I see faces shining.  I see the face of Altagracia and her pride of the Purisima altar. I see the face of the old woman whose first communication with me was a huge smiley hug. I see the face of Guillermo as he tells us about his life. Such beautiful people. Such a sad circumstance.

“We are fighters,” one woman told us. These people continue living in silent protest. Their presence is impossible to miss as you drive through Managua. Nothing will ever compensate for the pain, sorrow, and death these people have experienced. “We just want the transnationals to become sensitized,” they tell us. They are looking for someone to take responsibility and recognize them as suffering human beings—not to give charity, but to simply give them some acknowledgment.

For more info on the nemagon struggle, check out http://www.bananasthemovie.com/ and what the trailer, read the facts, get informed. Also, this photographer captured some great photos a few years ago. Make sure to scroll down and check out the pictures: http://www.opticalrealities.org/Central-America/Nicaragua/Nemagon-Survivors/10317166_Lzevs#713060564_r9PHp.

Even though I only spent a few hours with them, the people I met in the community forever have a place in my heart. When you eat a banana, think of these people. Think of what went into the production of that one simple fruit. Look beyond the sticker on the peel and examine what's within.