Vocational Crisis #___

Vocational Crisis # 322: loving your life but kind of hating your job

2011-12-05T23:03:00.003-05:00

Part of me really doesn't like taking work home with me. That's my biggest problem with academia. You're never "done." You have to be self-motivated to write and create on your own schedule, and then you're judged by how good of a job you do. This is preparation for most kinds of "professional" work, where you're paid to apply your specialized expertise to somehow "create" something that someone without your training/education just couldn't do.

While this sounds great to most people, at the moment to me it just seems stressful. I'm a smart, creative guy, but I want to be creative on my own terms. That is, I don't want my livelihood to depend on my own creative talents. That's too much pressure. I would much rather work a low-paying, even "dull" 8-5 job where I only have to work 40 hours per week. Then, not only would I not feel guilty about resting and relaxing after the official workday is through, but I would also have the freedom to then use my creative energies in whatever way I see fit, for my own fulfillment/enjoyment, not because it's what I'm paid to do.

My brother worked as a bartender for awhile right after he graduated college. This seems like a good possibility to me.

Pros:

- Once you're done with work, you're done

- Uniquely relational

- Relatively independent

Cons:

- Working nights and weekends

- At busy times it requires lots of speed/efficiency/multitasking

- Could potentially get old fast

I've got a pretty terrific mom

2010-05-09T10:58:00.004-05:00

I remember Mother's Day of 2007. That day, my mom dropped me off at the Atlanta airport, my arms filled with luggage for a new adventure. I had come home for a week or so after finishing final exams for my Junior year of college, but I was about to fly back to Texas to participate in the "Leadershape Institute," a week long leadership training course for all of Trinity University's student organization leaders. But that wasn't the reason my mom was walking me all the way through the security line, proudly holding back tears ("What kind of Mother's Day gift is THAT?!" one of the people ahead of us in line asked when we explained the situation). The reason my mom was experiencing more anxiety on Mother's Day than most mothers should have to experience on ANY day was because the day my training course in San Antonio ended, I was scheduled board another plane. However, instead of bringing me home, this plane would take me from San Antonio to Dallas, to Miami, to La Paz, Bolivia, to my final destination of Sucre, Bolivia. There, I would live with a host family for four weeks and take six hours a day of intensive Spanish language classes at a school recommended by Trinity's study abroad counselor.

But I wasn't making the trip as a participant in a study abroad program or with a student group. Not even 21 years old, I was traveling to a poor, South American country TOTALLY on my own. A "Happy Mother's Day," indeed.

But the story didn't end there. That day -- 6 days before my big international flight -- I was still waiting on my US passport to arrive in the mail. I had applied for it 11 weeks beforehand, like the passport office advised, but thanks to a sudden increase in strictness in documentation requirements for persons crossing the US/Mexico border, there was a huge spike in passport applications that caused mine to be delayed. So during those six days while I was spending 8 hours a day (during regular workday hours) in leadership training courses, my mom was at home or in her church office on the phone, trying to get in touch with someone from the passport office or with my US Congressional district's representative. My mom not only allowed me as a college student to go completely solo on an international trip to a country whose government wasn't the most stable in the world, she also spent hours "on hold" in effort to ensure that I wouldn't miss my flight for lack of a passport.

In the end, my completed passport was expedited and Fed-Ex'd overnight to University Presbyterian Church, with much thanks not only to my mom (obviously), but also to the office of US Representative Hank Johnson (Georgia 4th District!). It arrived around 10am on May 19th, about 8 hours before my flight was scheduled to leave. In the end, I had an amazing trip to Bolivia. I learned more Spanish in four weeks than I probably learned in all of college prior to that point. That trip gave me a huge confidence boost with my Spanish and piqued my curiosity to some day live in South America. If it hadn't been for my trip, I might not have gone to Peru and I might not be here in Hollywood now.

My mom was "the strict mom" among my friends growing up, enforcing midnight curfews and holding firm on something like a "zero tolerance" policy (well maybe a LITTLE tolerance, but not much!) for violent or sexual movies and video games. But for the past six years, I dare to say that my mom has striven to be the opposite of a "helicopter parent" (a term frequently used to describe parents of college students who "hover," attempting to micromanage their children's lives). After I graduated from high school, she continued loving, encouraging, and supporting me 100% as I "fled the nest." I attended college 1000 miles from home, spent every summer during college 200 miles away in Montreat, spent an entire year after college in Peru, and am currently spending this year on the other side of the country in Los Angeles. Indeed, it sadly seems that much of the time I've shared with my amazing mom over the past few years has been during trips to and from the airport (after returning from Bolivia that summer I was home for only a day or two before taking another flight to Evanston, IL to participate in a week-long conference on ministry!). But I could have had none of these opportunities without the unconditional, unwavering support of my mom -- and my dad! She's the best mom anyone could ever dream of, and I'm so proud to see myself going down a similar path to hers. Happy Mother's Day!

Some thoughts on ending homelessness

2010-04-26T20:21:00.004-05:00

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to doing homeless outreach in Beverly Hills. Whenever I explain my job to others, I always pause and wait for the inevitable “huh?” after I casually mention Beverly Hills as one of the five cities where the PATH outreach team engages homeless people. How can such a wealthy community have people who are forced to live on the streets? Most of us can’t fathom how there would be homeless people in the land of 90210, and I guess I can’t either, even though I talk to them at least once a week.

When I first arrived in LA 8 months ago, I would walk up and down Rodeo drive and drive past the famous "Beverly Hills" city limits sign with more than a little awe and wonder. I caught myself looking for celebrities just as much as I was looking for homeless people. However, it didn't take long for the novelty of doing street outreach in Beverly Hills to wear off. In fact, sometimes it starts to make me sick. $80,000 cars. $8,000 wedding dresses. $800 boots. $80 meals. Amidst all of that, $8 for a panhandler is next to nothing. But fortunately for wealthy shoppers and diners, it is much cheaper to satisfy the conscience than the palate.

However, giving spare bills and coins to panhandlers only exacerbates the problem. It just makes people more “comfortable” living on the streets. LA’s abundance of wealthy full-time residents and cash-carrying tourists that freely give to panhandlers form part of the “perfect storm” that makes Los Angeles the homeless capital of the world, with some 75,000 people sleeping on the streets on any given night. Another part of that equation is LA’s year round temperate weather. Between the pleasant climate and the great panhandling, the level of motivation that a homeless person in LA has to seek shelter or housing on their own is far lower than in a city like Chicago, for example.

The complexity of LA's homeless problem doesn't end there, however. The final, largest piece of the puzzle is the city’s lack of affordable housing. Easy money and mild winters might seem like reason enough to stay on the streets, but that choice becomes far easier when one considers that the alternative is shelters that are severely overcrowded and dangerous, and public services that are grossly underfunded. As you can imagine, each causes the other. People prefer to live on the street because government and social service agencies don’t provide safe, adequate public services and permanent housing. And there isn’t the collective political will to provide safe, adequate public services and permanent housing because so many people seem to prefer living on the street.

Just as a homeless woman might spend a large portion of her income on alcohol in order to quickly relieve the depression and lack of self worth she feels because of her life’s “failures,” we as a society seek “quick fixes” that address only the superficial, cosmetic symptoms of homelessness rather than the root causes. If everyone took all of the money they spent giving “handouts” to homeless people and instead donated it (along with their time/volunteer hours) to government and private agencies (like PATH) that actually work to help people out of homelessness, two things would happen. First, those who subside off of panhandling just because it’s easy money would dedicate their time and efforts to more socially constructive endeavors. And second, those who have no choice but to live that way would actually receive the necessary care and support to obtain and sustain housing, and live lives filled with meaning and dignity.

The beginning of the end

2010-04-07T21:35:00.004-05:00

Every Tuesday night, I join a small group of young adults from Silverlake Community Church, where I have been attending regularly since October, for dinner and a time of fellowship, worship, prayer and discussion of the previous Sunday's sermon. It is one of the many "communities" that I have become a part of during my time in Hollywood. This past Tuesday, I shared with them the excitement I've been feeling lately as I'm finally nearing the end of the long discernment and decision-making process regarding where I will attend Seminary in the fall. Implicit in my excitement was the obvious fact that by the 3rd week of August, I will have left Los Angeles, and with it, Silverlake Church -- along with the other many communities and social groups I've become a part of over the past 7 months.

After our prayer and discussion time was over, a few of my friends from the group approached me and asked me when I was leaving. They told me I would be missed. They lamented the fact that people always leave LA. They talked about how fast the next four months would fly by.

I remember the exact same comments in Spanish, which started almost exactly a year ago.

"Hermano, ya te vas a ir, no?" (Brother, you're going to be leaving really soon, aren't you?)

"Hermano, te vamos a extrañar mucho." (Brother, we're really going to miss you.)

"Hermano, el tiempo esta corriendo! Ya te falta poco para irte." (Brother, time is flying! You barely have any left before you leave.)

When I started having those conversations with people in Lima last year, I thought they seemed kind of absurd. Because time-wise, I'm actually only about 2/3 of the way through my term of service. And in terms of actual "stuff to do," I'm sure the final third will include much more than the previous two. But in the end, they were right. The time flew. The last four months were amazing, but they went by incredibly fast.

However, even having the knowledge of previous experience of year-long term of service in Peru, I found myself responding to my friends on Tuesday in the exact same way that I did to my friends and family a year ago in Peru (I even used some of the same hand gestures that I tend to use for some reason when I talk in Spanish). I told them that four months is plenty of time. I said that I don't want to think about leaving. I said that LA/Peru is really starting to grow on me.

As in Peru last year, I find myself finally growing accustomed to things. I feel like I finally have acquired the skills and understanding to do my job at PATH well. I'm starting to take initiative and really understand the way things work. I'm really getting attached to my coworkers.

Our neighborhood ministry has also developed its core group of "regular kids" for our tutoring and hang-out time. The kids feel more comfortable with us and are actually starting to respect our rules (and they, too, are starting to ask us how much time we have left before we leave).

The intentional community I have with my fellow YAVs/Dwellers still has "a long way to go" (assuming we have a destination?), but as evidenced by this blog entry by Matthew, we've made much progress that one can occasionally catch glimpses of.

So for the second year in a row, I find myself buckling down in an effort to make the most of my last four months as a Young Adult Volunteer. The days are lengthening here, just as they were shortening a year ago in Peru. The temperature is climbing, in the same way that it will soon be dropping in Peru. Flowers I saw in full bloom here in September are beginning to bud again. And if I think about it, I can feel the light mist that characterizes the winter months in Lima, from May to November, blowing right in my face as I approach with wonder and anxiety a totally foreign bus stop.

A little sex and a lot of love

2010-02-14T02:58:00.005-05:00

Today I attended a day-long conference with the other Dwellers and Matthew and his family on "Sex, Love and Marriage," with the keynote speaker Mark Driscoll, a nationally recognized Christian author and pastor. The conference outlined what Christian dating, relationships and marriage should look like, using an in-depth study of the Song of Songs (that's a book in the Bible.... FYI). Admittedly, I wasn't expecting much from it, but although there were many things I found troubling in what he said, I actually really enjoyed most of the conference.

Mark described how people normally view sex as either "God" or "Gross." The culture at large sees sex as "God" -- the ultimate pleasure in life, "The Best Thing." The Church usually views sex as "Gross" -- totally sinful, evil and only necessary for producing offspring. However, he advocates that the Church (and society at large, too, thanks to evangelism) should view sex as neither "God" nor "Gross," rather as a "Gift" (from God). It's not "The Best Thing" nor is it shameful. Rather, sex is a good thing that God gave us to enjoy and even use as an act of worship as we celebrate God's best creation, the human body (all within the context of a one man & one woman marriage--Mark's views not mine--but we won't talk about that).

I was very surprised (and kind of pleased) that Mark went into a lot of detail about how great sex is and why it's important to marriage -- I mean a LOT of detail. He also totally embraced the secular/scholarly commentary of Song of Songs that asserts the book is NOT some sort of metaphorical poem about God's covenant with humanity; rather it's all about sex. And that all those metaphors about lovers "tasting each other's fruit" really do mean what they sound like they mean (I'll never think of the term "servant lover" the same way again....)

However, when pressed, he basically said that BEFORE marriage, it's a sin for couples to even kiss ("before you're married, your relationship is as brother and sister in Christ, so don't do anything you wouldn't do with your brother/sister"). This greatly bothered me. I would say that such a view takes a far too legalistic interpretation of scripture. It's allowing the letter of the law to handicap the spirit of the law. Not to mention the fact that it just seemed almost unimaginably cruel to say such a thing to an audience of thousands of mostly single, attractive, hormone-crazy, twenty-something-year-old Christians the day before Valentine's Day after you've just told them both how awesome sex is once you ARE married AND that "committing adultery" in your mind/heart is just as bad as doing it with your body (and all of the implications that go along with that).

But the BEST thing Mark had to say wasn't about sex, it was about Love: "Love isn't a feeling. Love is a choice. Love is a commitment. Then, God, who is gracious, helps the good feelings to follow."

Earlier, he had talked about arranged marriages in various eastern cultures, and how they aren't all a bad thing because you learn to "love the one you marry" (rather than marrying the one you love). This has many implications for being in relationship with one another far outside the realm of romance and marriage. It's all about the church and community. We don't CHOOSE who we're in Christian community with. Some people are Christians/members of our church/members of our community whether we like them or not. And we have to learn how to love them.

That's what my housemates and I are slowly and painstakingly learning this year. The five of us would definitely not normally hang out together if we weren't all placed in this program. We would not have been friends otherwise. But we've made a commitment to loving each other. That doesn't mean we have to agree on everything or always get along. But it does mean that we are going to serve each other and affirm each other and stand by each other no matter what. The weird thing is, having made this commitment to love my fellow dwellers, I am now -- slowly but surely -- finding myself actually ENJOYING their company, even though they're people that I honestly wouldn't have given much of a chance in any other setting.

Love is the "greatest gift" that Paul talks about in 1 Corinthians chapters 12 and 13. Miraculous healings, speaking in tongues, drinking deadly poison and not being harmed -- all that fancy, showy religious stuff pales in comparison to the REAL miracle Christians perform. That is, we love each other and stick with each other despite the fact that apart from believing in Jesus as God's Son, we have nothing in common and would be hurling insults and clawing at each other's throats in most other settings.

It sounds cheesy, naive and idealistic, but my experience with intentional community here in LA gives me hope for the church. Making a commitment to love and then sticking to it and working at it (and it is HARD work!) really does make a huge difference in the way you view people who are different from you. I hope churches like the PCUSA can make a commitment to love.

Somewhere between Mark Driscoll and John Shelby Spong

2010-02-14T00:13:00.008-05:00

As many of you know, I'm currently in the process of completing my applications for seminary. This has included much personal reflection and self-analysis as I try to write essays about my "faith journey" and identity.

In all of this writing and thinking and reflection and discernment, I have realized two things.

1.) That "going to church" or "being a Christian" has been a large part of my identity for nearly all my life.

And more interestingly/importantly (as far as this blog entry is concerned anyway):

2.) That clarifying that I am A CERTAIN "TYPE" of Christian has almost always been essential to how I describe myself and my faith to others.

See, if I'm talking about myself with strangers (i.e. "with the entire world on the internet") I frequently feel compelled to use certain "buzz words" -- or "cultural flags" is maybe a better term -- to describe what "kind" of Christian I am. We all know these buzz words: "social justice oriented," "civic minded," "peace loving," "open and affirming," "non-judgmental," "environmentally conscious" et cetera. I have used these buzz words (as have many others people in the PCUSA YAV realm) because in the social group where I grew up, "conservative" is considered a dirty word. I want to define myself as a LIBERAL Christian. But without actually USING the word "liberal," because the greatest fantasy of most "liberals," myself included, is that OUR theological/political views transcend dualistic/divisive labels.

I could write more about how "the media" in our culture attempts to lead us into these dichotomies and perpetuates the notion that there are two camps in our country with irreconcilable differences, and that one position will ultimately be right and the other wrong, and the outcome will be of absolute importance. But I'll spare you.... whoops, too late.

Being immersed in the Christian culture of LA in general, and the YAV/Dwell community in particular, has challenged those ideas about my identity this year.

From what I can tell, many Christians in LA really have taken steps to get beyond the liberal vs. conservative debate, where many Christians in the rest of the country are stuck. In traditional terms, most of my Christian friends here in LA are more conservative theologically than my Christian friends in Georgia or Texas, but really, it's not that simple. That assertion is a very superficial assessment, and even if you DID somehow know they're theologically "conservative," you couldn't automatically assign an entire agenda of assumed political beliefs based on such a label.

I say that because I've noticed that people in LA use lots of what I perceive to be Christian buzzwords (as "cultural flags," if you will) in the same way I do -- but they use the OTHER buzzwords. They refer to their churches as "Bible believing." They reference what's happened "since they got saved." In regards to non-Christian friends, they want to "bring them to Christ." They refer to "the Lord" instead of "God," and they frequently employ capitalized masculine pronouns to describe her. (Sorry, couldn't resist!). And they also very often mention other simple things like "sin," "Satan" and "the Devil" that have never been given too much attention at the churches I've attended in my life.

HOWEVER, before you start thinking that I'm now exclusively hanging out with suntanned Southern Baptists, you should know that most of the Christians here seem passionate about helping the poor. I have seldom encountered people with judgmental, self-righteous, holier-than-thou attitudes (other than when I look in the mirror). And I have only on VERY rare occasions heard anyone "go off" on gay marriage or abortion, the top two theological wedge issues that most people associate with Christianity.

The problem with the rest of us is that many of us "liberal"/mainline Protestants have tailored the way we present ourselves so as not to be confused with the Religious Right. Just to be clear, I generally DO believe the combination of puritanical Christian social values with would-be-secular, neo-conservative political views (like American exceptionalism, social darwinism, pro-gun activism, laissez-faire economics, pro-militarism) has been hugely detrimental to our culture. It was very much necessary that some sort of "Religious Left" arise so that the Moral "Majority" didn't have a monopoly on representing "Christian values" in the public sphere. But the Moral Majority has really been dead for years. The worldview of the religious right, I believe, is "on its way out," evidenced perfectly by the strong denunciation made by prominent Christian figures of all stripes with regards to Pat Robertson's comments last month that the Haiti earthquake was God's punishment for the "pact with the devil" they made to gain independence from the French.

The Religious Right has lost touch with the US. It should then be no surprise that the Religious Left -- which no one actually claims, but lets face it, many of us are a part of it -- is also losing touch, because the Religious Left came into being largely in response to the damage done in the name of Christianity by the Religious Right. So let's pretend for a second: based on nothing, let's estimate that among the "Baby Boomers," for every 4 members of the "Religious Right," there is 1 member of the "Religious Left." If that's the case, I would say that among the "Millennials," I would guess the ratio is more like 1:1, with the vast majority of Christians not identifying with either.

However, among my generation (I'm a millennial, just to clarify for any real strangers out there), it is considered much, much more hip to be a member of the religious left than the religious right. This is why I am far less confident that the religious left will "die out" naturally. That worries me, because although theology and religion SHOULD be involved in politics, one's theological views should never be FOUNDED on political ones.

So anyway, over the past several months, I've been trying to be less combative when it comes to how I evaluate Christian figures, churches and theological positions. I'm trying not to define things in a liberal vs conservative manner, and I'm trying to keep an open mind when other people do it for me before I have a chance to form my own opinion. I invite you all to do the same.

I'll give you a chance to start right now! (so, umm, read the post above)

Serving "the least of these"

2010-02-06T20:12:00.005-05:00

This is a sermon I preached about my year so far in Hollywood at Memorial Drive Presbyterian Church in Atlanta on December 27, 2009. The scripture I used was Matthew 25: 31-46, the parable of the sheep and the goats. It also references Matthew 26:6-13. Someday I will develop the end more so the conclusion isn't quite so choppy and abrupt. But here it is as it was preached.

For me and for many others, this passage in Matthew really sums up what the message of Jesus is all about. Serving "the least of these." These verses also have played a crucial part in inspiring the creation of countless Christian charities and philanthropic organizations. When I was a college student at Trinity University in San Antonio, I regularly volunteered at St. Vincent De Paul soup kitchen downtown. St. Vincent De Paul serves three meals a day to around fifty homeless people in San Antonio. The words of Matthew 25:40, "just as you did for the least of these, you did also for me," are painted prominently on the wall in the dining room.

Unfortunately, however, for many Christians in our present times, these verses seem to inspire giving out of guilt rather than out of a sincere Christian love of neighbor. See, Jesus tells the parable of the sheep and the goats in the context of salvation and judgment day. Therefore, when we read this, we tend to focus more on the final outcome of either eternal life or eternal punishment rather than thinking about what the world would look like if its Christians seriously dedicated themselves to serving "the least of these."

Thus, when we start making this parable a blueprint for how to secure our salvation, we totally corrupt its central message. The parable's central message -- and one of, if not THE central message of Jesus' entire ministry -- is that self-less love for one's neighbor and sacrifice on behalf of the poor and oppressed are the core values of the Kingdom of God. So when we perform acts of charity out of a sense of obligation to what the Bible says, or because we want to secure our own salvation, or because we want to somehow prove our own piety, we are acting purely out of self-interest and thus have everything totally backwards.

I don't want to get too bogged down in the theological debate over being saved by grace or faith vs. being saved by works, but I will say that as a Presbyterian, I believe that we act out of self-less love and sacrifice on behalf of the poor in response to having God's love and salvation, not the other way around.

However, there is another disturbing consequence of performing acts of charity out of a sense of obligation rather than out of selfless love. When you simply clothe the naked, give a drink to the thirsty or feed the hungry "because the Bible says so," you tend not to follow up with said naked, thirsty or hungry person. And you think of the person you just helped as just that: "a hungry woman" or "a homeless man." You don't know them for who they really are: Jim. Kristina. David. A mother. A father. A child of God. And most importantly, you have no idea what happened after your deed was completed, because it's not like you stuck around to find out. Most likely, they were hungry or thirsty again just a few hours later, or as you may (or may not know) in the case of the panhandlers in downtown Atlanta, maybe they weren't hungry or thirsty or homeless at all but were actually doing relatively well. They were only pretending to be among "the least of these," because other people's isolated, uninterested acts of charity can be turned into a lucrative business.

We know from the Bible that Jesus and his followers didn't just perform isolated, uninterested acts of charity. In fact, in the very next chapter of Matthew, his disciples want to do exactly that, but Jesus rebukes them. After telling the parable from our scripture reading today, Jesus and his disciples go to the house of Simon the Leper. While there, a woman pours a jar of very expensive ointment on Jesus' head. The disciples, surely wanting to prove that they had been paying attention during the parable they heard earlier, call the act a waste and insist that the ointment should have been sold and the money given to the poor. Jesus then defends the woman in verses 10 and 11 of Matthew 26, saying "Why do you trouble this woman? She has performed a good service for me. For you will always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me."

That last part is surely one of the most misunderstood verses that's frequently quoted out of context in the whole Bible. Despite popular opinion, especially if you ask most supply-side, free-market Christians, Jesus was not telling his followers that they might as well not help the poor because there will always be poverty. Rather, he was remarking that the rightful place of Jesus disciples will always be with the poor. You will always be with the poor, because it is your mission to serve them. Jesus and his disciples made their living amongst "the least of these," dwelling and dining with society's downtrodden.

You see, Jesus wouldn't serve food from across the other side of a counter at a bread line. Jesus would sit down at the same table as his companions. And wash their feet beforehand. He was always touching the lepers and allowing himself to be touched by outcasts and prostitutes.

Have you ever actually touched a homeless person? Not just brushing them in the process of handing over some spare change (or if you're one of those really thoughtful, prepared people, a granola bar or bottle of water instead) but actually just shaken the hand of someone who is homeless, or given them a hug?

I got a hug from Jennifer a few weeks ago. Jennifer is one of the homeless clients I outreach to at my job (her name has been changed). For those of you who might not know, I am currently serving in Los Angeles as a Young Adult Volunteer for the Presbyterian Church (USA), which, for lack of a better description, is basically a year long experiment in humbly attempting to live out these verses from Matthew 25. My job, as a "professional volunteer" is street outreach and case management for an organization called PATH, which stands for People Assisting the Homeless. Basically, every day I and a team of one or two other people drive through Los Angeles engaging people who live on the streets to try to help them find permanent housing or at least get them in to temporary shelter.

Jennifer is a client that the street outreach team has been approaching for a long time -- since well before I arrived in September. We always see Jennifer around the same parking lot of the same strip mall near the LA airport. Sometimes she is digging through the dumpster in the parking lot, but usually she's just sitting beneath a tree on the corner watching the traffic go by. As we do with all of our clients when we approach them, we always offer Jennifer a sack lunch. Usually, she refuses the lunch. Frequently, when she sees us coming she makes it known that she doesn't want to talk to us. Sometimes, she just scowls and shakes her head or politely says "no thank-you." Other times she curtly tells us to go away or even screams at us until we leave. But occasionally, like one day a few weeks ago, she is very nice, accepts a lunch and lets us talk to her for a minute or two.

Usually, my coworkers and I proceed delicately to ask her how her day is going, if she's thought about coming into shelter and whether there's anything else we can do to help her. We stick to these basics in fear that more probing questions might turn one of her good days into a bad day. So you can imagine our surprise on that particular day when she told us that she would like a shower. Very surprised and excited, we told her we could take her in our van right away to the PATH shelter where we work in Hollywood, so she could take a shower. She accepted our offer, and after we helped her into the van for the ride back, which lasted over half an hour, no one said a word. Jennifer took a short nap while my two outreach teammates and I sat in silence as we wondered what possessed Jennifer to be so open, vulnerable and trusting today.

Once we arrived back at the shelter, Jennifer took a 30 minute shower. Afterwards, we asked if she would like to stay in the shelter (we had a couple of beds available). She said no and instead requested that we transport her back to her spot. So after another relatively quiet 30 minute van ride, we dropped her off, said goodbye and assured her that we were always there for her, whatever she might need. And then, without warning, she turned and gave me a big hug, whispering "thank-you" in my ear.

I found out later that it was not the first time Jennifer had come in for a shower and given a hug afterwards. According to my boss, every three months or so, she asks if she can come take a shower, which usually puts her in a hug-giving mood afterwards. And then, in the weeks that follow, it's always back to the way it was before: the next time we see Jennifer she'll probably not want to be bothered. Sure enough, the following week when we were working in Jennifer's area, she declined to talk with us or accept our sack lunch. To this day, the outreach team and I are still engaging and developing a relationship with Jennifer, and she still has her good days and bad days.

If you think that story was a little anti-climactic, your forgiven. Homeless outreach and case management are like that. Sure, there are success stories and inspiring moments like when Jennifer came in for a hug and a shower or when another one of our clients decided to come into shelter and accept substance abuse counseling after more than 10 years of alcoholism and living on the street. But much of the work day to day is frustrating and at times mundane.

Which may be a good thing. See, my goal today is to inspire, but not over-inspire. I will reiterate the theological point I was trying to make earlier that we can only respond to God's love and salvation. How I am called to respond isn't necessarily how YOU are called to respond. Right now, I am just picturing your apprehension about what on earth to do the next time you see a homeless person. Next thing I know, you 'll be fired from your job after arriving 2 hours late one day when you decided to take a man living on the street out to breakfast and listen to his life story after he asked you for something to eat on your way to work. I don't necessarily want that. (Though if you decide you're needing a change in your life, you should go for it! Maybe that would be a great opportunity.)

Christian author, activist and poverty fighter Shane Claiborne once wrote that the problem with American Christians isn't that they aren't trying to help the poor; the problem is that they don't know the poor. Because once you develop a relationship with "the least of these," helping and serving them stops being an obligation, because it will just follow naturally. That's what I'm trying to do. that's what I invite you to do. It's not easy. It doesn't happen overnight. For most of us, especially a solidly middle class, American white male like myself, it includes many mistakes and requires a lot of grace. But God's got a lot of grace to give. Hallelujah! Amen.

Reflection on Urban Ministry and God's Plan of Redemption

2010-02-06T13:52:00.004-05:00

Note: I wrote this entry in my personal journal on 1/25/10 while on a "solitude retreat" at a St. Andrews Abbey, a Benedictine Monastery nestled in the beautiful San Gabriel Mountains about 1 hour from LA. All five of us Dwellers/YAVs and Matthew spent the entire day in silent prayer and reflection. I didn't write it anticipating to share it on my blog. It started as a sort of stream-of-consciousness thing that eventually morphed into a deeper more theological reflection on my own identity and the purpose of urban ministry.

As I've been walking down the muddy dirt roads and trails today on the grounds of the monastery, I can't help but notice my shoes. Today I'm wearing my red and white adidas tennis shoes. Ironically (perhaps), they used to belong to one of our homeless clients at PATH who decided he didn't want them any more. However, I actually think of them as my "nice" or "cool" casual shoes. My housemates know it must be a "special occasion" or that I'm trying to impress somebody when I'm wearing these ones.

See, I was excited (sort of) to acquire these shoes because, without having to actually spend money, I finally had something to wear with jeans and a t-shirt to "go out" in that weren't old running shoes (what I normally wear) or my trusty blue flip-flops; nor were they my nice brown or black "dress shoes." As funny as it sounds to have so many types of different shoes for different occasions, that kind of thing matters to people in our culture -- ESPECIALLY in a place like Hollywood. But if these shoes hadn't been randomly given to me, I would have been perfectly content to continue wearing old running shoes and flip-flops everywhere.

"So isn't it funny" I kept thinking to myself today, "that when I'm in the city I usually am content to wear my very outdoorsy old running shoes that have zero fashion appeal without even giving it much thought, in spite of the fashion-conscious culture and the good-natured jokes I have to endure from some of my housemates. But now that I'm all alone in solitude -- in the great outdoors -- I'm wearing shoes that actually look decent enough to pass all of LA's fashion laws; and now I'm getting them all muddy."

For this reason, I have been wondering for the past year or so if maybe I'm much more of a "country boy" than a "city guy" after all. I've always lived in cities and considered cities a more appealing place to live long-term than rural/scenic country areas. But now I take and enjoy every chance I can to escape the busy-ness of LA in favor of green spaces like Griffith Park (or St. Andrew's Abbey). And recently, I've been thinking I would really love to live long-term in such a scenic, rural, outdoorsy place like St. Andrew's. Or Montreat. Or Ghost Ranch. Why do I keep insisting I'm called to urban ministry and that I'd rather live in a huge city than in the middle of nowhere? After all, it's not like I'm huge into typical young adult city life, like going out to bars, nightclubs, concerts etc. Shouldn't I stop kidding myself?

The answer, of course, has everything to do with being counter-cultural. There's nothing really all that edifying, from my perspective, about those entertainment options above that the city offers. They take up time and money, and even though I hate to use the word or sound judgmental, they can become something like a vice for some people.

The fact that "vices" exist in the city is one of the reasons urban ministry is important in the first place. I don't mind "going out" to sporting events, bars, nightclubs and concerts -- I actually have a great time when I do, but it usually takes someone else to do the organizing, because I'm not someone who has the urge to go out too often. I think this fact is a gift. That I can live in LA -- Hollywood, in fact -- for a year and not feel like I "wasted opportunities" by staying in rather than going out most weekends. Rather, I really want to be able to dedicate myself as fully possible to serving the homeless population I work with, being present as a good neighbor and mentor in the neighborhood, living in intentional community with my housemates and involving myself in Silverlake Community Church. Then hopefully I can use whatever brief or rare moments of down/leisure time to rest, reflect and recharge rather than go out. Having this attitude, I think, really helps me confirm that I am called to do urban ministry.

The Bible begins in Genesis with an account of the goodness and perfection of God's creation. For a short time, Adam and Eve lived in harmony with creation in a garden. But then we screwed up and were banished from paradise. The imagery of the garden appears in stark contrast to the height of humanity's fall from grace a few chapters later -- the story of the tower of Babel, the world's first skyscraper. The moral of the story of the tower of Babel is that we humans in our fallen state were punished because we tried to put ourselves on the same level as God. We constructed something that edified ourselves and asserted our own dominance and power. The tower epitomizes humanity's attempt to rely on our own strength and ingenuity to "save" ourselves, when only God has the power to do that.

A sociological/economic perspective on human history mirrors the theological one. Civilization has always advanced via technology and ingenuity in order to improve humanity's position. Fending for ourselves, human beings have always wanted to do more than just "get by. We want the next generation to have life better than the previous one. The evolution of civilization to live in cities came as a result of the division of labor, which has made life and work more efficient. So things improve from our perspective, but we don't actually draw any closer to God. In fact, as technology makes our lives easier, we feel more and more like we don't need to rely on anyone else but ourselves, not God nor each other. On top of that, the increasing stratification of wealth allows us to build bigger and bigger walls between each other, even as we live in closer and closer proximity. And as we "advance," our society has become much more individualized, and technology allows us to interact with each other without having any real, meaningful, human contact.

LA is the epitome of wealth stratification; individual celebrities with super-sized egos (and bank accounts that are even larger) are worshipped as if they were Gods (and sometimes it seems like they believe they really are). And the existence of so many different languages (another aspect of the Babel story) leads to misunderstandings, prejudice and hatred. Living like this, it is sometimes all we can do not just to say to hell with it all and pray for the day that God wipes away all of the wickedness of our world like God did with Sodom and Gomorra.

But our God is a God of redemption, not of destruction. The finalization of God's plan as described in revelation is NOT a return to Eden, but a vision of a new Jerusalem. The new tree of life is situated by the river of life in the middle of a city, not a garden.

As urban ministers, we are to be signs that the work of God's redemption has already begun. The Kingdom has not arrived yet, but at the same time is already here. The great goodness of our life on this earth is that God chooses us to be instruments of his plan for redemption. By not succumbing to coldness and prejudice that's so prevalent in the city. By committing random acts of kindness for complete strangers. By standing up for the oppressed. By touching the untouchables. And by loving one's neighbor as oneself.

an update of sorts

2010-02-02T21:19:00.003-05:00

Hi everyone,

I apologize for my lack of updates recently. Everything, for the most part, is going well with me in Hollywood. Below is a bit by bit update on the main aspects of my year.

-- I have found a wonderful church to be involved with while I'm here in LA, called Silverlake Community Church. The pastor is a fellow graduate of Trinity University! The church is small and quite diverse. I am involved by singing in the choir (haven't performed yet!) and participating in a weekly devotion/fellowship/dinner group that is composed of young adults that take turns sharing a meal and discussion in people's homes.

-- Our intentional community composed of my fellow YAVs and myself has had a few issues and rifts over the past few weeks or so, but we are working through them. This is perfectly normal and to be expected when five complete strangers commit to living together for a year, no matter if they all happen to be Christians.

-- Our neighborhood ministry, the afterschool care and tutoring, is still up and running three days a week. We are getting to know the kids and their families better, and the kids are always knocking on our door even up to an hour before we officially "open" because we're eager to hang out. We've also had the privilege of having dinner with a couple of the families who live in our neighborhood in order to know them better.

-- We also host a weekly bible study group in the community house for teenagers that is led by a local Pentecostal church. This study is growing fast and has more than 30 kids that come sometimes. Many of the kids who live in the neighborhood attend, including two young men who had sunk deep into drug use and spent a lot of time of jail before becoming Christians a couple years ago. They now spend much of their free time telling their friends about Jesus.

-- I am still loving my job at PATH (People Assisting The Homeless). It's probably my favorite part of being here. I have amazing coworkers and love having the opportunity to help people get off the streets and into housing. Today one of my coworkers and I went furniture shopping with a shelter/outreach client who will be moving into his very own apartment later this week after living in our shelter for 5 months and on the streets for several years prior to that. He is very excited, but also scared about the prospect of living independently by himself. Please keep him in your prayers.

You can read a great LA times article and see an "audio slideshow" about my job here. The speaker in the video is one of my supervisors. She leads the PATH outreach team that works at night (from 4pm to midnight) while my other supervisor leads the daytime (7:30am - 4pm) outreach team, of which I'm a part.

Finally, I have (UNOFFICIALLY) met my fundraising goal for this year!!! Thanks to all who contributed!

A weekend trip home

2009-11-23T15:33:00.000-05:00

This past weekend, I went home to Atlanta. My grandfather passed away the week before, so I was in town for the memorial service. While funerals are not usually considered joyous occasions, I was excited to have a chance to be with friends and family. Grandpa would have turned 96 next week, and had been in relatively good health and stable mind before his kidneys suddenly failed. After living a long, loving, happy life, he “received his promotion” (as one woman from the church put it) without prolonged suffering. So the weekend was much more of a celebration of his life, character and strong faith in Christ than a grief-filled lament of his death.

(Semi-related nerdy theology tangent: I really LOVE that the “technical name” for a funeral is a “Service of Witness to the Resurrection.” That really is what it should all be about, and I think Grandpa would agree. Yay reformed theology!)

Thanks to Grandpa’s passionate church involvement and the strong impression he made on everyone who knew him, during the course of the weekend’s events I had the privilege of catching up and visiting with many members of Central and Druid Hills Presbyterian Churches. I was very touched by the number of them that were genuinely interested in what I’ve been up to in Peru and Hollywood. Many people said that they loved, respected and were inspired by what I have been doing. Many people said that they have been thinking about and praying for me. (And reading my blog, which I need to do a better job of updating!) I feel truly blessed to have such an amazing network of supporters (at home in Atlanta and in San Antonio as well)! There’s no way for me to express how thankful I am to all of you who have been keeping me in your thoughts and prayers during this time of mission and service, whether you first met me as an idealistic college student or as a restless pastor’s kid “raising hell” in elementary Sunday school class. Thanks, and keep reading!

Early Morning Homeless Outreach

2009-10-27T18:24:00.003-05:00

“What about that guy?” asks the voice from the back seat of the van. I quickly look to my right as we pass an elderly gentleman with slumping posture shuffling down the sidewalk. He definitely looks as if he might be homeless. Or he might just be out to pick up his newspaper. Courtney, my supervisor at PATH (People Assisting The Homeless) stops the van against the closest available stretch of curb that’s not in front of a driveway or blocked by cars parked on the street. She remains seated as I and our two volunteers step outside, going over in our heads the best way to approach this guy Our goal is having him complete a homelessness survey and offering him a free bag of toiletries and snacks without offending him, just in case he turns out to be a retired homeowner going for his daily jaunt around the block. Clutching my clipboard close against my chest for warmth in the frigid southern California air, I think about how I would be able to see my breath if it weren’t for the pre-dawn darkness.

Wendel, one of the volunteers, is a resident of the surrounding neighborhood of Baldwin Hills and has shown ambitious enthusiasm in helping our agency conduct a preliminary “snapshot” of the homeless population in his area. He confidently strides toward the man who’s now crossing the street. “Excuse me....” he calls out, “hey ol’ G.” I’m not exactly sure what “ol’ G” means, but the stranger stops to see what on earth we could possibly want from him at 6 o clock in the morning.

As I catch up to them and look the guy over, any anxiety surrounding how to inquire whether or not he’s homeless with tact and delicacy quickly vanishes. He’s wearing a tattered long sleeve shirt with a stretched collar that’s falling off of his right shoulder, and he’s walking on top of the ends of his baggy pant legs. His feet are almost completely covered by his blue jeans, but not entirely, and I see the toes of his socks peeking out through the holes. Having spent many years living in or close to the inner city, I wouldn’t have even noticed the low way he was sagging his pants if he had been wearing shoes. Well, shoes, and underwear, that is. Richelle, the other volunteer, who is Wendel’s fiance and is out here with us this morning even though it’s her 42nd birthday, immediately notices the same thing. We both quickly look away while the man tugs upward on the front of his pants to keep from exposing himself.

Wendel introduces me by saying that I work for PATH and that we’re conducting surveys in effort to start providing quality assistance to homeless people in the area of Baldwin Hills. If he participates in the survey, he’ll receive a bag stocked with deodorant, shampoo, a toothbrush, toothpaste, granola bars, a bottle of water, a razor, socks and other goodies. Before I start the survey I whisper to Richelle to check the bag that we’ve brought with us to make sure that it really does include a pair of socks. She checks. It doesn’t. Wendel jogs back over to the van to exchange it for a different one.

“Hi there,” I say, deciding not to extend my usual handshake when I see that the guy still has his fingers buried inside the front waistband of his pants. “First off, can you tell me your name?”

“OG” the man replies softly. I think to myself: Does Wendel somehow know this guy? I’m still not sure whether OG is a name or some sort of code. (I would later learn that “OG” is short for Older Gentleman.)

“Umm, sorry, what’s your first name?”

“OG” he repeats.

“Okay, so what’s your last name?” I ask stupidly, still not sure if I’m hearing him correctly.

“Just put ‘OG’ as his name” Richelle advises me as O.G. repeats his name for the third time.

“OK OG, can you tell me where you slept last night? A shelter? In the streets? In a vehicle?” I inquire, reading off the options on our survey form.

Normally when I interact with people on the streets I’m one of those guys that always tries to talk as if I miraculously grew up in “the ‘hood” instead of a middle-class white household (and according to my friends I usually just end up sounding embarrassingly silly and self-conscious), but I get the feeling this time that it’s going to be difficult for me to communicate with O.G. if I’m trying to imitate the speech pattern of a hip hop artist. So instead I’m asking him the questions in the same way I would talk to my 96 year old grandfather.

“In the streets,” he answers my question without elaborating.

“And how long have you been homeless?”

“Six months.”

“Six months?” I double check. I was guessing he’d say at least 10 years.

“Yeah.”

I write his answers down and continue with the survey. I start getting the feeling that he doesn’t trust me. The other two people we’ve interviewed this morning have told us stories and explained almost every answer. O.G. on the other hand is giving the bare minimum of information; just enough for me to fill in blanks and check boxes on the survey form. Plus, it seems like he’s saying “No” to every single yes-or-no question. No, he doesn’t have any health problems. No, he hasn’t been to the emergency room in the past 3 months. No, he’s never been to jail. No, he doesn’t have any mental health issues. No, he’s never been told he abuses drugs or alcohol. When I get to the question that asks which specific drugs he uses, Richelle interjects to clarify that we’re not with the police or government, and that his answers are completely confidential. However, he doesn’t change his answers and insists he doesn’t use any type of drugs or alcohol.

It’s a long survey; it takes nearly 10 minutes to finish the whole thing, and by the end I consider that O.G. might be giving such short, bland answers because he doesn’t want to spend forever standing on the sidewalk talking to strangers with no shoes or jacket when it’s 45 degrees outside. Finally, we finish the survey. Wendel gives him the bag as we wish him good luck, and the three of us trudge back to the van.

“Not a single one of our bags had any socks in it!” Wendel declares as soon as we’re outside of earshot.

“I was afraid of that” I say. “I made up the bags last week, and we only had about 30 pairs of socks.” Today is day two of our three day homelessness survey blitz in the city of Baldwin Hills. Courtney, Wendel and I are one of five teams composed of PATH staff and volunteers that are combing the streets, parking lots and alleyways of the city limits in an effort to gather as much information as possible about the number and vulnerability of the local homeless population. Each team is assigned a specific area of the city in which to conduct surveys between the hours of 5am and 7:30am: presumably the time when people are most likely not to be busy or moving about and in the same places in their daily “routines.” After day one we had already documented 22 people (and thus given out 22 bags), so I was not at all surprised to learn that we no longer have socks.

“Yeah, it’s ok; I just gave him my own pair of socks,” Wendel says plainly. Richelle, Courtney and I are all touched, and we each give him a variation of some sort of “oh my gosh, that’s so sweet” affirmation. Wendel just shrugs, knowing it was simply the right thing to do. As we drive off to explore the parking lot of a nearby McDonalds, I can see the orange glow of dawn beginning to break across the palm tree-lined LA horizon.

A Fairly Easily Resistible Philosophy on Life: Living as an Ordinary Moderate-Liberal Protestant

2009-10-16T00:05:00.006-05:00

I've almost finished reading Shane Claiborne's The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical (for the second time; the first time I read it was 2 years ago). I've been thinking about the book a lot, as it now has many direct applications for the manner in which I want to live my life during this year in Hollywood (and beyond...) I was originally going to blog tonight about some experiences working at PATH, but some thoughts on Irresistible Revolution have been weighing on my mind instead.

For those of you who don't know anything about Shane Claiborne's book, it is basically an account of how one individual has chosen to live his life in accordance with the message of the Christian Gospel. Shane Claiborne is a founding member of The Simple Way, an intentional community in Philadelphia. He is passionate about not only "serving" the poor, but living amongst the poor and even "being poor" by 21st century US standards. He notes that a huge segment of Christians base their faith on being "born again" because there's an account of Jesus telling someone in the Bible that they must be "born again" to enter the kingdom of heaven. What if there were an entire segment of the Christian population who based their faith on selling all of their possessions and giving the money to the poor -- because there's an account in the Bible of Jesus telling one guy to do exactly that, as well.

A couple weeks ago, my housemates and I, along with Matthew our site coordinator, were having a discussion on the book (we have "community day" where the six of us take time to check in, have book discussions, pray and be present with each other every monday). One of the interim pastors of First Pres. Hollywood had joined us as a guest to talk with us about some of his own experiences in Christian mission. The pastor hadn't read the book, but he eagerly listened as we talked about it and gave him a brief synopsis of the book's premise. During the discussion, the pastor cautioned that many types of theology like Shane's tend to "idealize the poor." Just because people find themselves in conditions of poverty doesn't mean that they're blameless and that their lifestyles should be imitated. We don't worship the poor or the Revolution, or Social Justice; we worship Jesus Christ. Poor people have their own spiritual problems and lifestyle problems that don't only stem from poverty.

This was a good point for me to hear. One of my only criticisms of the book up to that point had been my "theory" that Shane had to have sugarcoated and left details out of many of his stories and anecdotes that he describes in the book. He talks about giving away thousands of dollars to people on wall street and seeing people use it to share with each other and buy food for strangers. He recalls how a group of college protesters and homeless people working together helped overturn laws that forbid people from sleeping in an abandoned building or eating in a park. He tells stories about how he and his cohorts seemingly effortlessly would teach inner city kids to resist entering the cycle of violence. As someone that at least has a LITTLE bit of experience with some of these issues, I read the book and think to myself "How is it so easy for him to do all this cool stuff?!" There MUST be 20 stories of failure for every one beautiful kum-bay-ya moment. In the small neighborhood where we live, it seems unbelievably difficult for kids to escape the pull of gangs. The middle schoolers we tutor in our community house curse at each other, constantly talk about how "gangster" they are, and evidently must be watched closely because they're very frequently "dared" to steal things from the community house. Usually from my point of view, it does not seem like living in urban poverty should be idealized.

As I've made the startlingly clear realization that Shane Claiborne in his book and I myself in my own theology tend to "idealize the poor," I've tried to make sense for how I should change my outlook. Does Shane have something that I'm missing? Does he not realize that he idealizes the poor? Has he really lost sight of worshiping Jesus in his quest to live simply among the "least of these?" And at this point, I've reached the conclusion that *duh* of COURSE Shane Claiborne and other intellectual, liberation theology author types realize that they idealize the poor. Shane KNOWS he's sugar coating. He knew that his book wasn't going to get the majority of middle-upper class citizens to move out of their suburbs and into the inner city and start inviting homeless people over for dinner. He's got a little more self-awareness than that. He's heard from plenty of critics and he knows perfectly well that many well-thought out projects and sincere efforts to live among and increase the quality of life for poor people fall flat on their faces.

But why the hell would he admit that in his book? "Um yeah, God says that there should 'be no poor among you,' but even though I personally am working to change that, it's really not practical or necessary for most people to try it. Besides, plenty of homeless people are perfectly content just living on the streets getting by on the products of other people's guilt anyway." That type of attitude isn't going to move anybody. Although many people in conditions of poverty were born into it with very little chance of getting out, not every single poor person is a "victim of the system." Some have no one to blame but themselves. Some have simply made poor decisions -- and some have been given second and third chances and continued to make bad decisions every time. Some prefer to rely on the government/other people's aid and have very little interest in becoming self-sufficient or taking responsibility for their own lives. Most people who have encountered poverty in the US know this. I contend that Shane Claiborne knows this. It's a politically incorrect, but widely known truth -- and it's the reason why attempts to fight poverty are so half-hearted (well, one of the reasons anyway).

Shane Claiborne knows that it's true, but declaring that it's true and then LIVING as if it's true only perpetuates the problem. If we seriously let this truth become a guiding principle of our lives, we stay walled in our suburbs. We become convinced that poverty shouldn't get too high on our priority list, because our efforts to solve it fail. The more important truth is that the reason that our efforts to solve poverty fail is that we never TRULY believed poverty could be solved in the first place.

It is really, really tough to make any headway on issues like poverty and homelessness. Shane Claiborne (and slowly but surely, I as well) know that short-term mission trips, under-funded non-profits, and the charity of middle-class Christian "do-gooders" isn't going to get it done. The only way to affect real change is through entire lifestyle changes that are, as the book title says, quite radical. When wealthy people go out to meet and really get to know the poor with the attitude that real change really is possible, that's when both sides are radically transformed. And the only way to create that sort of encounter is to idealize the poor. Idealize them as much as possible. Make it sexy as hell for gifted, privileged white kids to forgo comfort and money in favor of totally dedicating their lives to living in solidarity with people who aren't so privileged. And perhaps some of those facts about life that most of us know to be true will become myths some day.

Lost on the wrong side of town

2009-09-27T23:15:00.007-05:00

EDIT: Notice again the date... and sorry again for posting late!

Last night, Curtis and I went to a USC football game. One of the members of First Presbyterian Church of Hollywood, a USC alum and former collegiate national champion in mens' tennis who never lost a match in 3 seasons of play (many years ago), was nice enough to give us two tickets in the fifth row on the home side at the 15 yard line. So Will gave us a ride down to the stadium two hours before kick-off so we could get the full USC home game experience (we were fortunate enough to meet some very hospitable tailgaters... but they drew the line at listening to two boys from the south try to tell them that SEC teams play the toughest schedules in college football). Once inside the stadium, after we got past the initial ooh-ing and aah-ing at the up-close-and-personal perspective on SC's tradition and pageantry, the game itself was incredibly boring. The Trojans defeated the Washington State Cougars 27-6 in a game that seemed devoid of much passion or intensity (and scoring, too, during the second, third and much of the fourth quarters).

After the game, however, is when things got interesting (well, at least interesting enough for me to write a blog entry about it). Curtis and I had planned to take the LA city bus home (as mentioned above, Will dropped us off before the game using our shared community mini-van; our thinking was to avoid paying for parking and dealing with saturday-late-night, post-game LA traffic). Problem was, by 10:30, when we finally got out of the stadium, the city buses had seemed to have stopped running. We waited at the closest bus stop to the stadium before noticing a small sign with a bus schedule that indicated that this particular bus only ran until 9pm on Saturdays. So using Curtis' iPhone, we looked up a route of another bus that would take us home (that supposedly came more frequently/ran later) a few blocks to the west of the stadium.

We arrived at our new bus stop a little before 11pm. We waited. And waited. As we watched a group of men drinking and loitering across the street (who seemed to be watching us), we started feeling more and more out of place as two white guys in USC gear late Saturday night on a corner in what we learned the following morning to be the edge of South Central Los Angeles. We met a woman who seemed to be from the neighborhood (she knew quite a few of the people milling about) who asked us for a dollar so she could buy another beer from the gas station across the street. After making conversation with her for awhile with no sign of the buses, we called a taxi company. When we told the person from the taxi company on the phone where we were, the intersection King and Normandie, he informed us that their company "doesn't pick up there."

A few minutes later, a young man in his late 20s/early 30s approached and asked if we knew if the buses were still running. We were trying to figure out the same thing, we told him.

The young man's name was Cesar. He told us he was recently released from prison and "didn't want to get in trouble again." He was trying to get home (from... where? We never asked.) and was nervous about the possibility of having to keep walking through this particular neighborhood. LA is notorious for gang violence that tends to fall along racial lines, and as a young, Hispanic male, Cesar (like us) was obviously out of place in South Central, a predominantly African American area.

By this point Curtis and I had each said plenty of quick, silent prayers that God would help us get home. I was almost to the point of calling one of our roommates to come pick us up (who would then have to figure out how to get to where we were and drive there at night after living in LA for all of 3 weeks) when we saw a taxi pull into the gas station across the street. Cesar suggested we go see if the driver could take us all back (Cesar's house was on the way to our neighborhood). We negotiated a fare before we got into the cab (like I would always do in Lima, where there are no taximeters, even though this guy had one). He agreed to take us for a very reasonable price, so all three of us squeezed into the back seat, and 30 minutes later, we were home.

And that's pretty much the end of the story. The taxi dropped Cesar off first, and then took Curtis and I back home, safe and sound. The driver was a college-educated immigrant from Ethiopia. Because of health problems, he was driving a taxi instead of continuing with school/professional work. We thanked him and wished him good luck.

Although it was maybe anti-climatic, Curtis' and my late-night experience in South Central offers plenty of things to over-analyze. In telling the story to our housemates and members of First Pres Hollywood afterwards, we both said we were scared. We were scared because we were "lost" on the "wrong" side of town. I still don't know how reasonable/justified our feelings of fear were. Maybe the feelings were products of our common sense/self-preservation instinctively trying to keep us safe and preventing us from acting unwisely. Or maybe they were products of having seen too many movies, listened to too many rap songs and heard too many rumors about that particular area of LA.

Although it has an important biological function, fear can sometimes be a bad thing. In the Bible, God is frequently telling folks to relax and "be not afraid." Fear can make us act violently and hatefully. Fear is probably the number one reason why most of us don't really pay too much attention when Jesus tells us to "love our enemies." Fear is why a lot of kids join gangs. Fear is why we build walls between us and them, and also why we steer clear of certain "wrong" sides of town.

The reason I would refer to South Central as the "wrong" side of town for guys like me and Curtis has a little to do with race and a lot to do with money and power. I've said it before (almost exactly a year ago, as a matter of fact) and I'll say it again: if you don't have money or power, you have very little reason to be afraid in the inner city. Not coincidentally, that's what this year of dwelling in the inner city is about. Freeing ourselves from enslavement to worldly money and power. Coming face to face with people that are different than us and that sometimes scare us. As Shane Claiborne says, while our society encourages upward mobility and a race to the top to become the richest and greatest, Jesus invites his followers to do the opposite: to enter into a movement of downward mobility, a "race to the bottom" to become like and to serve "the least of these." It's not easy, and for a North American, white, heterosexual, middle-upper class male, who's about as close to "the top" as you can get, it's a long, long race, and it's gonna be pretty scary. But that's when God finds us on the right side of town.

Note: as a community, we (the Dwellers) are currently reading Shane Claiborne's The Irresistible Revolution, which is the reason why I sound so much bolder/more idealistic/provocative than usual (or maybe not?)

Orientation Update

2009-09-12T14:49:00.009-05:00

EDIT: Please notice the date that this entry was written. Sorry I'm posting it a month late!

We’re wrapping up our week of orientation here in Hollywood. We’ve had a chance to get to know each other, explore the city and see the places where we will all be working over the next year. On our first day of orientation, we went to Griffith Observatory, in the hills of Griffith Park, one of the largest urban parks in the country, which overlooks downtown LA. Looking down the hill from the observatory, it was easy for me to compare in my mind the view of LA with the view of the outskirts of Lima from the view of the top floors of Kilometer 13 church in Comas, where I worked last year. Both cities are huge metropolises overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The foothills of the Andes on the outside of Lima are really part of the same system of mountain ranges as the foothills of the San Gabriel mountains of LA. But that's where the similarities end (well, besides the smog/pollution). From Griffith Park in LA, I look down upon beautiful, ornate mansions that house single families. In Lima, I would look down upon slums and simple brick buildings that would house multigenerational extended families. The houses in LA have Spanish style colonial tiled roofs. The houses in Lima frequently had roofs made of cardboard or sheet metal. Or the roofs were covered with clotheslines and laundry, and usually featured long iron rebars sticking up, allowing for the house to continue being constructed upward as the family gets bigger. Check them out for yourself.

A view of Los Angeles from Griffith Observatory:

A view of Comas from Km 13 Church:

2008-2009 YAVs/Dwellers atop Griffith Observatory, with the Hollywood sign in the background. (From left: Will, Kenna, Curtis, Wendy and Alex):

The parking area/basketball court behind our house is decorated with artwork done by some of the kids who live in the neighborhood. The YAV site in Hollywood begun as a community house that was an urban mission of First Presbyterian Church of Hollywood called the Hollywood Urban Project:

Last years Dwellers created and maintained a community garden in the front yard of the house. The five of us now assume stewardship of the garden:

New Blog Name

2009-09-06T22:44:00.005-05:00

"Pensamientos Peruanos" has run its course. No, that doesn't mean my blog is ending. It just means it's time for a new name. I've started YAV year # 2 in Hollywood. So my thoughts aren't quite Peruvian enough now to merit the blog title "Pensamientos Peruanos" (even though I'm sure I'll continue to relate to experiences from Peru as I blog in Hollywood). I will also continue to keep the same address -- http://alexcornell.blogspot.com, but in the coming days or weeks, I'll be changing the blog title to give it a nifty new Hollywood/Los Angeles themed name.

So I need suggestions on a catchy blog name. Alliteration is always good, so I could just make it "Hollywood Happenings." Another possibility is "Hollywood Headaches, Heartaches and Half-eaten Hotcakes." But that just seems a tad melodramatic. Plus, I always finish all of my hotcakes. The YAV/Dwell program in Hollywood started as a mission of First Presbyterian Church of Hollywood called "The Hollywood Urban Project," and my cynical side kind of wants to name my blog "The Hollywood Gentrification Project." If I ever did live video blogging, I could call it "California Streamin.'" My esteemed Peru YAV colleague Sean Kerr has suggested the name "Pensamientos Hollywoodaños," which sounds really cool to me, but would set a precedent such that throughout my entire blogging life, I'll always have to have a blog whose title is in Spanish and describes my thoughts as they relate to the location I happen to be in.

So that's all I got. Yesterday, Kenna, the fourth member of our YAV/Dwell community in Hollywood arrived from Tucson with her family. Will, the fifth and final member will fly in tomorrow. Then, orientation starts Tuesday as the five of us get used to being out of our comfort zones as we struggle to live in community with each other, integrate ourselves with the neighborhood and work four days a week on the streets of LA. I will try to take and post some pictures soon! Be sure to check out the official blog of the "Door Hollywood" program, which includes YAV/Dwell. Matthew Schmitt, our site coordinator updates it regularly and has already posted a couple entries with pictures documenting our arrival. That's all for now, and keep in touch!

Sights and Sounds from the first week in Hollywood

2009-09-03T23:53:00.005-05:00

We could see the smoke from the L.A. wildfires through the airplane windows as we descended to land at the L.A. airport late Monday afternoon. Later, as Matthew, our site coordinator, drove us from the airport to the community house that we'll be calling home for the next year (with a stop at In 'n Out Burger on the way), we could see the actual flames lighting up the night sky across the southern California hillsides in the distance. I'm sure much heavy-handed, hyperbolic Christian symbolism could be used to describe our arrival -- the fearless group of Bible-believing Young Adult Volunteers descends onto the Godless Urban Jungle to "save" a city that's literally on fire as flames leap across the horizon and thick smoke fills the air -- but I'll let you simply take from it what you wish.

With the two other members of our Hollywood YAV/Dwell community not arriving until Saturday and Monday, this week is all about settling in and getting our bearings. Matthew took Curtis, Wendy and I grocery shopping on Monday, and we're already discovering how creative we're going to need to be this year if we're going to survive on the $85 per individual per month that we're given for groceries. Then, yesterday Curtis, Wendy and I took the community van to Venice beach and enjoyed the sun, waves and interesting people that hang out there. Finally, the past three mornings I've gone running to explore our neighborhood. Hollywood's touristy locales -- the walk of fame, the Hollywood sign, Grauman's Chinese Theater etc -- are mostly to our north. Hancock Park, a large, wealthy neighborhood, lies to our south. And scattered between Hollywood's busy thoroughfares -- Sunset, Hollywood Boulevard, Melrose Avenue, Santa Monica Boulevard -- are side-streets like ours, Gregory Avenue. On these sidestreets are mainly apartment complexes and modest homes occupied largely by immigrant families.

This evening, I had my first taste of what our daily life living and ministering in this neighborhood might look like. Wendy and I were cooking dinner. We had harvested all of the okra from our house's community garden in the front yard, and we had just gotten back from riding our bikes to the local "Food For Less" discount grocery store to pick up a few key ingredients for a recipe featuring okra that Wendy got from her mom. As we started preparing dinner in the kitchen, Curtis was playing basketball with the hoop in the parking area behind the house with 4 or 5 of the neighborhood kids, who ranged in age from 6 to about 12. Wendy and I quickly discovered that the okra from the garden was over-ripe (who knew it might be difficult to grow okra in southern california?) and was going to be absolutely inedible no matter how long we boiled it. We decided to improvise; we scrapped the okra to the compost and instead added leftover ground beef and rice to create a stir-fry out of what was originally planned to be an okra, tomato, green pepper and onion salad. Meanwhile, the kids had grown tired of basketball and Curtis, who went to school at Ole Miss, was attempting to give the kids a geography lesson on the southern US, because Mississippi is as good as a foreign country to a 10-year old son of Mexican immigrants living in L.A. Finally, Wendy and I finished dinner and Curtis said goodbye to the neighborhood kids, almost all of whom live in the apartment complex across the street. We all sat down to eat together. The three of us enjoyed our third "family dinner" in Hollywood (the improvised stir fry was actually really good) and we prayed giving thanks for food and fellowship and asking God's guidance as we begin a year in relationship with a wonderful neighborhood and each other.

YAV Orientation at Stony Point

2009-09-01T23:15:00.004-05:00

It's been a busy week. I was one of 67 YAVs attending orientation at Stony Point conference center in New York. For better or for worse, I found myself doing more looking back during orientation than looking forward. Finally, I had a chance to "process" some of what I experienced over the past year in Peru with a group of people who understood more or less my motivations for being there and what exactly my goals and intentions were. I eagerly gave advice to whoever would listen about "what it's like" to be a Young Adult Volunteer, especially in Peru.

I can't really describe how awesome the energy was that I felt at orientation. It was just really, really cool to be around so many like-minded Christians who had dedicated a year out of their lives for service to others -- not to "save souls" but simply to be in relationship with people. We all seem to be searching for more authentic ways of being after spending most of our lives in sheltered white, middle-upper class enclaves. Orientation included both practical training/information as well as times of worship, play and socializing. We had talks and workshops about how to care for ourselves and manage conflict when we experience culture shock, stress and anxiety as we live in unfamiliar and possibly uncomfortable settings during our years of service. We participated in amazing worship services in which former YAVs shared stories of their experiences from years past and we all praised God with singing and dancing using music from all over the world.

So yesterday, at the end of orientation, we dispersed from Stony Point to all of our various placements around the world. Hollywood, Peru, San Antonio, Guatemala, Cincinnati, Atlanta, Kenya, Denver, New Orleans, India, Tucson, Nashville, Northern Ireland, Alaska, Miami. The first group left Stony Point Conference Center at 3am early Monday morning, while the final group left at 11pm that night. The flight to L.A. left a little before 10am. I was accompanied by Curtis and Wendy, two of my four housemates (the other two Will and Kenna had prior commitments to fulfill and will be arriving this weekend). It is truly awesome to be a part of such a large contingent of service-minded young people spreading out all over the world with the same goals.

Fundraising, take 2!

2009-08-21T11:52:00.003-05:00

As many of you may already know, I will be serving ANOTHER year as a Young Adult Volunteer beginning this September. This time, I will be living and working in Hollywood. Yes, Hollywood, California. Believe it or not, Hollywood has its own problems with poverty and homelessness. The Hollywood YAV program has three components, which I will explain in this blog entry: living in intentional Christian community with the other Hollywood YAVs, working 32 hours per week for a local non-profit addressing homelessness, and serving as a “good neighbor” to the surrounding area.

The prospect of living in intentional Christian community with other mission-minded Christians is what originally interested me in serving as Young Adult Volunteer for a second year at a national YAV site. The four other Hollywood Young Adult Volunteers and I will struggle with the issue extreme poverty in the shadow of extreme wealth, which is prevalent throughout Hollywood. The five of us will agree on a covenant governing the way in which we want to live together during the year. There will be an emphasis on living simply and intentionally -- “the way Christ intended.” This will probably mean only walking, riding bikes or taking public transportation to work, limiting or completely restricting time spent watching TV or using the internet, committing ourselves to making responsible consumer choices as we share grocery, utility bills etc. We will also have regular times of community building, prayer, reflection and bible study between the five of us each week.

Additionally, we will commit ourselves to being good neighbors in our neighborhood. The house is located in a small, working class, predominantly Spanish-speaking immigrant neighborhood. As a house/group, the five of us must brainstorm some sort of service that we can provide to the neighborhood. In the past, Hollywood YAVs have hosted regular community meals, provided after-school tutoring and organized holiday festivals/parties as well as regular pick-up games of soccer/basketball.

Finally, I will be working as a “street outreach case manager intern” for an organization called PATH (People Assisting The Homeless) I am very excited about this opportunity. Although I have done a little volunteer work with the homeless before, this will overall be a very new, different experience for me. I’m still learning many of the details, but basically I will be working in a team of case managers who will work on the streets on a daily basis with homeless clients. Through conversations, we will attempt to help people living on the streets assess how they can best take steps towards self-sufficiency and search for affordable housing.

As you can tell, it promises to be a year full of personal and spiritual growth. The final part is the fundraising. As part of the YAV program, I have committed to raising $6,500 to help cover living expenses and program costs. I need your help with this fundraising! The YAV program in Hollywood is actually run in partnership between the Presbyterian Church (USA) and a program of the Mennonite Church called DOOR (Discovering Opportunities for Outreach and Reflection). So if you are willing and able to help me with my fundraising efforts (no amount is too small), there are three ways you can do that.

The best way is to write a check to “DOOR Network” and write “Hollywood - Alex Cornell” in the memo line. Mail the check to

DOOR National Office

430 West 9th Avenue

Denver, CO 80204

If you would rather give through the Presbyterian Church (USA), you may do that as well (however, they do prefer that you give directly through DOOR). To give through the PC(USA), click here. Then click “Hollywood” in the box that says "Support specific national YAV sites" and then follow the instructions. In the “Comment” section of the online form, be sure to write that the funds are designated for Alex Cornell.

Finally, you can also give through the DOOR facebook "cause" page by going here and clicking “Donate.”

Thanks and be sure to keep in touch!

Back in USA

2009-08-15T08:40:00.003-05:00

Once again I've gone too long without updating. I've started writing a couple entries, but they have yet to be finished. I'm back in the States having finished my term of service in Peru (I flew home July 28). I recently got a new laptop computer, which in the future might make me a better blogger, because I can just take it out and start writing the moment I feel inspired (like now).

Thus far, being back in the States has been weirdly normal. I felt like I heard about or was dreading "reverse culture shock" or "re-entry shock" for 3 or 4 months before leaving Peru. I was feeling ready to be totally disgusted with American culture and to feel out of touch or alienated by my friends and family. So far that's not the case. Over the past few weeks, I've been relatively busy traveling to see friends and family from home in Atlanta, my college in San Antonio, TX and my job over the summers during college in Montreat, NC. In each of those places, I've had many more good/positive experiences than bad. At times I certainly miss my host family, fellow YAVs and my brothers and sisters from the churches in Lima, but overall I am happy to be "home."

As I've mentioned before on my blog, at the beginning of September I will start another year of serving as a Young Adult Volunteer. I will be working for a homelessness agency and living in a shared house in intentional Christian community with four other Young Adult Volunteers in a small, working class Mexican immigrant neighborhood in Hollywood, California. Ironically enough, I feel like THAT is where I may experience the most "culture shock." For the past year, I lived a modest middle class lifestyle (by Peruvian standards) among fairly "mainstream" evangelical Christians. During the week-long YAV orientation and at the beginning of my time in Hollywood, I will be living an upper-middle class white person's version of a working class lifestyle among liberal/postmodern "evangelical" Christians ("evangelical" in the "let's take back this term" sense). In Peru, I feared being judged if I went out to a dance club or suggested that women could be leaders in church. In the US, I fear being judged if I use a gender-specific pronoun to talk about God or throw a plastic bottle in the trash can when there's a recycling bin right next to it. I've spent a year around people worried about making sure their families well-fed, healthy, happy and successful as opposed to being around people for whom those things are a given, so they're instead worried about fighting injustice and liberating the oppressed.

When it comes down to it I'm still squarely in the liberal/postmodern Christian/simple lifestyle camp. The difference is now I'm a little more self-aware and a little less arrogant than I once was about it. Thanks for reading, and I'll try and keep updating as I continue to wrestle with all of the theological/cultural tensions that have emerged for me over the past year.

Update

2009-07-09T21:42:00.005-05:00

Once again, I just want to thank everyone for the kind words, emails, facebook book messages etc that I've been receiving over the past few weeks in light of my surgery. I've been taking it pretty easy the past couple weeks, and am feeling back close to 100% (but people keep reminding me to take it slow regardless -- which is good). One of my fellow YAVs, Leslie, was exceptionally awesome in helping out sick Alex after my operation. Among many of the cool things she did for me was take pictures and write a great blog post about the whole ordeal. Here are a couple pictures, and you can see more and read the post on our Peru YAV group blog.

Right before going into surgery with fellow YAV Mike
and PCUSA mission co-workers Harry and Alexandra

Debbie visiting me post-operation.

Even though I have had some extra free/down time on my hands, unfortunately I just haven't been in too much of a "blogging" mood lately. So I apologize for the lack of updates. Overall, having an appendectomy kind of threw off the way I originally saw my last month in Peru going. All of the sudden I find myself with only two weeks left and lots of odds and ends remaining to wrap up. It's been an incredible, interesting year, meeting only my prior expectation that this year would defy my expectations. Sometimes I think transitioning back to the US won't be so hard, since in many ways my lifestyle in Lima isn't really all that different from how it was in the US (as I've already discussed ad nauseum on this blog). But at other times I know that there will be plenty of things about "re-entry shock" or "reverse culture shock" that I'm not ready for.

One of the most distinct things about my YAV year has been living with a host family. When I look back on it, my host family, especially Javier and Raquel, have been amazing. As you may remember, they weren't my original host family. But when it was first decided two months into my year of service that I needed to change families, they quickly answered the bell. They didn't know exactly what they were getting into or really what exactly the YAV program was. They just heard from the President of the Session of Santa Isabel Church that their new gringo missionary suddenly needed a place to stay. They didn't know I had the support system of Debbie and Harry and the PC(USA) office, they just thought I was going to be left out on the street.

So they offered me a place in their home. At first they were told it might just be for a couple weeks, but then they ended up agreeing to let me live with them for the entire remainder of the YAV year (from the beginning of last November until the end of July). They make sure I'm safe, well fed and taken care of. They're my friends. I've participated in the birth of their child. I really do feel like a member of Javier's family. I always have a place at the table for the family gatherings. My host family has put up with my weird American customs, clunky Spanish speaking and awkward cultural interactions for 9 months.

They've also had to share in my struggle of giving up independence. That, perhaps, is the most difficult aspect of living with a host family. Before coming to Peru, I was basically an independent, low-maintenance adult college student who lived with other carefree 20-something-year-old roommates. I was free to come and go from my house as I pleased, quite literally as I also had my own car. After coming to Peru, all that changed. It was like I suddenly pushed the rewind button, back to high school, only this time I'm in a big, slightly dangerous unknown city immersed in a foreign culture and language. I'm now a full-time family member. I don't have my own car to get around Lima however I want. For meals, I don't just pop something in the microwave when I'm hungry. If I go out, my family wants to know where. If I'm not back (or if I don't call) before dark, they worry. I've recently realized that as I've made more friends in Lima and started to become more street-smart and confident in going places on my own, I've occasionally put my host family through some of the same stress that most parents (at least in the US) go through. But instead of feeling anxious or worried about a biological son or brother that they've known and loved since birth, they've accepted the same type of responsibility for a 23-year-old foreigner.

I'm sure I will have more opportunities for reflection on my experiences as a whole this year as my time in Peru comes to a close. But right now the thing about my YAV experience that sticks out to me the most is how special it's been to become "adopted" into a new family.

Appendectomy

2009-06-26T11:57:00.002-05:00

This past Monday night I was scheduled to travel with the other YAVs in Lima to Huancayo, a town in Peru's Andean mountain region for a 5 day retreat. The plan was first for all of us to attend a small party Monday evening at the apartment of another PC(USA) mission co-worker who lives in our site coordinator Debbie's neighborhood. After the party, we would go straight to the bus station to get on an overnight bus to Huancayo. However, we learned Monday afternoon that we would actually be unable to make the trip to Huancayo due to workers protesting and blocking the one highway that runs between Lima and Huancayo.

Regardless, I still went to the party with the other YAVs and Debbie on Monday night. The entire evening, I had been having bad stomach pains. As I was waiting for a bus to take me back to my host family's house after the party, my stomach was hurting worse than it had been all night. Upon seeing how full the busses were and realizing that I would probably have to stand up in a crowded bus for the hour-plus long ride back home, I decided to instead see if I could spend the night in Debbie's apartment instead of going all the way back to Comas.

Debbie and her husband Harry, being wonderful people/an extraordinary YAV site coordinator couple, of course let me spend the night in the guest bedroom of their apartment. We all figured I either had a stomach virus or had eaten something undercooked. Before I went to bed, Debbie off-handedly asked me if I still had my appendix. I said yes, but that I doubted my appendix was causing the problem because the pain was in the center of my stomach and not on the right side, where the appendix is located.

However, when I woke up at 3am, the pain had definitely all moved to my lower right side. Concerned and unable to sleep, I used Debbie's internet to look up signs and symptoms of appendicitis on Web MD. I basically had all of them (chiefly, stomach pain that starts generally in the center abdominal region and then slowly becomes acute and concentrated in the lower right side), and the web site said that appendicitis, if not treated quickly, can cause the appendix to rupture, which is a medical emergency. So I knocked on Debbie and Harry's door at about 3:30am, asking them to take me to the hospital.

The Stella Maris clinic is one of the best hospitals in Lima, and is probably less than 1/2 mile from Debbie and Harry's apartment. After being given a physical examination, blood tests, x-rays and an ultrasound, they confirmed the appendicitis and the need to operate. The laparoscopic operation was performed by a surgeon who also performs organ transplants. The operation was over and I was awake and talking by mid-day Tuesday, and discharged from the hospital at about mid-day Thursday.

*************************************************

Calling this year of service in Peru a year of "firsts" would be a gross understatement. I had never even had an IV in before this year. Aside from my wisdom teeth being removed, I had never had surgery and had never spent the night in the hospital. This probably explains why I was a lot calmer during the whole ordeal than a lot of people were. (Debbie kept giving me updates about how people here in Peru were reacting when she told them the news. I did get a chance to talk to my mom before the surgery - she seemed a whole lot more nervous than I was, but I had never had surgery in ANY country before, so I didn't know what to be scared of).

At this point, I simply have a lot to thank God for. I could have very easily been on a bus to Huancayo Monday night instead of safe and sound in Debbie and Harry's apartment. Or I could have been at home in Comas, where I would probably have been taken to a much different hospital. And if Debbie hadn't asked me about my appendix that night before I went to bed, I probably wouldn't have even considered appendicitis to be a possibility for the cause of my stomach pain.

I feel very lucky and blessed to have so many visitors in the hospital - the other YAVs, Debbie and Harry (who I'm still staying with for a couple days before I go back to my host family), my host family and a few people from both Santa Isabel and Km 13 churches. The time I've spent in the hospital really is like a perfect snapshot of my mission year as a YAV. Thanks to the wonderful people, family, community, fellow YAVs and churches here in Lima, I've "received" and "been served" so much more than I myself could ever possibly give" or "serve."

I can't sleep, so instead I'll write about distancing myself from postmodern "white" culture, and eventually upset some of my more liberal friends

2009-06-10T02:17:00.013-05:00

I really love the website www.stuffwhitepeoplelike.com. I’m sure most of you have probably heard of it. If for some reason you haven’t, it’s a blog that satirizes and pokes fun of “postmodern,” “hipster,” “liberal elitist” culture from an insider perspective. Stuff white people like is so cool because it basically essentializes and stereotypes the type of (mainly) white people who tend to pride themselves on their uniqueness and inability to be stereotyped (like me and probably most people who read my blog). The list of “Stuff white people like” includes things like “non-profit organizations,” “apple products,” “[correcting other people’s] grammar,” “not owning a television,” “arts degrees,” “Honda Prius,” “yoga” and “having multi-lingual children.” Yep, it’s THAT type of white people. Among the commentary I’ve seen about the site is the observation that it could also be called “Cultural Profile of the Emerging Church.”

Though I first came across the site last year, during my final semester at Trinity and thought it was hilarious and extremely clever, I didn’t REALLY appreciate its brilliance until I left my college environment (where I was totally surrounded by other “white” people) and came to Peru, where I’m now a minority. While you could probably come up with dozens of “grand narratives” (one of the postmodern-est of postmodern terms) to describe what exactly “Stuff White People Like” boils down to, for me it can be summarized by "modestly" and covertly asserting an aura of superiority over other "white people" and other cultural perspectives by demonstrating how varied and unique your tastes are and by how understanding and inclusive you are towards worldviews that are different from your own.

The thing about the YAV program is that it scores HUGE points within the ranking system of self-worth in “white culture”. Think about it: due to our unique, progressive religious/spiritual perspectives, as YAVs we make the decision after graduating college to go to a foreign country where we live and work among “the poor” in a non-judgmental way, meanwhile rejecting the materialism and technological comforts of US culture. While out on our own, we're forced to learn a different language. We get to know people from different cultural perspectives and work to understand and eliminate structures that create economic and social injustice. How sexy is that?! Being a YAV gives me TONS of bragging points.

But like it or not, I’ve learned that (where I’m living and working at least) poverty and foreign cultures aren’t so easily romanticized. I’m not living in a mud hut. Most of my friends and acquaintances have plenty to eat. They don’t feel persecuted. They’re not victims of horrible human rights abuses. Although Peru’s two decade period of terrorism and war ended rather recently (within the past 10 years), and although violence broke out between police and indigenous people in one of Peru’s remote mountainous areas as recently as just last week, the people here in Lima don’t seem to have much more fear of war or terrorism than we do in the US. Some of the church members with whom I worship and even a couple of kids in the compassion program talk about the need to help the poor and hungry – in Africa! “NO!” I think to myself, “YOU’RE THE POOR PEOPLE! YOU’RE THE ONES THAT NEED HELP! THAT’S WHY I’M HERE!” I know I shouldn’t think that way, but I do.

But my cultural “letdown” goes deeper than that. If I were to bring home some of the “traditional” music that I hear here in Peru on a regular basis, it wouldn’t be “El Condor Pasa” or any Quechuan melodies featuring the charango and zampoña. Instead, it would be the urban sounds of reggaetón, cumbia and US pop, hip-hop and R&B songs. The birthday and Christmas gifts I’ve received this year have almost all been clothing items that are “typical” of the culture in which I live and work. No, they’re not the brightly colored sweaters, socks and caps made from manta or alpaca. They’re dark-colored t-shirts and hoodies that say things like “Abercrombie and Fitch” and “Diadora.” When I eat a special meal with my host family, it's not usually Incan pachamanca, but instead we go out to a sit-down chain restaurant to eat pollo a la brasa (rotisserie-style chicken with french fries -- which I unashamedly LOVE), usually with multiple TVs scattered around the eating area.

And let's not forget religious beliefs. Talking about the culture in which I live here in Lima becomes even more difficult when you consider the particular flavor of Christianity practiced by the churches where I work. Ask them if they believe that abortion is definitely murder. Ask them if they believe homosexuals should be ordained. Ask them if they think people who don't believe in Jesus as Lord will go to Hell. Ask them if they believe the Bible doesn't contain a single factual error. I don't think I (or most "white people") would agree with their answers.

So what has been disturbing me most about all these characteristics of the culture in which I've been living for the past 9 months? I've realized that in my mind, the only reason that they're "acceptable" is because the people living within the culture speak Spanish, not English, live in Peru, not the US and are brown, not white. Think about it. Taken together, all of these "tastes" - in music, clothing, food, religion etc. - form a perfect cultural profile of the "wrong type" of white person. Let me explain. For the most part, I've been very accepting of the "foreign culture" that I've been living in for the past 9 months. I'm living on the other side of the world and speaking a new language, so I recognize that I see everything with biased, foreign eyes. I know that I am in no place to judge them or educate them about the social/global implications of their lifestyles. Yet, even though I have never before admitted it, in my mind I am VERY quick to either judge or try to "educate" white North Americans that have the exact same tastes -- listen to "corporate" pop music, wear corporate, name brand clothes, love eating at corporate sit-down restaurants and practice a "closed-minded" form of Christianity. The difference is, I can relate much better to the white North Americans who do it. I assume they either don't understand that choosing to support multi-national corporate clothing/food/music companies contributes to global economic inequality and social hegemony (in which case I attempt to "educate" them) or I assume that they DO understand it but choose to support the corporate entities anyway (in which case I judge them).

When I think about the situation I find myself in, and how I ended up in it, the whole thing is quite absurd. I became a YAV to go searching for a new perspective on life and to be challenged by living in a way that was uncomfortable and different from what I'm used to. What I ended up with was quite possibly the opposite of what I expected and yet exactly fits the description of that objective. (Let me pause for a second to say that I don't want to come off as too "negative" -- there are definitely some unique cultural things I've experienced in Lima that you could hardly ever find anywhere in the US, and I've written about them here, and here and here, and here for example.) In many ways, I've ended up living immersed in culture characteristics that my entire worldview beforehand was predicated on changing or defying.

But the thing is, many of the people here in Lima that subscribe to these cultural characteristics are my friends. I've gotten to know them. They are wonderful people. In this sense, the YAV program has succeeded beautifully. The reason I haven't judged (until now, I guess) or criticized the culture of the people I work and live with is because I didn't immediately apply the cultural, political and religious "litmus tests" that I now realize I'm guilty of applying to people in the US.

So where do I go from here? How do I reconcile not wanting to judge or try to change the characteristics of a "foreign culture" with the fact that all of my understanding points to these characteristics as being potentially hegemonic and damaging if they continue? The way I see it, there are basically two options (once you read them, that statement in itself actually gives you a pretty huge clue as to which one I'll pick).

1.) I could use the fact that my friends in Lima are good, loving children of God to rationalize the idea that their views and lifestyle choices are okay. But in the process, I would basically sacrifice my own ideals about the way I believe God wants us to live by implying that they are negotiable and need not apply to everyone.

2.) I could assert that my views on the way we should live (in terms of religious inclusion/open-mindedness and responsible consumer habits) really aren't negotiable; they're important and they can only be effective if as many people as possible subscribe to them. But in the process, I would be implying that my enlightened, educated lifestyle is "better" than the lifestyle habits of my friends in Peru, meaning that I think they should change their lives. This sacrifices my postmodern ideal of not believing one way of life is superior to another.

The oft-noted paradox of post-modernism is that declaring that there is no objective "truth" or "grand-narrative" is in itself an assertion of truth and a grand-narrative. Stuff White People Like and much of what I wrote during the first part of this blog entry proves that even though we don't want to, we white postmoderns do in fact see the world more in "black and white" and "good and evil" than we let on. If we declare that we want to be able to understand everyone's perspective under the premise that "everything is relative" and "truth depends on your worldview," then we are fundamentally at odds with people who believe that truth is concrete/objective/absolute. "Everything is relative" is an absolute statement.

The whole conundrum makes me think of something I've said before and believe in very strongly about faith. The presence of faith implies doubt. Without doubt, what you have isn't faith, but knowledge. Faith can't be proven. Knowledge can. My views concerning Christianity, economics, lifestyle habits etc haven't been proven to be any better than those of my friends and partners in mission in Lima, or anyone elses for that matter. Based on what I've learned through my own life experiences, I BELIEVE they are the best way to live, but I don't KNOW that. One of the first people to make this observation about the relationship between faith and doubt was Soren Kierkegaard, who postmoderns happen to LOVE -- he is sometimes seen as a kind of "forefather" of postmodern theology. But there is a major difference between Kierkegaard's perspective and a true postmodern one. Both perspectives put heavy importance on the presence of doubt/uncertainty. But while a real postmodern loves just mulling over and exploring all of the doubt and trying on all of the different perspectives, Kierkegaard asserts that we have to pick a perspective and stick with it. It's an either/or choice. True postmoderns relish doubt and use it to keep from having to take a definite position. Kierkegaard, on the other hand insists that we have to take a "leap of faith" and make our stand IN SPITE of there being doubt. Once you choose, you don't go back. Although it's risky and has led the church and Christendom to commit many egregious errors and injustices in the past, I believe this is what God demands Christians to do.

In conclusion, don't worry, I'm not going to go on a tirade against materialism, consumerism, corporations and ultra-conservative theology to my friends here in Lima. I will continue to love them and continue to struggle with the implications of the "superiority complex" I've realized that I have. Believe it or not "white culture" is gaining awareness here too. It is not totally culturally insensitive to advocate for my dearly held ideals of supporting local businesses and exploring non-traditional interpretations of scripture. Let me know if you have any questions or suggestions, or if I've said anything terribly offensive (I'm sure I have). I do believe that in general, the postmodern perspective is a valid, important one, and it continues to inform my beliefs. However, I've stopped lying to myself and finally admitted that I really do think the world would be better off if everybody thought like me... which, come to think of it, is probably something so basic and intuitive that it goes without saying for most level-headed people. So maybe I've been writing for 4 hours for nothing. Oh well.

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Disclaimer: This last paragraph is probably unnecessary, and shouldn't be taken too seriously.

Ironically enough, by self-righteously deciding to expose the hypocrisy of white culture -- its tendencies toward conformity and self-righteousness/superiority while being entirely predicated on non conformity, uncertainty and humility -- I've thus basically declared myself as superior to it and tried really hard to be a true non-conformist. In glorious postmodern fashion, I have adopted a new worldview that is truly "unique." I've withdrawn from the unspoken contest to see who's the best at using an anti-racist, anti-corporate, anti-materialistic lifestyle to show it's wrong to think that your culture is the best. And by doing so, I've won.

New Newsletter!!

2009-05-29T19:25:00.001-05:00

Last weekend I wrote another YAV newsletter. It is now posted on the Presbyterian Church (USA) website.

Birthday weekend

2009-05-24T17:33:00.006-05:00

I turned 23 last Thursday. That afternoon, Blanca cooked lomo saltado for lunch, which is my favorite Peruvian dish - a plate of rice, french fries and stir fried onions, tomatoes and steak. Roberto made a Waldorf salad (he has a cookbook of American recipes) to make me feel "at home." And I got a birthday card from my REAL parents in the mail! I spent that evening with my first host family (Daniela, Juan, Juan Carlos, Giulia, Damaris, Dayra) where we ate causa that Juan prepared (I'm not sure what all is in causa... it's basically a mashed potato salad with tuna and mayonaisse) and of course they sang happy birthday and we ate cake, too. After spending time with them, I went back home to my current host family. Waiting for me with them were about 10 members of Santa Isabel Church. We ate sang happy birthday (again!) and ate cake (again!). I share the same birthday with Juan, the president of the session of Santa Isabel church, so it was really a double birthday celebration. As is the custom here, everyone took turns saying nice things about Juan and I, with some inspirational bible verses mixed in. Juan and I then each said a few words about what the year has been like and giving thanks for our friends. All in all, it was a really great birthday. But it wasn't over.

The next day, I went to work at Km 13's compassion program. After work, there was a small "party" in the office that was very similar to the one from the night before. More cake. More singing. More reflecting on the year and being thankful for the community that I've become a part of. Afterwards, Alison, one of the young adult members of Km 13's congregation who also occasionally volunteers with Compassion invited me to have a lonche (small snack-type meal eaten at about 6pm, between lunch and dinner) at her house with her mother and sister. So I went straight after the office part to spend time with Alison and her family. I carried the leftover cake from the party with me and offered it to their family. Thankfully, they accepted (I definitely love cake, but by then I was looking for ways to "share" it). I continue to be amazed by the hospitality that people in Lima have offered me.

Saturday offered me a reprieve of cake. I spent most of the day with youth and young adults from Kilometer 11 church. KM 11 is another church in the Presbytery of Northeastern Lima. I've gotten to know Priscila, the president of their jovenes (youth and young adults) group, from various presbytery events. She had invited me a couple of weeks ago to spend this particular saturday with the Km 11 jovenes, hoping that I could present a theme/message/reflection at the worship service that night. I told her that I could spend the morning and afternoon hanging out with them, but that evening I was already committed to helping out with the worship service/meeting for Km. 13's adolescentes (middle school-age youth) group. She told me that was fine, and arrived to meet me in my neighborhood to together to Km 11 church at about 10am. On the bus ride there, she asked me if I could lead a talk with the jovenes group about ways they can affect change in their communities/country/world.

I've gotten used to these sorts of last-minute-requests for speaking engagements. They seem to be pretty common in the world of the IEP (Evangelical Church of Peru denomination). Pastors are expected to be knowledgeable enough about the Bible to give a sermon or bible study on a moment's notice. And from what I can tell, a large percentage of them really are. And I guess since I also have a University degree (and carry the esteemed title of "missionary"), I'm also expected to be capable of speaking in public about a wide array of topics without previous preparation. On the one hand, it makes me feel really good about my Spanish skills that people who have spent ample time talking with me think that I speak well enough to coherently impart useful information to a large group of people while speaking extemporaneously. On the other hand, I sometimes feel guilty that I can't possibly be living up to their expectations when everything is said and done.

As I'm sure most of you know well, I'm generally a pretty outgoing, fearless, and "just say yes" type of guy when it comes to opportunities to talk in front of people or be the center of attention. Nevertheless, there have been many instances during my time in Peru when I've told people in these situations "I'm sorry, I can't give that [talk, sermon, reflection, etc]. I'm really not prepared or knowledgeable enough right now." However, this particular time, I told Priscila "yes," because doing social/community work from a Christian perspective is kind of what I'm all about.

When we arrived at the church, I got a chance to meet all of the jovenes (and adolescentes, too actually) in the Km 11 church group. Purely for curiosity's sake, one of them asked me when my birthday was. When they found out it was just two days earlier, of course they all sang happy birthday to me (and apologized for not having cake). Then I got to lead my talk. Without missing a beat, I started by reading Isaiah 58, which is a passage in the Bible about "True Fasting" -- which isn't giving up food and praying to God, but instead working to make sure the hungry are fed and "loosing the chains of injustice." (Presbyterians never carry Bibles around with them. Members of the Evangelical Church of Peru, however, do; I've changed my ways.) I then basically "borrowed" much of the central message of David Lamotte's "World Changing 101" seminars to explain why activism and volunteer work is important on both community and global levels. ("There's a difference between changing the world and fixing the world. No one expects you to "fix" the world, but you can't be in the world without changing it in some way. The question is: What type of changes/impact will you make?") Then I simply asked them to list some of the problems they see in their community so we could brainstorm together ways to address them.

The most common answer was gangs. After carefully opining (as a "professional sociologist") on some of the root causes of gangs (poverty, teenage kids in search of identity, lack of other constructive social outlets/activities/groups), we discussed what the church could do to address the issue. We basically came to the conclusion of having Saturday neighborhood clean-up days. There are several artists in the group, so they decided it would be fun to paint over gang graffiti and blank/unsightly walls with Christian pictures/images. They also decided to help clean up trash around some of the streets and fulbito ("mini soccer") courts in an effort to take pride in their neighborhood and convince the other residents to do likewise. All in all, it wasn't anything revolutionary, but I still really enjoyed participating in the conversation and being a part of a group with goals and a plan to improve the problems in their neighborhood. After the talk was over, we all played some fulbito, ate lunch, and then visited the homes of some of the members of the jovenes group who hadn't been attending the worship services recently. I then left to go to the worship service of the Km 13 adolescentes. (Yes, they sang happy birthday to me).

Finally, today I preached at the sunday morning worship service for Km. 13's congregation (a pretty decent sermon about forgiveness, if I do say so myself). And afterwards... you guessed it. More singing. More cake. Pastor Hernando and Ramon (Director of Compassion at Km 13) both shared some very kind words about the work I had been doing with the church. Someone had also put together a slide show featuring pictures from my blog and picasa site (I haven't shared the address with anyone in Peru, but it wouldn't be hard to find -- there's a link to it on the Presbytery's blog and website). And finally, I also got another chance to express my gratitude for the friends I've made and hospitality I've experienced while in Peru.

Baby photos!

2009-05-19T11:19:00.005-05:00

As promised, here are a few photos of baby Rodrigo, now 12 days old.

This is not a joke

2009-05-18T13:27:00.006-05:00

So one of the elders on the Mission & Evangelism committee of Santa Isabel church asked me a few weeks ago if I could help out with a project that the committee is working on. He told me they wanted to inform youth and families in the church neighborhood about an important personal issue - something like sex or abortion or drugs. He asked if I had any suggestions about what issue they could host a lecture/discussion on, and if I could be the one to lead it (since I'm a "sociologist," as EVERYONE knows by this point...) He then showed me a survey about religious beliefs and people's attitudes towards family issues/problems that the committee had prepared and was planning on administering door to door in the neighborhood to create a "profile" of the community they want to evangelize.

My mistake was that I looked at the survey before I answered the question about participating in or leading the lecture/activity. On the survey, I immediately identified several questions that were unclear, others that didn't give appropriate answer options, and more still that were worded in a leading manner. After looking it over, as a college grad who's taken more than a couple statistics and research methods classes, I DEFINITELY felt qualified to give them suggestions to improve their survey's clarity and effectiveness. This confidence boost also led me to tell him, in what must have been some sort of stupor, "yes, I can give a talk about a family issue from a sociological perspective. How 'bout I talk about teenage sex and its side effects?"

Fast-forward to today (all of that happened two or three weeks ago). This lecture definitely IS going to happen (frequently, ideas like this "hatch" in a hurry, and then the enthusiasm fizzles). However, because of the lack of communication and maybe my own misunderstanding of some things, the topic has changed a little bit. I went to a Mission & Evangelism committee meeting last Friday and was shown one of two hundred copies of a promotional flyer. Half the flyer has all of the information about the event: "Saturday, May 30, 4pm at Santa Isabel Church [address] a video presentation, followed by a lecture by North American Missionary Alex Cornell (Sociologist) from Trinity University in San Antonio, Texas on the topic of 'Sex Outside of Marriage and Abortion.' Entrance is FREE." The other half has a big, fat picture of me. As of this morning, these flyers are now posted on walls and telephone poles around the neighborhood.

Yes, I really am not sure when "abortion" got added to the lecture topic. I know next to nothing about abortion. If any of you know the secret number to Obama's blackberry, I'd love to have that so I can get some advice (the only problem is I won't be talking to north american catholic college students). The movie that serves as the "video presentation" that is being advertised is called "Punto y Aparte" ("Point and Apart"...? I dunno) which I haven't seen (I've been given a copy and I'm going to watch it this afternoon). It's apparently a Mexican film that tells the story of two sexually teenage active couples that get pregnant, one rich and one poor. So in the next (less than) two weeks, I've gotta watch this movie and figure out what the heck I can say for an hour that will somehow accurately inform a bunch of families and youth about their sexual choices without getting me kicked out of the church. ANY ADVICE IS WELCOME! In the meantime, I probably won't be going out much, since I'm pretty sure there aren't too many other white, 20s-ish looking males with brown hair and goatees in the neighborhood...

dos cosas

2009-05-14T09:43:00.005-05:00

1. I neglected to mention that my most recent YAV newsletter (now over 3 weeks old, whoops) is posted on the Presbyterian Church (USA) website and available for viewing here.

2. In a blog entry from way back when, I talked about a pie graph that's sort of like an unauthorized version of what Peru's take on the ol' USDA food guide pyramid would look like. This picture is painted on the wall of the kitchen of Kilometer 13 church. It explains why I eat so much rice and potatoes and so few vegetables. I recently took a photo just to prove I didn't make it up. Check it out.

A Burial

2009-05-12T12:10:00.005-05:00

Monday, the major event that happened was obviously baby Rodrigo coming home from the hospital. The second major event was that Duki, the family dog, was put to sleep.

Duki was a German Shepard that was 10 years old that lived on the roof of our house (this is not abnormal -- roofs in Lima are used for two things mainly -- it's where people hang their clothes out to dry and keep their dogs). Duki had an allergy to fleas, and with just one flea bite he would break out with skin rashes. Duki also had osteoporosis. On top of that, the medication he was given to fight the flea allergy was becoming less and less effective over time. Roberto spent lots of time washing Duki and putting medicine to alleviate his skin rashes. Finally, as everything was becoming more and more expensive, and Duki was suffering more and more, the family made the hard decision to put him to sleep.

So yesterday I helped Roberto dig a hole in the "back yard," which is really a patio area between the house and the houses in back and on either side (all houses are packed together very tightly). There, we laid Duki to rest.

I didn't have a particularly close relationship with Duki. I played with him some every time I went to hang my clothes up to dry. But not too much, because even though he loved to run around and play, it was terrible for his osteoporosis. Aside from that, he never really liked for me to pet/cuddle him much. I was mainly sad for Roberto and the rest of the family, who really did lose a "family member" -- they treated Duki much better than a lot of dogs around here are treated.

During lunch, Roberto (who's Catholic/not religious) and Javier (who's a member of Santa Isabel church, so he's Christian/evangelical) had a discussion about whether dogs go to heaven. They asked me what I thought. I said I hoped so, but I that I didn't know, mainly because I didn't really know of biblical evidence that suggested an answer one way or another. And any time you have an eschatological discussion from Javier, it's going to be based totally on the bible.

A Birth

2009-05-12T11:00:00.000-05:00

Rodrigo Alejando Vega Fernandez was born at about 6pm last Thursday, May 7. He and Raquel are now back home and both baby and mother are in great health. Here's how it happened:

Last Thursday, Raquel came home from work early. She had evidently been having deep stomach pains since early that morning. As they became more intense, she realized that they were actually contractions. She came home with Melanie, a friend from her work, right after the family and I had finished eating lunch. As Javier was on his way out the door to return to work, he instructed me to go with her to the hospital. So at 2pm, Melanie and I left with Raquel to take her to the "Seguro" Hospital in nearby Comas. After examining her, the doctor instructed Raquel to go back home, do some walking, and return at 5:.

We did just that, all the while her pains getting stronger and stronger. Luckily, Keli, Javier's sister-in-law, and Blanca, Javier's mother were both home. Both being mothers, they helped Raquel calm down and helped her with the process. At about 4:15, Raquel really couldn't stand it any longer, so I went out, hailed a taxi and took her to the hospital (just the two of us this time). This time, she was admitted. And I was left in the waiting room.

Soon, Raquel's family arrived, and so did Javier as soon as he could leave from work. However, no one was allowed to go see/be with Raquel. No one. Not even Javier. Instead, we were instructed to go out and buy a couple things that the baby would need that weren't in the bag that we packed for Raquel in the hospital -- a different kind of soap and some special diapers. That's just the way things work at a public hospital in Comas. There also wasn't anybody who could definitively tell us how things were going. The hospital was simply too understaffed and under-resourced to operate effectively in such a poor, fast-growing area.

We were waiting in the same waiting area used for the emergency room. It was extremely crowded, with people standing around everywhere. None of them had serious injuries - they were mostly family members of patients, I think. But twice we did see someone burst through the hospital doors, crying hysterically after learning that a family member had passed away.

The initial, rough prognosis when Raquel and I arrived was that she would probably have the baby some time around midnight. At around 10pm, we (me, Javier and Raquel's sister, brother-in-law and niece) left to go eat dinner at a restaurant near the hospital. But having had the experience of waiting for so long and being frustrated over the lack of information at the hospital, we decided just to go home after finishing our meal. We knew going back would just mean more waiting, since no one "in charge" knew anything or was going to let us go visit Raquel anyway. We had also been assured that someone would call Javier when the baby was born to let us know. Javier decided that regardless, phone call or no phone call, he would go back to the hospital at 5am the next morning (when it would presumably be a lot less busy). I offered to go with him, and he told me he would wake me up so we could both go.

At 7:30 the next morning (Friday), I woke up naturally. Confused, I went to Javier's room, thinking he probably overslept (pretty silly in hindsight -- I'm sure he wouldn't have been able to sleep at ALL, looking back on it). It turns out at about 12:45am, the hospital called to tell him the baby had been born, and that both baby and mother were doing just fine. He had then gone BACK to the hospital with Keli and Raquel's family members (I was already asleep, so he didn't wake me up) only to be told once again that he wasn't allowed to go up and see his wife/new son. The reason we were given over and over again for being denied admittance was that the patient area upstairs was a "clean" area and they couldn't let people who weren't patients go in and contaminate it.

So even though no one had actually seen or talked to Raquel and we just had to take the hospital's word for it, we were all very relieved to learn that Raquel and baby Rodrigo were fine.

At 2pm that afternoon Javier, Blanca, Keli, Roberto (Javier's brother), Manuelito (Roberto & Keli's 9 month old baby) and I ALL went to the hospital during its "Official Visitation Hour" from 2-3pm, according to what Javier had just learned the night before. Raquel's family was already there when we arrived. We were all sure the hospital would probably only let us go in one at a time to visit, but decided to give it a shot. Of course, the hospital was too crowded, so all of us were once again denied entry.

So after that, I left to go spend some time with a few of the other YAVs in Lima for the rest of the night. The next day (Saturday), I learned that Javier and Raquel's family had stayed waiting at the hospital, and FINALLY late that afternoon they were allowed one by one to go visit with Raquel and Rodrigo. It was only then that we learned that Raquel had actually given birth at 6pm on Thursday -- just a little more than an hour after I got her to the hospital -- and not at 12:30 that night like we originally thought. Because Rodrigo was born a couple weeks premature, he had an irregular heartbeat and couldn't come home right away. He was kept for observation. Raquel came home that afternoon, but went back to the hospital that night to nurse the baby. On Sunday, she did the same thing, going back and forth. And yesterday, Monday, FINALLY Rodrigo was cleared to come home and I was able to see him for myself (still too terrified to hold him though...) He's adorable. Pictures will come soon.

Poverty

2009-05-11T14:03:00.008-05:00

I’ve had one particular pair of khaki pants since high school. I bought them from Target. A couple of years ago, I wore them while painting a banner. Ever since, there’s been a small black paint stain on one side. Other than that, they’re a perfectly decent pair of pants. Before coming to Peru, I went through stages where at times I was self-conscious of wearing clothes that appeared stained or worn-out, while at other times I flaunted the artsy, “I don’t give a damn” look of wearing whatever was comfortable.

While packing to leave the US for Peru, I was in the latter of those two stages, so I packed my stained pants. “I’m going to be living and working amongst the poor,” I thought to myself. “No one is going to care if I have a stained pair of pants. People there will just be happy with wearing whatever they can afford,” an attitude reflected in the first full-length post of my blog.

While among many people living in conditions of extreme poverty, that attitude may indeed be prevalent, I have a feeling that anyone who’s ever spent a considerable amount of time working with the urban poor is probably laughing at my earlier logic. Even though there have been many days when no one seems to notice the pants, quite frequently when I wear them people tend to point out the stain. “What happened?” they ask sympathetically, assuming that I accidentally stained the paints earlier in the day and hadn’t had a chance to change. Or they try to be helpful: “Did you know there’s a stain there?” Many people don’t understand why I would wear a stained pair of pants.

So what’s the point in telling you all this? The point is, as it turns out, appearances matter. A lot. Many of the kids who attend the Compassion program at Kilometer 13 church wear pretty nice clothes. Some don’t. But many wear clothes that appear to be new and de marca (“name brand”). Several of the older kids (13-16) years old) also have relatively fancy cell phones. For birthdays and Christmas, nice clothes are probably the most popular gift. Yet, as I’ve described in my first newsletter, many of these children come from very poor families. They live in small houses where they sometimes share a single bed with one, two, three or more siblings. Their parents make their livings selling vegetables in the street market. Many already have broken, missing or decaying teeth because they can’t afford good dental care.

This reality obviously has many nuances that are unique to Peru, which I’ll hopefully get to describe in detail in a later entry. But in many ways, it’s not too different from what poverty looks like in large US cities. And most people reading this probably are already well aware that “poor people have nice cell phones and wear name brand clothes.”

To us well-meaning, soft-hearted, white, middle-upper class do-gooders and our “never ever blame the victim” mindsets, this is the type of poverty that frustrates us, pains us and baffles us. The painful, baffling frustration is perhaps epitomized by something that pastor Hernando of KM 13 church shared with me last weekend. He recently visited the home of a family with children who are enrolled in the compassion program. During the visit, discovered that they have cable TV. At a parents’ meeting for Compassion a few days later, these particular parents complained that it was hard to pay the 2 soles (about 70 cents) per week requested to help pay the small salaries received by the cooks and tutors that work at Compassion. “Right then I realized,” Hernando said to me “that a lot of the families with children who attend Compassion aren’t really poor. This is a problem.”

Since Hernando always harps to other people about me being a “professional” sociologist, I seized this opportunity to talk about what I think causes this issue. Deciding to ignore the fact that the family could easily be "borrowing" their cable from a neighbor, I explained to him the sociological concept of “symbolic capital.” Cell phones, name-brand clothes and cable TV are examples of symbolic capital. You don’t generally associate these things with poverty. And that is EXACTLY the reason that poor people have them. They’re symbols of wealth. They’re signposts of success. No one, except for me and my fellow “Irresistible Revolution”-ary, (formerly) middle-upper class white liberal Christian friends, is proud of being poor. Being impoverished is shameful. Everyone wants nice things for their families, especially their children. In our world, people left and right are seemingly pulling themselves up by their own bootstraps (or at least talking about how they did earlier in life, or about how their parents did, or how their grandparents did). This creates a culture where blaming the victim is exactly what we do. “Anyone can make it with hard work in America” proclaims the American Dream. The obvious corollary to this rule is “so if you don’t ‘make it,’ you obviously aren’t a hard worker.” Or “if you don’t make it, you’re not as good of a person as the rest of us, who have achieved success.” So to hide this shameful “failure,” people use what money they DO have to buy the appearance of success.

In my opinion, to really be able to “dig yourself out” of poverty, you have to be frugal and scrounge to get by on minimum necessities. That way, you can save whatever might be left over to invest in “real” capital – materials to start your own business or create some other income gaining/saving technique. But the downside to this is that because you’re only spending a minimum amount of money on just buying the basics, from the outside you tend to look rather ummmm, poor. "Low class." So instead, many people in conditions of poverty use their money to buy the "luxuries" they should only be able to afford AFTER becoming successful. Or to put it in fancy “I’m 22 and have a bachelor’s degree” language, they invest in symbolic capital rather than economic capital.

Real-life, Christian Communism (kind of...), Peruvian Style

2009-04-27T19:31:00.006-05:00

Last night, I learned what a “junta” is (pronounced in Spanish “HOON-ta” -- NOT the military dictatorship kind). It is a microfinance lending and savings plan that is a very common practice among extended friends/families in economically poor or “developing” countries, but virtually unheard of (I think) in the US outside of immigrant communities. Or maybe it is well-known and I’m just ignorant. But I think (in theory at least) it sounds pretty cool and exciting, just because it’s so simple (so incredibly simple, in fact, that I had a hard time grasping how it worked and why I hadn’t heard of other instances where its been used: I can’t find any description of it whatsoever on Wikipedia – in Spanish OR English. ). So now I’m going to share how it works in hopes that some of you hadn’t heard of it, either.

Here’s a situation where a junta could be useful (note: this is a REAL idea proposed during an informal church session meeting, not something I just made up): Santa Isabel church (where I work/attend) would like to have a multi-media projector to show movies and powerpoint slides on a big screen or wall. The projector costs about $1000. That is a LOT of money in Peru, especially in neighborhoods like the one I live in, Comas/Carabayllo, in the northern cones of Lima. The church would like to have the projector now (well, as soon as possible), but there is nowhere near enough cash in the treasury to pay for it. The solution: get a loan from a bank? NO! Form a junta! Here’s how:

Find nine other people that have at least $100 of disposable income each month. Preferably, some of them (but not all) should also have aspirations for purchases in the next couple months that they don’t have enough money to realize. In the specific example given above, where the church is the primary beneficiary, the church’s treasury counts as an additional “person” – bringing the total number of participants in the junta to ten.
All ten people (i.e. nine people + the church) agree to pool together $100 each month for ten months.
The first month, the $1000 of pooled money (10 people x $100) ALL goes to the church. The church then buys the multimedia projector.
For each of the remaining nine months, a different person in the junta/pool gets a turn receiving the entire $1000 that is pooled together.

And that’s it. In the end, nobody makes any money and nobody loses any money. It’s just a type of accelerated savings plan. All in all, the church has basically budgeted $100 a month for ten months to pay for a projector. So over the course of ten months, it will have indeed pad for its own projector, but unlike what would happen if the church simply put $100 in a personal piggy bank each month for ten months, the church gets the projector at the BEGINNING of the ten months (after only having saved $100) instead of at the end of the ten months.

I should probably mention that I only put the word “communism” in the title of the entry to get people to read it. This isn’t communism. However, sociologically speaking, whether or not such a junta plan is successful depends on much of the same factors that determine whether or not communism can be successful. A junta will probably not work in a very large population of people. A junta probably will not work among a completely random or arbitrary group of people. A junta will probably not work among a very heterogeneous group of people. Ten people sharing in a junta have to be ten close friends with a high degree of personal contact and accountability. They have to trust each other very much. They have to all understand the goals and purpose of the junta, and they should probably have a common worldview and cultural/moral framework. There are just too many possibilities/risks involved for the person whose turn comes last to get screwed by the others dropping out and not making all ten monthly contributions. (I keep using the number ten, but obviously a junta can theoretically have any number of participants; though I personally probably wouldn’t want to go much higher than ten).

Many poor people in the world don’t have access to banks or credit. Even if they do, many have trouble meeting the requirements to qualify for loans/credit. But regardless, by participating in a junta, they don’t have to pay back any interest anyway. That being said, there are some types of juntas that DO involve payments with interest, because otherwise the person with the last turn receives no benefit whatsoever, and could potentially come out much worse off depending on the conditions of the larger economy. I don’t know if this is common, but my solution would be just to have two juntas back to back – with the order reversed for the second one.

Also, you’ve probably figured this out on your own by this point, but juntas are usually used by people who are starting their own small businesses. Without a bunch of money to pay for the start-up capital, the business won’t get off the ground. Participating in a junta solves this problem. Especially if the business is successful, the first beneficiary in the cycle of the junta could also potentially be someone who wouldn’t otherwise have the required amount of money available to pay every month. But after taking their turn at the beginning of the junta to create their business, they’ve secured a source of income that will allow them to continue participating in the junta and paying back the amount they received when they took the first turn.

Earlier, I talked about the importance of trust in the success of a junta. It can only be successful in a tightly-knit community. What I think is REALLY cool about a junta is the trust involved and created. While a junta isn’t really an investment of money (because although there is definitely high risk involved, in the end you don’t receive any more than you put in), a junta IS an investment of trust. As far as trust is concerned, it is a feedback system. The community has to have trust to begin with, but at the end of the junta, there will be a lot MORE trust among the community’s members than there ever was to start with. Upon successful completion of the junta, the community will be even closer, because the junta showed that their trust in each other did not fail. These social/communal benefits of trust and mutual dependence gained by a junta can NEVER be replicated with a standard bank loan.

This is an article that probably explains what a junta is (or as the author calls it a “rotating savings and credit association) better than I just did, if you want more information.

Baby Coming Soon

2009-04-26T22:37:00.003-05:00

So tonight I had "the talk" with my host family, Javier and Raquel. Usually "the talk" refers to a conversation that starts off with the line "son, you might have noticed that your body and mind are going through important changes...." or the innocent question "where do babies come from?" The version "the talk" I had tonight was a little more advanced than that. It was more along the lines of "regardless of what happened nine months ago, this baby is COMING!"

Side note: For those of you who might be newcomers to Pensamientos Peruanos, Raquel and Javier are a married couple who form my host family in Peru (I would call them my host "parents," but that'd be kind of weird, because they're only about 12 years older than I). Raquel is pregnant (Javier is the father -- just to clarify) and the baby is due to arrive any time between May 15 - 31.

Raquel is planning on working all the way through May 8 (that seems like a long time to me, but I'm not exactly one to judge -- and let's be honest, I know absolutely nothing about being a pregnant mother, aside from the fact that it can't be THAT tough, because three years ago when I was running varsity cross country in college, my now-35 year old coach beat me by 30 seconds in a 5K road race while she was 6 months pregnant.) So given that the hour is fast approaching, tonight was as good a time as any to go through what exactly is the plan when she goes into labor.

Raquel's doctor that will deliver the baby works at a hospital that is about a 20 minute taxi ride from the house. We went over what would happen should Raquel go into labor while I'm at home with her and Javier is working (Javier is not planning on taking off work, and I'm home during the day 3 days during the work week) . It's up to me to find a fast, secure ride for her to get to the hospital. I have the numbers of four people with automobiles in my cell phone (which brings up another important part of the plan -- always have the cell phone charged and with sufficient credit to make calls.) If none of them answer or if none of them are in the area, I have to go out to the street to hail a taxi. This is sometimes difficult, because there are times when not many taxis are around our street. Javier's brother Roberto, who lives downstairs in our house has a car (but he doesn't drive) that he rents to a friend that uses it as a taxi. When his friend isn't working, the car stays downstairs in the "garage." It's an automatic transmission (which means I can drive it, theoretically) and for awhile Javier joked about what I would do if none of the taxistas answered their cell phones and the driver of Roberto's car wasn't working that day. The problem is, a lot of times I can't tell when Javier's joking.... (Also -- I never did ask if there's some sort of emergency/ambulance number I can call as a last resort -- I should probably do that.)

Another key part of the plan is for me to have my video camera always charged -- Javier wants to videotape the birth (I guess maybe I should have mentioned that the second person I call after the taxi will be Javier so he can leave work and be there to see -- and record -- the birth of his son).

Basically, all of this is extremely exciting and horrifying all at the same time. I feel so blessed to be able to share in such an important chapter in the lives of Javier and Raquel. Hearing Javier talk about how excited he is for the birth of his son (who will be named Rodrigo Alejando Fernandez Vega -- they assured me that they are NOT naming him "Alejandro"after me!) was indescribable. Javier is really, really happy. He also told me that the main reason he wants to lose weight (I go running with him for half an hour 4 mornings every week) is so he will be in good enough shape when he's older to play with his children. At the same time as feeling excited and blessed and thankful to have this experience, even though I'm a (supposedly) mature adult, I'm also thinking to myself "wow, it is going to be a LOOOOONG TIME before I'm ready to be a father!" My last two months in Peru are definitely going to be much, much different than the first 9.

AIPRAL Conference Part 2: Brazil and Stuff

2009-04-13T11:17:00.001-05:00

So there's definitely much more to talk about with the AIPRAL conference than just bible studies and talks on economic justice. First and foremost, we had the opportunity to get to know about two dozen young Christians from all over South America: Chile, Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay, Uruguay and Colombia. They were mostly 18 – 25-ish, either in college or recently graduated. There were maybe 14 males and 8 or 9 females. And of course, because of the geographical diversity, Sean and I got to hear a great variety of Spanish accents. The Chilean Spanish was probably most difficult for us to understand (well, apart from the Portugese, hahaha). Luckily, the guys who came to the conference from Chile spoke a decent amount of English. More importantly, however, they also did a GREAT job of putting on “gringo” Spanish accents. They could speak Spanish with a PERFECT California/valley accent. It was actually easier (and a lot funnier!) to understand them when they spoke with their fake North American accents.

We also participated in the “southern cone” tradition of hot tea (“mate”) drinking. The participants in the conference from Paraguay, Uruguay and Argentina were constantly drinking tea. They each had a thermos and matching mug. The mug is filled about halfway with some sort of plant/herb, and then either cold or hot (depending on the outside temperature) water is poured on top of it. Then they drink the tea through a metal straw that you’re apparently not supposed to move. The cool part is that even though everyone brought their own, they each took turns being the “tea provider” for the day. That is, one person would bring their mug/thermos, and then be constantly sharing/passing around. In this way, it’s a much more community/social activity.

The first time I tried it, I had no clue what it was. And being totally clueless, (not having even seen anyone else drink from it) the first thing I did was take the straw out (a no-no) and look at it. And because the bottom part was wide, flat and sort of curved (resembling a spoon), I made a motion to ask them if you were supposed to EAT it (it seemed like a possibility – I didn’t know!!). So of course everyone laughed and quickly made sure I didn’t eat it. Finally, my last faux-pas was just sipping really slowly – I would quickly learn that they basically drain the mug in one quick, long swig, and then it gets refilled for the next person.

The slow sipping may not have been a bad strategy – they all claimed that the tea didn’t have any stimulants, but there is no WAY that was true. After my first morning of participating in one of their tea-drinking social circles, I was WIRED for the rest of the day! I guess “mate” is their version of the regular North American’s addiction to coffee.

Unfortunately, Sean and I didn’t get to see too much of Brazil outside of just the hotel and the waterfalls. The conference activities went all the way from 8 in the morning to 8 at night. However, the national park in Foz de Iguazu where we saw the waterfalls was pretty awesome. To start with, everything just seemed so green, compared to Lima which is technically coastal desert. The climate reminded me a lot of home / the deep south – hot and humid.

Of course, the waterfalls were nothing short of spectacular. You can check out pictures in my picasa album. There was a path that sort of winded along through the trees, down the hillside next to the river, and around every turn there was ANOTHER set of spectacular falls. I thought it would just be one big waterfall, but there were at least 5 different sets (maybe more like 7 or 8). There were also bridges with platforms that went out over the river so we could get close enough to feel the mist. Unfortunately, we weren’t able to cross over to the Argentine side (the Iguazu river forms the border between Brazil and Argentina) where you can walk on a bridge that passes pretty much directly over the falls, but we still had an amazing time. There were masses of other tourists everywhere from all over the world. South America, Europe, Japan, and even a guy wearing a University of Georgia baseball cap.

Finally, after seeing the waterfalls, I went white water rafting down the river (down river, not up river from the falls…). I’ve been rafting a couple times in western North Carolina, so I knew what to expect, but it was still a little disconcerting that our guide only spoke Portugese! There were actually only two real rapids – but they were both a lot bigger and more intense than any rapid I had rafted through previously! After the second rapid, we basically all jumped out of the raft and just floated down the river for the rest of the day. It wasn’t exactly what I was expecting when I was told it would be a 2 hour rafting trip, but I wasn’t going to complain – the water felt SO good in the Brazilian heat and humidity.

All in all it was a good trip. The only other thing I guess I could mention is that we crossed the border (the OTHER border) from Brazil into Paraguay on the last day to do some shopping. This really isn’t noteworthy at all, besides the fact that crossing the border was so quick, easy and painless. The shopping consisted of street venders and a couple shopping mall-type buildings that offered very little in the way of authentic Paraguayan crafts and mainly just electronics, clothes, music and movies for higher prices than we would pay in Peru.

Part 2 of Alex’s Dissertation about Living Simply… AKA “My scatter-brained ramblings as I deal with a South American existential crisis"

2009-04-06T14:49:00.003-05:00

Note: This is a long entry that doesn’t always flow very logically or get to the point right away (much like a lot of sermons I’ve heard, and some of the few that I’ve preached). But it is the culmination of something I’ve been thinking about a LOT over the past few weeks or so. I encourage you to please read all o f it (along with “Part 1,” from which the thought process of this entry follows directly), because I’d love your feedback, especially if you’re a current, past or prospective/future Young Adult Volunteer

So looking back on it, I now realize that there were some mixed motivations when I decided to become a YAV. And again, not all of that is bad – indeed there are far worse things that college grads could be doing just because it’s popular or “cool” besides volunteering in the non-western world on behalf of beneficial social/religious causes.

But Sean (fellow Peru YAV) asks an interesting question (as Sean frequently does): “If you couldn’t tell anyone about what you did this year, would you still decide to be a YAV?” Now, to be honest, I don’t think this is a completely fair question. Sharing your story is arguably the most important part of the YAV experience; I suspect that describing to friends, family and churches the things I’ve seen and done here in Peru will have a far greater positive social/economic impact than the actual volunteer work I’m doing here in Peru with churches and organizations that provide direct assistance for the poor. However, there’s always a dual nature of telling these stories, because although it would be wrong for us not to share such unique, life changing experiences, it’s almost impossible not to describe them in a way that is kind of self-righteous (whether intentional or not). There is a temptation to “martyr yourself” – intentionally put yourself in situations where you’re deprived of modern technological comforts – not only in an effort to create personal and spiritual growth/gain a deeper appreciation for life, but also because it’s a “cool” thing to do, and it gives you a great story that will make you a hit at dinner parties and wedding receptions. THIS is the possible danger of mixed motivations that Sean is getting at when he asks that question.

I’m not saying that I ever used to stand shivering underneath my cold shower, thinking to myself “this will be SO worth it after I get back and can honestly tell people that I took cold showers for a year straight.” The more likely scenario is that someone in the US will someday complain about their shower one morning running out of hot water, and then BAM! – I can chime in saying “well at least you didn’t have to take cold showers for a year straight like I did when I was in Peru, and like [fill in the blank with appropriate number] percent of the world does every day.”

Then there’s the even sneakier situation, when someone ELSE is talking about having to take cold shower while (s)he was living in a foreign country, and then I can come in by saying “Yeah, but what I think stinks even worse about not having hot water is when you have to wash your clothes by hand. You scrub and scrub, but they never really ever seem to get clean, and all the while your hands are FREEZING.” So basically in these ways, the well-intentioned person living simply abuses the tales of their experience to make others feel guilty for their own lifestyles. Or the simple-liver (“liver” as in “person who lives,” not the organ) uses the story of their experience to “one-up” other simple-livers to see who is the most “hardcore.”

Obviously, I’m getting really nit-picky, and there are also deeper issues of psychology/human nature at work here that I’ll spare you from exploring further (if you made it reading this far…). Suffice it to say that I know that to some extent EVERYONE does this sort of story-telling that is part genuine, part self-righteous. I may be guilty of doing it more than others. But I DON’T want to say that people should “censor themselves” when it comes to re-counting unique experiences. I think everything will be just fine as long as people have the self-confidence/esteem to acknowledge that one doesn’t need to proclaim these experiences to have a sense of self-worth, and that on the other hand, just because someone hasn’t had the experience of living simply and intentionally on another continent doesn’t make him/her less of a “good” person.

One other danger of “martyring yourself” is that it can potentially be HARMFUL for your personal physical/emotional health (as opposed to creating personal growth) if you neglect to give appropriate attention to your needs. With a little dedication, the typical North American can (relatively) easily live in a way that is simpler, more environmentally-friendly and also more in-line with how the rest of the world’s population lives. However, that does NOT mean that I can survive and be healthy for a year while trying to live EXACTLY like an Indigenous South American high-altitude subsistence farmer, because my body and mind has spent the rest of my life up to this point being a middle-upper class North American, not an Indigenous South American high-altitude subsistence farmer.

Another interesting element in this “living simply” debate is the attitudes of the people that I’m here supposedly being in solidarity with. Now, I haven’t had many up-front, extended conversations with Peruvian friends or church/host family members about the obvious differences in technological luxuries and comforts between my personal lifestyle in the US and the average working-class lifestyle here in Peru, but I would suspect (or at least hope) that people here appreciate the fact that I understand how great the discrepancy in wealth is, and that I’m here showing them that I care by being in solidarity. However, for many people (and especially, I think, for people where I live on the outskirts of Lima), the modern, western life of wealth and luxury is exactly what they’re working so hard towards! They would love to enjoy the comforts that I have in the US: automatic dishwashers, washing machines and dryers, high speed internet, affordable personal automobile etc. For me to come to Peru having rejected what they see as goals and signals of “progress” and upward mobility must be dumbfounding. So while I’m living in solidarity with them physically, I’m still on a different wavelength culturally/philosophically – no way would they make the same decision I did if they were in my shoes!

But maybe this is a case of where I really can “make a difference” socially/economically HERE in Peru through my ministry as a YAV (as opposed to just making a difference through “reverse ministry” back to the US through my correspondence and reports of my thoughts and reflections). I can show people that wealth, luxuries and technology, which may increase social status or make life “easier,” doesn’t always make life “better” or more meaningful. In fact, these things can inhibit us from connecting deeply and lovingly to each other as a community rather than a group of isolated individuals.

And I agree 100% with that message – it’s definitely true for me, and it’s one of the beliefs that factored into my decision to become a YAV. But at the same time, if the reason I’m here is to show these confused poor people in the southern hemisphere that their materialistic goals of wealth and comfort will turn out to be empty and unfulfilling, then aren’t I just guilty of a new type of western cultural imperialism – one that advances the agenda of a postmodern, liberal white North American? Isn’t this a perfect contemporary example of what not to be: the western aid worker who has gone to the “undeveloped lands” to give them a paternalistic hand up, courtesy of advanced western thought?

In the end, I don’t have the perfect answer. I think there’s got to be a middle road somewhere: a way that I can show through my life choice to be here that I think the fruits of high modern, advanced capitalism aren’t all they’re cracked up to be as far as improving the real “quality” of life – but without doing it in a preachy, paternalistic way.

So finally, back to the original point (and yes, I promise I had an original point!): What did I decide for myself in terms of dealing with the discomfort that being surrounded in comfort/technology gives me? Well, I decided I’m going to keep taking my hot showers. I’m going to keep using the washing machine. But I have also decided to intentionally cut back on using the internet and TV. I think that these things are keeping me from “being present” with my host family, and really forming deep relationships with them. I’ve been aware of this danger for some time now, but what really made me notice it happened just a couple days ago. On Saturday, Angelo, my ten year old “host cousin” that visits the house only on the weekends and loves hanging out with me, came upstairs to my room to ask me if I had time to come downstairs and play with him. I had spent the previous hour or two just mindlessly checking email, chatting and using facebook. Of course, I quickly turned off the computer and went downstairs, feeling guilty for having not done it earlier, and we had a lot of fun. See, from the two months of living with my first host family, I know that I can easily adapt to life without the internet or TV. I don’t really miss it too much when it’s gone. But when it’s there, it’s pretty hard for me not to get sucked in. However, I think by making this intentional, conscious decision to start abstaining, I will be able to break my “addiction,” and eventually be much better off for it. So if you happen to notice me spending time on g-mail’s chat service, skype or facebook, tell me to go out and live in Peru. Or at least make me feel guilty for whatever I say I’m doing that’s “so important” at the time.

I guess that’s the final irony in all this. I would very much like to have a discussion about the (many) issues I’ve raised with these two blog entries. However, starting this week I won’t “be present (that is, online) very much to contribute to it. I am planning on checking my email and blog comments occasionally, and maybe I’ll write down the comments so I can write about them later in my journal before efficiently and quickly transcribing them to my blog (which is actually the way I wrote these past two entries – on paper first so I could focus). Well, anyway, thanks for reading all this, and God bless.

- Alex

Tensions and difficulties with the YAV principle of "Living Simply" (Part 1)

2009-04-05T18:58:00.005-05:00

Note: This is the first part of part two of a two part series of blog entries that have two parts. Part two of part one, which concerns the AIPRAL conference in Brazil, is coming soon!

I came into this year as a Young Adult Volunteer wanting to live simply. To get away from the silly preoccupations of materialistic American popular culture, and to learn to form real, genuine relationships with people. I was gladly willing to sacrifice things like internet access, TV and hot showers in order to have a “genuine,” year-long taste of how most of the world lives. I wanted to be in solidarity with the urban poor on Lima’s outskirts – a “place” (socially and geographically) that has a host of difficult problems that are unique from those of Peru’s impoverished rural provinces.

For my first two months in Peru, I did all of that fairly well. I was living in a modest home where I always took cold showers. If I wanted to use the internet, I had to walk down the street where I could pay an hourly rate (albeit a very, very small one – about 30 cents) to use a computer in an internet café. If I wanted to watch TV, I had to go upstairs from my room and join in whatever the other family members were watching in one of the bedrooms/living spaces with a TV. When my clothes were dirty, I either washed them by hand or paid my host sister or someone in the neighborhood to wash them for me. Overall, I spent a lot of time simply sitting and talking with the members of my host family. And when I needed time to myself, I read, wrote in my journal or just quietly prayed or reflected in my room.

But, as I discussed on my blog in December, there were some issues with my host family that posed risks to my physical and emotional well-being. Debbie and I, with the help of Hernando and Eduardo (two pastors who supervise my work with my church placements), decided these risks were unnecessary. We made the difficult decision to switch my host family.

My living situation with my new host family, where I’ve been for five months now, is very different from that of the first one. I now can take hot (or at least warm…) showers. I wash my clothes whenever I want in the washing machine. My laptop, which I originally brought to Peru so I could type blog entries offline and then save them to a flash memory drive before uploading them online quickly from an internet café, is now connected 24 hours a day to the (relatively) high speed internet connection in my bedroom. Also in my bedroom is a cable TV with a DVD player, which presents another option for occupying my time when I’m feeling anti-social and just want to “zone out” for awhile.

In other words, as far as technological comforts, I’m really not living too much more “simply” than I ever did in the United States of America. Sure, I don’t have a car, so I take public transportation or walk everywhere, and I dry my clean clothes on a line outside instead of in a machine – both of which are marked improvements in the “living simply” area – but that’s about it. Over the past few months, I’ve found myself spending far too much time mindlessly checking my email, watching you tube videos and online episodes of The Daily Show, checking people’s facebook profiles, and perusing the endless stream of constantly-updated weblogs and online news sources. And thanks to email, instant messaging and the ability of Skype to make ridiculously cheap international phone calls over the internet to US cell phones, I also spend a lot of time corresponding with friends and family (which maybe I shouldn’t mention, just in case you’re reading this and I haven’t kept in touch with you personally…). In fact, a few of my friends have discussed how “weird” it is that I keep in touch so well, since it’s usually impossibly difficult to maintain contact with people who are living simply on another continent.

And, from what I know of how other PC(USA) YAVs are living this year, my friends’ reactions are not unwarranted. My situation seems pretty unique. For most of them, time on the internet, when available, is utilized to maximum efficiency, because access is either rare, expensive or far away. Books are the other “hot commodity” besides the internet, because most YAVs don’t have the constant presence of TVs and computers to divert and entertain them. Finally, by now people have gotten pretty used to washing their clothes by hand, or else they’ve at least formed good relationships with the local people who wash their clothes for them.

However, just because it’s different doesn’t mean that every aspect of my living situation is “bad.” Keeping up with current events and world affairs is generally a “good thing,” in my opinion. And the opportunity to communicate regularly and personally with friends and family is something I’d rather not give up.

Moreover, I think the otherwise noble YAV principle of living simply creates some problematic unintended consequences. First and foremost, it becomes a bragging point. It’s easily romanticized. I think this is one of the reasons why the prospect of being a YAV was so appealing during my senior year of college. Taking a year off to help the poor is a “cool” thing to do. After coming back from Peru, I would be able to casually drop into conversations the fact that I survived (no, flourished!) during a year in which I rarely had internet access, took cold showers and had down-to-earth conversations with people instead of watching TV with them. I sacrificed technological and material comforts for the good of society and the good of the planet. Meanwhile, I was working as a VOLUNTEER – forgoing a year’s worth of wages – not to simply donate that money to the poor, but rather because I was living in solidarity and actually getting to know the poor (to borrow a line from Shane Claiborne).

AIPRAL Conference Part 1: Theology. A.K.A. "Alex Preaches To The Blogsphere Not Necessarily About Being A YAV In Peru"

2009-03-25T14:19:00.016-05:00

So I'm back, once again to my original adventure after having returned from another adventure.

The AIPRAL conference was a breath of fresh air, theologically speaking. Sean and I had gotten pretty used to the very traditional biblical interpretations, forms of worship and overall "way of life" associated with the evangelical churches where we work and worship here in Peru. The main points of our churches' theology are pretty much as follows:

1. God is in charge of everything.

2. God's divine son Jesus Christ, the Messiah, lived on earth and sacrificed himself to be crucified so that the sins of whoever believes in him will be forgiven.

3. If you accept Jesus as your personal Savior, you will have eternal life in heaven after your life on earth is over. If you don't accept Jesus as your personal Savior, you will suffer eternal conscious torment in Hell after your earthly death.

4. In the meantime (during THIS life), you should "turn your life in" to Jesus. This means:
4a. Going to church regularly
4b. Reading the bible regularly (and memorizing as much of it as you can)
4c. Praying regularly (or even "without ceasing" - 1 Thes. 4:17)
4d. Abstaining with all your might from sin/idolatries (things that distract you from serving God) such as alcohol, drugs and sex outside of marriage.
4e. "Spreading the gospel" always by proclaiming your faith in effort to convert as many people as possible to Christianity so that they too, might be saved from Hell and given eternal life in Heaven.

5. The Bible (old and new testaments; the standard protestant canon) is God's authoritative, infallible Word. It was revealed perfectly by God Himself to writers inspired by Him. It is the Christian's definitive guide for what to believe and how to live.

Now, before I get into any metaphorical hot water, let me just say that although I don't agree 100% with these basic tenets of belief/doctrine that guide the churches with which I work here in Peru (and the majority of protestant/evangelical churches), I DO think that generally, they are a fine set of beliefs. They are most certainly Christian. They are most certainly biblical. They most certainly have created and guided life-changing spiritual/religious experiences for millions of people all over the world during the course of 2,000 years.

However I, along with the folks at AIPRAL, believe that Christians are called to more than just personal purity, and that people should have more to look forward to besides eternal life after they die. In addition to individual sin, there is societal/structural sin. And Christian beliefs can also do a lot of good in "saving" people from earthly "Hells" during THIS life, not just the next.

Enter the theme for the conference: Economic Justice. The majority of the first few days of the conference were dedicated to Bible studies and discussing just why exactly, from a Biblical point of view, Christians should be worried about poverty and global economic equality. Then during mostly the second half of the conference, we had some games/discussions/activities to learn about how/why economic injustice exists and what in the world we can do about it.

The first bible study was on 2 Corinthians 8, and discussing ways the church can be an example/beacon in demonstrating how communities can exercise norms of generosity, reciprocity and rejecting economic greed. We also discussed Isaiah 58 to demonstrate how God actually DEMANDS repentance for social sins of oppression, poverty and injustice rather than just personal purity.

The next bible study/discussion was centered around Revelation 18, in which God condemns the city of Babylon, a center of trade and city of great wealth, power and greed, to be destroyed. Although the connection was never explicitly made, there were implied similarities made to the United States during the discussion. This session wasn't really a bible study as much as it was a bible-based lecture on the history of external debt in Latin American countries. While over 50% of the population of Latin America lives on less than $2 per day, Latin American governments are using hundreds of billions of dollars a year to pay back loans taken from other countries, principally the United States. Because of compounding interest, the countries have already paid back several times over the amount originally borrowed, and will continue paying the interest for years and years to come. The most infuriating part is that these loans were used to finance the killings and "disappearance" of the government's own citizens during the tumultous 1970s and 1980s, the most obvious example being the "Dirty War" in Argentina, where the government accounted for an estimated 30,000 disappearances. The bible study leader asserted that the US government not only knew that it was funding dictatorships with the loans, but also that the other governments would never be able to pay the sums back. Biblically, we discussed the Jewish mandate of "Jubilee" years. According to Mosaic law, the Jewish people were to forgive all debts, redistribute wealth, pardon offenses, free slaves etc every 50 years, when God's mercy would be manifest. In Luke 4:18-19, Jesus says he's come to do exactly that as he quotes from Isaiah 61:

"The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor [Jubilee]."

The concept of Jubilee as being a manifestation of God's mercy/forgiveness of sins should be an example/inspiration for us to forgive debts ("forgive us our debts as we forgive our debters" -- very Presbyterian!). This biblical/theological point, as well as the story of Jesus' anger towards the money lenders in the temple (told in all 4 Gospels ex. Matthew 21) was used during the discussion to show how unchecked capitalism, as an economic system, is one of (or perhaps THE) biggest root of social/structural sin in our society.

So those two bible studies/discussion were the background going into the third bible study, which for me was the most interesting. This bible study was a theological discussion of Jesus' Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25: 14-30). In this parable, a "Master" of a great estate leaves on a trip. While he's gone, he leaves 3 "servants" to manage his money, giving 5 "talents" to one, 2 to another, and 1 to a third. When the master comes back, he finds that the first servant has managed his money well - using/investing the 5 talents to make another 5. So has the second: he's made another 2 talents with the 2 he was given. The third, on the other hand, simply took the 1 talent he was given, buried it in the ground and returned it to the master when he returned. The master, obviously, is pleased with the first two servants and ticked off with the third. While he promises the first two servants more responsibilities and privileges, he takes the 1 talent from the third servant and adds it to the total of the first, calling the third servant wicked and lazy. He then demands that the third "worthless" servant be thrown outside where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

Traditionally, this parable is seen to be about spiritual "gifts" rather than money -- indeed it's supposedly the origin of our modern word "talent," meaning "ability." So the parable traditionally is taken to illustrate how some people are born with lots of talents, and others aren't. But the quantity/type of your talent/gifts don't matter; what matters is that you do something with what you have. This is the traditional moral: it implies that if you don't use the gifts God blesses you with, you will be shut out of the Kingdom of Heaven.

This is a decent interpretation/moral: nobody likes a lazy person. Many sermons have used this parable to preach the message that we should be thankful for what we have and dedicate its use to God, being good stewards. However the seminary student who led this bible study (named Mauricio), thinks there's a different meaning when you look at the original Greek (the language in which the New Testament was originally written).

While a couple versions say Jesus introduces this parable by saying "The Kingdom of Heaven is like," according to Mauricio, the ones that stick closest to the original Greek do not include this phrase. This parable then, isn't necessarily about the Kingdom of Heaven. Furthermore, this parable, along with the Parable of the Ten Virgins (another parable that is striking for its total lack of Grace - one of the cornerstones of protestant theology) comes smack dab in the middle of a discussion Jesus is having with his disciples about the signs of the end of the age! So this parable, according to Mauricio, actually could be about the evil in the world that serves as a sign that the Kingdom is near.

Furthermore, analyzing the Greek, Mauricio says that the word used to describe the "Master" in the parable is not keiros, the Greek word for Lord, which Jesus normally uses when describing "Masters" in parables about the Kingdom of Heaven, but rather the Greek word for "Man" (or human being - which is "anthros" or something like that, I didn't write it down). Additionally, the word that is usually interpreted as "servant" was actually the Greek word for "slave" -- you know, the people that Jesus claimed he was sent to set free, as I mentioned above.

By now, you can probably figure out where this is going. Mauricio is turning the traditional view of the Parable of the Talents almost completely on its head. But really, we're just getting started.

During Jesus' time, a Greek "talent" was a unit of currency worth 6,000 drachma. One drachma was the equivalent of a standard laborer's daily wage. So because I'm too lazy to do all the math, let's just suffice it to say that this "Master" was the ancient equivalent of a millionaire. And as most of us know, Jesus didn't exactly predict that millionaires would have a particularly easy time getting into the kingdom of heaven.

However, the most damning evidence that invites us to turn this parable's traditional interpretation on its head is the reason the third, "foolish" servant gives the master for simply burying the money in the ground: "I knew that you are a hard man, harvesting where you have not sown and gathering where you have not scattered seed." What's more is the master does not reject this claim but affirms it! He says: "So you knew that I harvest where I have not sown and gather where I have not scattered seed..." This is definitely the verse that frustrates the HELL out of traditional interpreters. In the traditional interpretation, where the master is seen to symbolize God, this makes absolutely no sense! No Christian believes in a God who would take as his own the fruits of someone else's labor. Such a God is unjust, deceitful and dishonest - a thief!

At this point in the Bible study, I got pretty excited. I had ALWAYS been frustrated with this parable, even as a little kid. I always sympathized with the third servant -- I mean, at least he didn't LOSE the money, right? Mauricio's interpretation seemed to resolve everything. Until, that is, you get to verse 29. In the parable, after the master takes the one talent of the third servant/slave and adds it to the 10 talents of the first servant/slave, he says "For everyone who has will be given more, and he will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what he has will be taken from him." Reading this verse I became frustrated again, because it reminded me of something Jesus says in Matthew 13, after telling the Parable of the Sower. (The only reason I knew about this is because I happened to have preached a sermon on it to Km. 13 Church two weeks earlier.) After telling the parable of the sower, Jesus himself says plain and simple to his disciples almost the EXACT same phrase: "Whoever has will be given more, and he will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what he has will be taken from him" (Matthew 13:12). So during the bible study, I pointed out both instances of these verses and posed what I thought was a "checkmate" (as Stephen Colbert would say) question to Mauricio: If the MASTER in this parable is really the wicked one, why would he be saying the exact same teaching Jesus himself had said in an earlier parable?

Unfortunately, I asked this question during a moment of the bible study in which LOTS of people had things to say, and the time was running out anyway, so Mauricio didn't really have a chance to go through and give a thorough answer. So I had to reason it out on my own, but I think I figured it out.

In the context of the parable of the sower, Jesus says this phrase about adding to the amount of people who have a lot and taking away from the people who have none in reference to the Pharisees. Furthermore, he wasn't talking about money (much to the chagrin of contemporary religious right wingers who tout the "justice" of laissez-faire supply side economics) but understanding. The Pharisees/teachers of the law were positive that they perfectly understood God's law/will and had everything figured out. So they spent their time trying to force the regulations of the law on other Jews. Jesus, however, spends most of his ministry speaking out against the pharisees, calling them hypocrites and telling them that the people they consider to be "sinners" will actually be the ones who inherit the kingdom of heaven. Basically he tells them that despite (or perhaps BECAUSE of....) their pompous assertions that they are the experts on God's law/will and they kingdom of heaven, they actually don't have a clue.

So I think Jesus has the "master" in this parable use this phrase, the same phrase Jesus himself once used, to depict the master as a Pharisee. Like a Pharisee would do, the master takes the Word of God and COMPLETELY misuses it. He twists it to fulfill a purpose totally contrary to God's will. Jesus disciples (to whom he was telling the Parable of the Talents) would have recognized this phrase as something Jesus had said before -- and would also recognize that the character in the story had used it to justify evil rather than good. I think Jesus uses this part of the parable to illustrate/give an example of something he warned the disciples about just 1 chapter earlier while describing the signs of the end of the age: "Many will come in my name, claiming 'I am the Christ,' and will deceive many" (Mat. 24:5). Included in that might be people who use the teachings of Jesus/word of God to try and justify riches, greed and economic injustice.

So there you have it. That's about it. The awesome thing about this parable, as with many parables and biblical passages, is that the traditional moral: using the spiritual gifts/talents God has given you to further the glory of God and the betterment of society rather than letting them go to waste, is still a beautiful moral. This just goes to illustrate the timelessness of scripture - as authoritative, special and unique for all peoples, in all contexts. The same parable can offer two distinct interpretations, both of which are helpful, life-affirming and prophetic in the right contexts. I don't say this to mean that there is no such thing as a WRONG interpretation of the Bible -- the Bible has been used to justify racial superiority, genocide, war, the oppression of women and a host of other social ills -- but rather that the Spirit of God moves in a variety of ways that we can't appreciate if we close our minds to keep out perspectives we hadn't previously considered.

Pensamientos Brasilenos

2009-03-19T08:04:00.003-05:00

Last night Sean and I arrived safely in Foz de Iguazu, Brazil for our conference. We have already been greeted with much hospitality and grace. Perhaps the best example of this was when I accidentally paid $20 TWICE for my food during our 4 hour layover in the Sao Paulo airport. I gave the cashier a $20 bill for my $5 sandwich and then she gave me my change. I then realized that she had charged me for a bottle of water that Sean had already paid for, so she gave me a little more change. But somehow that convesation made us confused, and I somehow forgot I ever paid her to begin with, so I gave her ANOTHER $20 bill. About 30 minutes after we had finished eating and left the restaurant, the cashier found us sitting at the gate for our flight. She had tracked me down to give me that second $20 bill back. I don't think this would have happened in Hartsfield-Jackson or O'Hare airports.

We are still the only ones that have arrived for the conference. There will be another 26 or so people arriving later today, according to Isaias, the AIPRAL conference coordinator (who's also been nice enough to let us use the internet on his personal laptop). The others are from countries all over South America. It should be fun!

reporting on the beach retreat and giving thanks for community

2009-03-17T18:52:00.004-05:00

So it's a little late, but I promised to make an update on our YAV beach retreat to Mancora, so I guess I'll do that now, and tell the story of my adventures in Brazil later.

For a week, our group of 7 (6 yavs plus 1 site coordinator) stayed in one of the "Twin Towers," a pair of two large, multi-story beach-front houses located 20 minutes (by motorcycle taxi) down a hilly, bumpy dirt road in a small town called Los Organos. Los Organos is about 8 KM south of Mancora Beach, which is perhaps Peru's second most famous tourist destination, after Machu Picchu. Our house was huge, and the stretch of beach in front of it was almost totally deserted except for us and a couple other small vacation groups/families. The two houses share a small, private outdoor swimming pool, which we also took advantage of when the 30 meter walk to the beach just seemed too far. For a week, we definitely enjoyed a much, much higher standard of living than we have at our site placements.

Though we spent most of our week just relaxing at the beach, there were some very intentional structural aspects to the retreat. Each morning, all six YAVs each took turns leading a time of devotion or reflection. Debbie then led a bible study each evening. The house had a full kitchen, so we made several trips to the local market and cooked our own meals every day. We all pitched in to prepare breakfast and lunch, while for dinner we were divided into pairs to take turns setting up, cooking, and cleaning. It was great to spend a week relaxing and functioning like a family.

The actual beach was amazing. It was very clean (compared with most beaches in Peru, especially those in Lima) and refreshingly undeveloped - no restaurants, piers, boardwalks, tacky shops etc. And it had great (huge!) waves for body surfing. We also enjoyed hanging out at the pool, throwing around the frisbee, and watching some gorgeous sunsets. The last night we built a campfire on the beach, roasted marshmallows, and sang along to Sean's guitar playing. Other nights we played some intense card games and went for (dark!) walks along the surf.

The other objective of our retreat was to renew our visas. We received visas good for 183 days (six months) upon entering Peru. The 183rd day fell on the third day of our retreat, so that day we made a 2 1/2 hour trip north of Mancora to cross the border into Ecuador. We stayed in Ecuador long enough to eat lunch and do some shopping before crossing back into Peru, receiving a new 183 visa that will keep us legal in Peru until we return to the States at the end of July. We had been told beforehand that the officials on the border might tell us that we had to stay in Ecuador for 24 hours to receive new Peruvian visas, but luckily we didn't have any problems.

The other cool thing I did on the retreat was go surfing. One day Leslie and I went into Mancora to take surf lessons. I was pretty skeptical that I would successfully be able to stand up on a surf board after only an hour long class, but I did it. (I didn't know how much they would "help" me with the lesson though!) First our instructors had us practice our paddling positions and standing-up techniques on imaginary surf boards drawn in the sand. After about 10 minutes of that, we each got HUGE surf boards to go do it for real. The giant surfboards are much, much more stable, which is why they give them to beginners. They're also much, much harder to paddle out with! Luckily, I didn't have to do much of the work. My instructor held on to the back of the surf board while we paddled out, and while I paddled with my hands he was wearing flippers and kicking to get me into position to ride the waves. So really, my ability to surf was more dependent on my ability to follow directions. He would say paddle, and I would just keep paddling, not even looking back at the waves for which we was positioning. Then, he would suddenly say "stand up!" and I would get up us quickly as I could (which was still really slowly) to ride the wave, while he meanwhile let go. It was kind of like learning to ride a bike for the first time with training wheels - all the sudden you realize your dad isn't holding on any more. It took a couple tries, but I was eventually able to successfully stand up 3 or 4 times, and even rode one wave all the way in.

All in all, it was amazing. Our group did some incredible bonding over the week, I think. Looking back on the retreat now that it's 2 weeks old, I have become incredibly thankful for the community I have here. Not only are the 6 YAVs and Debbie a community, but I also feel very welcomed, comfortable and "a part of" my local communities here in comas: the host family, kilometer 13 church and santa isabel church. They all told me how much they missed me while I was gone, and everyone was so interested to hear about my experiences when I got back.

Yep that's about it. Moral of the story: God's awesome, communities rock, and beaches are fun.

[Global] Southern Hospitality

2009-03-13T15:33:00.004-05:00

Today I went on my own to visit Pastor Hernando (my "supervisor" for my work at Km 13 church) at his house, because he injured his knee over a month or so ago, and hasn't been able to work since then. His house is in a neighborhood that's about a 50 minute bus ride from where I live in Comas. As I'm waiting to catch a bus back home, I hear someone calling my name. It's a cobrador (person who advertises a bus's routes and collects the fares from the passengers), and he's telling me that his bus will take me home "to the house where Javier lives." I didn't recognize the guy, though his face looked slightly familiar. And he obviously knew me and my host family, so I got in and sat down.

As he came over to where I was sitting to collect the bus fares for all the passengers, I stuck out my hand with my fare. He gave me a smile, and grabbed my wrist, giving it a firm shake. He obviously wanted to shake my hand instead, but couldn't, because it was holding the bus fare, which clearly didn't interest him. He asked me how I was doing, and I explained to him that I didn't realize this line went all the way where I was trying to go. We continued chatting for a few seconds as most of the passengers on the bus looked back at me, wondering who was this gringo who knew the cobrador.

I sat back in my seat for the long ride back. A few minutes into it, the cobrador hopped off the bus to buy a couple sodas from a street vender. He gave one to his driver. I assumed he bought the other one for himself, but sure enough he came back to where I was sitting and gave it to me, with a big smile.

"So first you don't have to pay him your bus fare, and now the cobrador buys you a soda?" the sitting next to me asked jokingly. I gave a forced laugh, embarrassed. "He's a good friend," was all I could say. But right after I said it, I realized that was an outright lie. I didn't even know the guy's name.

So I know all of this might not sound like a big deal, but it really made my day. And I'm sure some people might say "well he obviously just wants you to do something for him in the future." Or people might say "he was so nice just because he's really good friends with Javier." And any of those people might be right. But it really doesn't matter. This guy, even though I still don't know his name, made my day. And it was just the latest of a long, long list of examples of how many wonderful, nice people I've gotten to meet here in Lima.

I figured out from talking to him later on my ride back that I met the guy when he visited Javier and Raquel one night while I was home with his wife and two young children. And his kids, about 3 and 4 years old, were adorable and thought I was hilarious.

Going to BRAZIL

2009-03-12T11:30:00.004-05:00

Just wanted to announce that fellow Peru YAV Sean Kerr and I will be representing the Presbyterian Church USA at a conference for youth/young adults hosted by the Alianza de Iglesias Presbiterianas y Reformadas de America Latina (Alliance of Presbyterian and Reformed Churches of Latin America). The conference title is Acciones Juveniles para la Vida en Abundancia (more or less translates to Young Adults Acting for Abundant Life) and it will be held NEXT WEEK from March 19 to March 22 in Iguassu Falls, Brazil. We received first notice about the opportunity to participate in the conference from an email that was sent the day the group left for our beach retreat in Mancora/Los Organos, but since there was no internet access on the retreat, we didn't know about the email until we got back to Lima last Friday afternoon. So in the few days since then, we've been running around town (Sean and I, plus Debbie, our site coordinator) getting all of our documents in order, plane tickets purchased, visa applications done etc (Brazil has VERY strict requirements for giving visas to US citizens). But now everything is pretty much taken care of, and I'll be picking up our visas this afternoon (assuming there weren't any problems in processing them). Also, for those of you who are unfamiliar with Brazilian geography and/or famous waterfalls (like I am) the waterfalls that give Igaussu Falls its name are some of the largest and most spectacular in the world. I'll take lots of pictures, and will be sure to give a full report.

Old News

2009-03-12T11:17:00.003-05:00

So in an entry about a month ago, I mentioned that I was interviewing to be a YAV next year at a national YAV site - either Tucson, Miami or Hollywood. Shortly after writing that entry and completing my interviews, I was offered a placement with the Young Adult Volunteer site in Hollywood, which I accepted. So after coming back to the states around July 30th, I will have a month or so before I move out to Los Angeles to start a whole other YAV adventure (and before then, I will start my whole other YAV FUNDRAISING adventure! stay tuned!). As a YAV in Hollywood, I will be living in an intentional christian community house with the other YAVs, working with a local social service agency (most likely one that addresses homelessness) and providing a regular service to the neighborhood (like free tutoring or bible studies) in conjunction with my fellow Hollywood YAVs. The house is located in a poor, primarily Latino immigrant neighborhood near Paramount studios, so the presence of extreme poverty in the shadow extreme wealth will be theme for my experience throughout the year (my term of service in Hollywood will last from September 2009 to late July/early August 2010). For more info on the YAV Hollywood experience, visit http://www.doornetwork.org/index.cfm?load=page&page=250

I'm back!

2009-03-09T22:45:00.005-05:00

Sorry I've once again not been blogging too much. All last week I was on a YAV retreat to THE BEACH in northern Peru, where we didn't have internet access. It was amazing. More to come, but for now, here's a picture.

Lunch

2009-02-23T11:59:00.005-05:00

I haven't done much updating recently. Whoops.

Sunday, after church at Santa Isabel, I went to eat lunch with Manuel and Marina, a couple from the congregation. I would guess they're in their 70s. They live with their children and one grandchild about 4 blocks from the church. This was actually the third time they've had me over for lunch. Manuel and Marina's house is very simple. The floor is partly just the ground, part concrete. The "roof" is a makeshift patchwork of plastic tarps and strips of some sort of reed/bamboo woven together. The walls are primarily brick, but also include places where they seem to have been made from whatever was handy. The whole house is thus open to the air. While much of Santa Isabel's congregation are solidly middle class or even professionals, this couple is definitely not.

Sunday, I felt very blessed and honored to be eating with Manuel and Marina, as I always do whenever they invite me over. I enjoyed simply sitting at the table, talking with them, and watching birds fly down onto the floor outside the kitchen to eat and drink from the rice and water that Manuel and Marina leave for them. Meanwhile, they both worked to prepare lunch for the three of us. I would offer to help, but I know that they want me to just be there and relax. They enjoy "serving," so I should enjoy "being served."

Sunday I ate Pachamanca, which is a very traditional Peruvian dish. You could call it "Peruvian Bar-b-que." It consists of meat (on Sunday, it was chicken), two types of potatoes (one is "camote:" sweet potato) and some kind of large beans cooked all together with some sort of sauce in a whole in the ground. It's one traditional Peruvian dish that I actually really like.

My conversations with Manuel and Marina are always pretty basic. They ask me about my family and life back home in the US. They talk about different places in Peru I should visit, or different Peruvian foods I should try. On Sunday Manuel told me a story about how they used to have a dog, which even scared off two men trying to rob their house after the dog was already very old and partially paralyzed.

And then, after eating some of the best cantaloupe I've ever tasted for dessert, I left to take a siesta for the rest of the afternoon until the evening worship service, allowing them to do the same.

Running in Circles

2009-02-17T08:37:00.004-05:00

I think one thing that has contributed to my recent happiness has been regular exercise. As I have mentioned before, Javier and I get up to work-out right before 6am Monday through Saturday. Every day we alternate going to lift weights at the nearby gym (there are actually at least THREE gyms within a block and a half of our house, but that's a different story) and running around the track at the neighborhood soccer field/stadium.

Lifting weights is not generally my preferred activity. I don't normally do it back home in the states. I like the feeling of accomplishment I have afterward, but while I'm in the midst of a workout, it's not really a rewarding experience for me. Running, on the other hand, keeps me sane (regardless of the fact that most people tell me that I'm certifiably INsane whenever I share that I've been getting up before 6am to run). Anyone who knows me well enough to follow this blog knows I'm a runner; I ran track and cross country every year from 7th grade through my junior year of college. I love it.

So when my cell phone alarm shocks me into consciousness at 5:50am on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, the initial feelings of agony and discomfort I have in response to being robbed of blissful sleep quickly subside when I remember: we get to RUN today! After groggily getting dressed, it's then my challenge to wake Javier up. He enjoys running way less than I do and is never happy when he hears me knock on the bedroom door and sweetly sing "Javier, Buenos Días!" But because Raquel really wants him to lose weight (and he wants to himself as well, he's just not a "morning person"), she forces him to get out of bed. So then we walk the three blocks to the soccer stadium, which at 6am (by then it's light outside), is already occupied by half a dozen or so people running, walking, doing "stadiums" on the steps and/or doing jumping jacks, sit-ups and push-ups. And sometimes there are just people sitting in the bleachers talking or watching -- at 6 in the morning. (One time when we came at 6am on a Saturday there was a group of four people wearing nice clothes and drinking right outside the entrance to the stadium; they had obviously been out all night. They were standing around their car with the trunk open and the music BLARING. They were playing really good English/US music - nirvana, guns 'n roses, coldplay, green day etc. - so it was really nice to have a soundtrack while we ran that day.)

We're actually really lucky to have a soccer stadium so close. They seem to be pretty rare in Lima. Most neighborhoods just have basketball/"fulbito" courts where people play soccer. Besides the Municipal Stadium downtown and Sinchi Roca, a giant public park a couple miles away in Comas, our little run-down stadium is one of the only places I've seen a full-size grass soccer field.

And around that field is a dusty dirt track. In my estimate, it's only about 250 meters long (regular tracks are 400m). And it follows the perimiter of the soccer field almost exactly - with sharp 90 degree turns instead of gentle rounded curves. There is frequently a lot of trash around the edges, including broken glass. And occasionally there are fairly large rocks or bricks in the middle of the running lane (why, I don't know). And there's obviously plenty of little holes, humps and divets all along the track. Finally, as with any public space in Lima, there are usually between two and six stray dogs milling around. Suffice it to say it's unlike any place I had ever regularly run before coming to Peru. But it's beautiful.

Even though he runs much, much slower than I do, I always jog the first two laps with Javier. And then I take off to do the rest at my own pace. Usually I do 12 or 13 laps (about 2 miles, I think) and he runs/walks about 7. By then it's time for us to go back so Javier can get ready for work. All in all, I run far less and less often in this routine than I did back in the States. But it's all I need, and more than I could have asked for.

Halfway Home

2009-02-16T09:35:00.005-05:00

So as of Valentine's Day, I've completed 24 of the 48 weeks that I will spend in Peru. Pretty crazy. Sometimes I feel like the time has really flown by. Other times I think "wow, so that means I still have ANOTHER 24 weeks?!"

But right now, halfway done seems just about right. I am content here in Lima. I'm not sure if I can say that living and working here has "met my expectations" or not. I feel like I didn't come in with too many expectations. I definitely didn't expect to be living in such a comfortable or modern home, which although this has posed some unique challenges for me in terms of how I want to spend my time, has also been a pleasant surprise. I wasn't expecting to still be struggling as much as I am with Spanish at this point. I also expected my work placements to be a little more organized than they are. Especially with Compassion, there's just not hardly any order or structure as to what I'm "supposed" to do, or what exactly they would like me to do. But I'm starting to take some more initiative and figuring it out.

OK, I just now thought of a much better way to do this. One of the first blog entries I posted was right before orientation, when I wrote down some of my hopes, fears and expectations going into the year. So I'm going to copy and paste it below, and let you know which of those hopes, fears and expectations have panned out and which haven't.

I’m excited to leave a culture in which you’re defined by what you consume and what you do.

Ok, this is definitely false. This might be true among the rural, more indigenous communities of Peru, but in Lima, I would say that people are even MORE defined (if that's possible; or "just as defined) by what they consume than they are back home. Cell phones, computers, name brand clothes -- all of these are important "status symbols" among the people in the area of Lima where I live.

I hope to enter a culture in which you’re defined by who you are.

This, in some ways, is true. I think it's because the concept of the "family" is so much stronger here. And my neighborhood, Santa Isabel, is actually a tight-knit community in some ways. And no matter what I do personally, I will ALWAYS be defined first and foremost as a "gringo." For better or for worse.

I’m excited about becoming fluent in Spanish.

I'm still excited about this. "Fluent" is an interesting word, because there's no real fine line that separates "fluent" from "not fluent." I have accepted that there's no way for me to be able to speak Spanish as well as I speak English, especially after only a year of living in a Spanish-speaking country. Like, I said, I originally hoped I would be a better Spanish speaker by now. But when I think about the fact that I'm only halfway done with my time here, I'm pretty sure I could call myself "fluent" by the time I'm done.

I’m excited about learning how to live simply.

This is another interesting statement. I think I am living simply, especially if "simply" means reducing my environmental footprint. I take public transportation or walk everywhere. Even though I still use a washing machine to wash my clothes, I dry them on a clothesline. My food is all fresh and local. But on the other hand, I've actually become MORE technologically savvy since coming to Peru: with skype, blogs and digital cameras/camcorders.

I’m excited about not feeling pressure to work, produce and accomplish individual accolades.

This is 100% true. And it's awesome. This excitement was definitely something held over from feeling burnt-out at the end of college. And whenever I get stressed about doing anything there, for whatever reason, I remind myself that I'm not expected (nor is it my job) to "produce" anything wonderful, magnificent or life-changing.

I’m excited about teaching people and learning from them at the same time.

This is another valid thing for me to have been excited about. Even though I haven't had too much success with my English classes, ocassionally they are very rewarding. And overall, just from my conversations with people, I would say I've done a lot of both learning and teaching.

I’m excited about gaining fresh perspectives on God, life, values and economics.

I'm not sure what specific type of "economic perspectives" I was thinking of when I wrote this, but I'd say this has happend as well. I plan on writing more about this in a separate entry.

I’m excited about learning how to trust God to take care of things I usually try to control myself.

This is something I probably need to continue working on. But putting everything in God's hands is definitely what I remind myself to do whenever I have one of those moments when I realize that I'm basically living on my own, away from friends and family, within a different language, culture, and socio-economic context.

I’m excited about becoming part of a new family.

I would never have guessed that I'd become a part of TWO new families. Which has made me "doubly blessed" in a lot of ways.

I’m excited about experiencing love and grace.

I probably won't ever know or understand how much love and grace the people who I live and work with here in Lima, not to mention God, have afforded me.

I’m excited about having plenty of time to read, write, pray and think.

Definitely true as well. And over the past week or so, I've actually done a good job with my commitment to do more of these things, and spend less time on the internet.

I’m excited about meeting people who are open to fresh ideas and listening to my thoughts and dreams.

Again, this expectation has most certainly been met.

I’m excited about defying people’s stereotypes about white people from the US.

I really hope I defy stereotypes about white, male North Americans. But I don't think I can ever really know for sure.

I’m excited about not “needing” a car.

Amen.

I’m excited about leaving a political climate that hurts and divides people.

I wrote this, obviously, during the election season. I was truly amazed and touched by the election of Barack Obama. It was awesome. From my perspective, it really did seem to unite people, at least for awhile (from what I understand, much of that unity has already eroded over the stimulus bill arguments). And Lima was an interesting place to witness all of the election happenings, which I'll never forget. Also - there's definitely plenty of divisive politics here in Peru.

I’m excited about leaving a culture obsessed with achievement, money, work and appearance.

Wrong. Again, US cultural imperialism has made this obsession even stronger among people in Lima, sad to say.

I’m excited about discovering who I am and becoming who God created me to be.

Probably the most important item in this list. And I'm still excited, because I'm still discovering and growing - even though the year is halfway over, I feel like THIS process has really just begun.

I’m scared that my year of service won’t live up to my high hopes and expectations about personal transformation.

Haha, well this is an awkward one to evaluate now, isn't it? So far, I think my hopes and expectations have been or are being fulfilled.

I’m scared about being asked to pray out loud in Spanish.

This still scares me, ocassionally. But I'm over it. I've definitely prayed some short, weird, grammatically incorrect and/or unintelligble prayers though. Oh well.

I’m scared about leading bible studies and teaching children’s Sunday school in Spanish.

Actually, I haven't done too much sunday school teaching yet. I'm still scared about that. But not nearly as much as I was. I do alright.

I’m scared that I have no clue how to teach English.

This is definitely true. I'm learning as I go.

I’m scared of culture shock.

Another legitimate fear. But I eventually dealt with it.

I’m scared of feeling utterly alone in a house filled with seven people and in a city of 8 million.

This is also true. The internet helps.

I’m sad about leaving my friends and family.

And I still miss them.

I’m scared about being bored.

I'm bored a lot, but it's nothing to be scared of. I'm working on creating more productive, mind-stimulating ways to not be bored, though.

I’m scared about being/thinking differently than my conservative evangelical brothers and sisters in the Presbyterian Church in South America.

Yep. This frustration/fear isn't going away any time soon. But I"ve learned a lot from being immersed among different perspectives.

I’m scared I’ll be tempted to come home.

Not yet.

I’m scared about being robbed.

Haha, 100% legitimate. It could have been worse.

I’m scared about getting hurt or sick.

This still scares me some times. But I've been very, very lucky so far. Then again, getting hurt or sick probably isn't any less likely to happen to me in the US. It would just be more complicated here.

I’m scared about becoming transformed.

Nothing to be scared about. I think I wrote this because I was pretty satisfied and happy with who I was and what I believed in before I left. Now that I've been 'transformed' a little bit, and am still being transformed, I'm still pretty satisfied and happy with the person I was before I left, and with the person I am now, too.

I’m scared I won’t live up to the expectations of the churches in Lima.

This was a silly thing to say.

I’m sad and frustrated about having to pay for drinking water.

That's still frustrating. Leslie has a purifying system that she brought with her that allows her to drink water out of the tap. I'm jealous.

I’m scared that I might confirm people’s stereotypes about people from the U.S.

I've definitely confirmed plenty of stereotypes. But what can I do about it now?

I’m scared I won’t make a difference.

Another silly thing to say. It would be impossible for me to come here and NOT make a difference. As David Lamotte says, there's a difference between wanting to change the world and wanting to FIX the world. It's not like we're going to wake up one morning and the newspaper will say "World Fixed; Let's all go to the beach!" You can't live in the world WITHOUT changing the world, the question is whether you will change the world for better or for worse.

I’m scared about getting angry at the world and at my country.

Yet another silly thing to say.

I’m scared (sort of) that my host family won’t be that different after all (wealth, comforts, technology).

A silly thing to be scared of, but it's true - I've got a lot of the same comforts and technology here that I had back at home. Which is ok.

I’m scared I packed too much.

Hahaha. Actually, I think I packed just about right.

Yesterday, I think I finally realized (realistically) what leaving Peru is going to be like. Up until now, I hadn't really thought about leaving in any other way besides predicting how excited I will be to go back to friends and family (as well as all of the foods I'm missing). But yesterday, I realized how attached I've gotten to this place. My host family is amazing (both of them: Javier, Raquel et al and my original host family, who I still visit at least once a week). I'm speaking Spanish much better. I know how to get around. I can tolerate all of the food, and I actually enjoy a couple of them. For the most part, I've really started to find a niche and get into a rhythm at my work placements. And between playing soccer with kids in the neighborhood and attending the worship service for high schoolers and young adults at Km 13, I'm starting to get to know and make friends with people my age. So right now, at least, I'm content.

Oh, and for those of you wondering how my singing went: it went fine. Nobody pointed and laughed. Javier told me (sincerely I think) afterwards that I did a good job. So we'll see if they ask me to do it again next week.

I'm a gringo spanish vocal artist

2009-02-15T08:54:00.004-05:00

Just kidding. But it appears that last night I somehow became a member of the Santa Isabel Church praise band.

Okay, now that the laughter has died down, I'll explain how that happened. Basically, I had been hanging out at home yesterday evening alone. Raquel and Javier had left earlier -- I assumed they were going out to do some sort of Valentine's Day activity. The doorbell rang, and it was two people asking for Raquel. I told them she was gone and that I didn't know when she'd be back. So after they left, I decided to give Raquel a call to see when they'd be back. They told me they were at the church singing praise songs and invited me to come join them. I didn't have too much to do (it being Valentine's Day and me being in Peru), so I decided to go join them. What they were ACTUALLY doing, which I didn't understand from the phone conversation, was rehearsing the music for the worship services the next day. (Raquel and Javier are two of five people on the church committee for music and praise.) So as soon as I walked in, they were putting a microphone in my face and telling me to sing with them. I tried at least 3 times saying no, but they kept persisting, so I took the microphone (those of you who know me well know that I can only resist having a microphone shoved in my face for so long).

The praise band group varies between about 4 and 7 people every sunday (plus one more now, if you include me I guess). When all 8 are there, we have a keyboard player, drummer, guitar player and four singers. It's basically your typical contemporary christian praise band -- the singers have microphones, but they're not technically "performing," because the whole congregation sings along. And after being here for 6 months, I pretty much know all of the songs we normally sing -- plus the singers usually read the lyrics of sheets while they sing anyway so they won't forget the words (Santa Isabel doesn't use power point yet, but that's definitely in the future) . And having me there allows Javier to play the drums (he normally sings and plays guitar, but the drummer is sick or out of town or something), because without me there would be no other male singers.

I sang and practiced with them for the entire 1 1/2 hour rehearsal. And they kept assuring me that I was a decent singer. So in about two hours I will be singing with the rest of the praise band group for the 11 o clock worship service (we're all wearing jeans and black t-shirts). I'm not sure how the congregation will react, but I personally think the concept of a gringo male who has never really sang in front of people before suddenly singing contemporary christian music in Spanish through a microphone in front of a group of Peruvians is nothing short of hilarious.

Whistle Solo

2009-02-12T21:53:00.003-05:00

All I need is just a little patience. I feel like I'm a pretty patient guy, by US standards. That is definitely not the case in Peru. Today, after the bible study at Santa Isabel church, there was an impromptu meeting among some of the male church leaders/members of the session to talk about things in the church they want to change/make better, or plans for upcoming services etc. Usually there are about four or five people participating, including Javier (my host dad, who's the church treasurer), which is the reason I also end up staying. These discussions after evening worship services/bible studies are not uncommon. And it's also not uncommon for me to get really antsy during them. Usually the discussions last for about 20 minutes. Frequently, I get a feeling they would last longer if I don't start heading for the door, or saying "I kind of need to go," at which point they all say "yikes, it's getting late, let's go."

But today I didn't do that. So approximately fifty-five minutes after the bible study ended, we walked home (the discussion ended with them deciding that they needed to have a meeting to talk this coming Saturday...) I feel really guilty for always only thinking about how much I want to leave during these discussions. I am amazed how much energy and passion these men put into their work with the church. They all have families and full time jobs. During any given day, they all probably get up earlier than I do, spend more time working than I do, and go to bed later than I do. But while I'm nearly falling asleep and anxiously watching the clock, hoping to go home during these discussions, they're excitedly chatting away about the church politics, policies and programming. I'm glad that they're all so passionate about church life. And I wish I had the energy and patience to be like them.

Life Update

2009-02-11T21:06:00.003-05:00

Hey, so this is a post that won't have much to do with Peru. Sorry.

I just thought I'd update anyone who might be interested (and I would maybe hope you would be, if you're reading my blog) about what my "Post-Peru" plans are. I will return to the United States some time between July 30 and August 1. I will then have approximately one month to reunite/reconnect with friends and family and hopefully visit some churches of the churches that have supported me this year to share my experiences. Then, starting in September, I will be a PC(USA) Young Adult Volunteer all over again.

That's right, I've decided to apply to be a YAV again, this time at a national YAV site. I have applied to the sites in Hollywood (CA), Miami and Tucson. This week I had my interviews with all three of the site coordinators from those YAV sites. I've decided to spend a week praying, thinking discerning etc. before I turn in the interview evaluations to the PC(USA) office. After I turn the evaluations in, the YAV staff and site coordinators have the final decision as to where they will place me (I'll find out where I'll be going in April, I think).

When I went through the YAV application and discernment process this past year, before coming to Peru, I always had a feeling that I might end up doing more than one YAV placement. I was really torn between the different living situations that are offered at the national vs. international YAV sites. At the international sites, YAVs live with a host family, totally immersed in the language and culture of the country where they're serving. At the national sites, YAVs live together all in one house in intentional community. I'm in the midst of living within the first of those situations, and I am excited about the prospect of doing the second. I think living in intentional community with other YAVs will be a great experience in personal/spiritual growth, adaptability and patience as I prepare to enroll in Seminary for the fall of 2010. (Seminary has always been part of the "big picture" for me. For THAT story, if you don't know it already, send me an email)

So please keep me in your thoughts and prayers as I spend the next few days discerning where I feel God is calling me to serve next year. And let me know if you have any questions/comments/suggestions etc!

sermons

2009-02-08T22:45:00.003-05:00

I preached four times this week and led one bible study. It was busy. Overall, I think it went really well, all things considered (definitely could have been better.... but still) On Saturday, I preached/led worship for the middle school youth group again. We started by playing "honey, if you love me smile," which they really seemed to enjoy. And then we had a discussion about love and sex. And they actually participated, for the most part. We talked about the different ways "the world" (ie movies, music, the media, culture etc) portrays sex vs. the way the bible portrays sex. I read the first chapter of Song of Songs out loud for them (which they REALLY got a kick out of) and we also read a section from 1 Corinthians where Paul condemns sexual immorality but encourages (and even mandates) sex within marriage. We also talked about the four greek words for love (storge, phileos, eros and agape) and discussed how hormones during adolescence can make us confuse love vs. lust/sexual desire. After the meeting was over, one of the older (college-age) youth, who was at the service because she arrived early for the high school and young adult service, explained to me how I actually didn't explain all of the different Greek words for love correctly, but overall I think I did a good job and it was a success.

But I think I was most proud of the sermon I preached on Sunday (today), the very next morning. I was asked to preach on John 5. I was most excited about this sermon, because I think in the end the congregation got a lot out of it. I simultaneously saw heads nodding and other people scratching their heads (in a good way -- like I gave them something they had never thought about before). And most importantly I didn't "water it down" or consciously add more conservative/fundamentalist language or theological elements like I've done before out of fear that people would get angry or upset if I didn't, because obviously the churches here are much more conservative. The basic message of the sermon was free grace with no strings attached. I'm hoping to write a blog entry later that won't really be a summary of the sermon, but will include some thoughts and ideas that I had while writing it that I'd like to share.

That's all for now; goodnight.

That awkward in-between period

2009-02-05T21:26:00.006-05:00

Today I visited my old host family, as I've been doing every Thursday for the past month or so. To get to their house and back, I have to take a bus for about 15 minutes outside of my neighborhood. On my way back, I did as I always do and paid the cobrador (that is, the person who collects the bus fares and announces/advertises the different bus stops on the route) and told her "Avenida Lima," the name of the closest main street to my house, where I get off the bus. You have to tell the cobrador where you're getting off so he/she knows how much to charge you. She charged me 50 centimos, which was good, because they occasionally charge 80. Today, the bus was full -- I had to stand up holding a handrail for the entire ride back. I'd say there were maybe 50 people on the bus.

As we approached the turn onto Avenida Lima, the cobrador, who was in the front of the bus, yelled out
"Avenida Lima." Meanwhile I was in the back of the bus. The bus stopped and the back door opened, which happened to be close to where I was standing. No one got off.
"Do you get off at Avenida Lima?" she repeated. I suddenly realized she was staring right at me. I'm sure I looked really confused. I've taken this same bus route many, many times and not once had this ever happened. It always not only turned onto Avenida Lima but traversed the entire length of the street. However, since the cobrador was asking if I was getting off at Avenida Lima before the bus actually turned onto the street, I started to think that this particular bus was altering the route today (something that HAS happened to me before with other busses). So for some reason, I figured maybe it wasn't going to turn onto the street, so I needed to get off right there, at the corner.
"Yes," I answered her question, "Is the bus not going to turn?" I was really, really embarrassed to be having a conversation across the length of the bus in my gringo Spanish accent while the bus was stopped in the middle of the street and all of the passengers basically were a captive audience.
"Oh, do you get off further down the street?" she asked me.
"Yes, of course," I replied. And with that the driver closed the door and turned onto Avenida Lima. Relieved that the situation had been resolved and the bus had started moving again, I said softly "I might be a gringo, but I do know my own bus route." The people around me chuckled (people always laugh when I call myself a gringo). Luckily, the point where I get off was only 5 or 6 blocks down the road, so it wasn't long before I got off the bus and walked the remaining half-block to my house.

There's really no way I can fully express the awkwardness/discomfort of that situation to a North American who's never before lived in Peru. Basically, the reason all of it happened was that because of my accent and probably a bunch of other cultural cues, the cobrador realized that I wasn't "from around here." So she wanted to make sure I didn't get lost. And it's okay that she assumed I didn't live in Lima and might not know where I was going. It took awhile, but I've finally accepted the fact that I'm never going to be Peruvian. Especially not this year. I'm never going to fully fit in. I'm always going to look, sound and act like a North American. Which I've realized is fine, and very much expected since that's exactly what I am. Whereas it used to really, really bother me when strangers would see me on the street and immediately start speaking English to me ("Hello. What is your name? Where are you from?"), for the most part, it doesn't any more. The vast majority of the people that do this are just trying to be friendly. Lots of people know English - it's taught in all of the schools, plus it's the default language of world media and entertainment - so they're excited to practice it with a native speaker. And especially in places like Comas, native English speakers don't come around too often. Even though she didn't speak any English to me, the Cobrador was a type of example of this friendliness/excitement. She was just trying to help me. She recognized me as a foreigner, but she didn't overcharge me for the bus fare. Instead, she decided to let me know when I should get off, since she figured I didn't know where I was going. But little did she know, her trying to be friendly and helpful actually caused me a lot of embarrassment.

I know this seems like a silly situation to over-analyze, but just that's what I do. The last important thought I had is that I have a feeling most people who get off the bus on my street, avenida Lima, probably tell the cobrador something different than "avenida lima." I've actually only ridden that bus one time when I wasn't buy myself (don't worry, I'm never riding it at night), and I don't remember what the person who rode with me told the cobrador was our stop. Most Comas natives might just say "santa isabel" or something like that, something that also might distinguish me from the other bus-riders.

So even though I feel comfortable and well-adjusted to living in Lima, this proves that there are still a few things that I have to learn. I'm still in an awkward, in-between period. On the one hand, I'm speaking Spanish very well. I know my way around. I can do things relatively independently. I've gotten used to (or even started to like) a lot of cultural things that at the beginning of my year here annoyed or confused me. But the transition isn't over, and may never be. I still don't tell the cobradores the right things sometimes. I still make cultural faux pas. Even though I feel more and more like a regular Lima resident, I still act and look enough like a foreigner for people to continue mistaking me for a tourist. And finally, even though I keep claiming that it doesn't bother me any more, the fact that this happens still, well, bothers me a little bit.

As someone who has finished his undergrad but has not yet begun graduate school, I really shouldn't be surprised that perhaps the best way to describe this year is "an awkward, in-between period."

a little rascal

2009-02-04T23:35:00.001-05:00

As I think I've mentioned before, I spend a lot of time in my work with Km 13 Church's Compassion program simply feeding children who either can't or won't feed themselves. There's a 4-year old who fits into that category named Alexis. Alexis has been my special friend lately. He gets dropped off for the afternoon session of Compassion (that begins at lunchtime) by his cousin. Every day, his cousin leaves him kicking, screaming and crying. She basically has to throw him down and then run out the door before he can re-attach himself to her. He then spends the next 5 minutes or so just throwing a tantrum (this literally happens every single day I work there). So usually, as soon as his cousin drags him in the classroom, I cheerfully shout "Alexis! We're going to have so much fun eating together today." At which point he usually looks at me with sheer terror in his eyes and begins to wail even louder. After his cousin has left, some time has past and his tantrum has begun to subside, I can usually convince him to sit in his seat in front of his plate of food. Of course, he always says over and over again that he doesn't want to eat any of it. And then I always say "why not, it's really good today?" Then I fix him a bite and shove it towards his mouth, which is always clamped shut, occasionally with both of his hands covering it. Then he'll turn to one side, and I'll follow him with the food. Then he turns to the other side, but I don't give up. I start playfully pleading with him just to try one bite. Finally, after I keep insisting and shoving the food in his face, he eventually pulls back and opens his mouth really wide. From there, the feeding starts. Even though he still complains, he eventually does eat most of his food. Sometimes I have to cut the meat up in really, really tiny pieces and then hide it amongst clumps of rice for him to eat it. Not even this works sometimes, and he just spits it out. I'm not exactly sure why we go through this routine every single time, but we've been doing it ever since I got back to work after our New Year's vacations. At first it was a pain, but now I kind of enjoy it. I think Alexis does too. I keep wondering if eventually he'll "really" like me and not look at me with sheer terror in his eyes when he first comes in the room. But even if he doesn't, that's okay too.

Mission

2009-02-03T21:47:00.002-05:00

so today I went up "in the hills" to a poorer area of santa isabel's neighborhood with some of the members of the church. First we shared a brief bible reflection, and then we gave out clothes, toys and juice to a group of kids and families who live there. Since it's a relatively "middle class" church, I'm glad that some members of Santa Isabel are starting to get a sense of mission. I am also excited, because I see this as a place where my presence and experience could definitely help them, since the whole community service idea is relatively new to them.

The whole thing was a kind of controlled chaos. I read the bible passage in Spanish using a megaphone, which was made more difficult by the fact that I was reading it from someone else's bible, and that bible happened to be basically the equivalent of the King James Version in Spanish. Meaning that it had a lot of antiquated, elevated language, specifically with the vosotros verb form everywhere, which I've NEVER had to read/use out loud, outside of verb drills in Spanish classes in the US. Then another church member used the megaphone to preach a short sermon about the passge that I read. And finally, we lined them up to get their clothes/toys. For awhile, they actually stayed in line, which really impressed me. The main problem was most of the toys were actually bundled in little bags, and at first we started handing out one bag of toys per person. We ended up with enough toys for about 1/3 of the kids who were there... which wasn't good. Then we started giving out the second hand clothes. This was made complicated by the fact that all of the clothes, regardless of size or gender, was all mixed together. One of the church members was handing out specific clothes to specific people based on size/gender while the other just handed out the clothes to whoever was there, and told them if it didn't fit to give it to a parent or sibling. Finally, we gave out juice. This was probably the most successful part, because we did end up with enough juice and cups for everyone. Again, the line worked for about a minute or two before it just became a free-for-all, but in the end everyone got served.

I didn't know much about what wer were doing until we actually went. I just knew we were going to give out clothes, toys and juice to kids up the hill. As we walked back down, we all talked about ways it could go better next time. I told them that my experience in the US shows that these type of things require a lot of previous effort/organization. Next time, I said, we should go through and sort the clothes by male/female and child/adult/baby. We should also count to see how many articles of clothing and toys we have beforehand. One of the church members also suggested that we create a list of all of the names of the kids who come next time, so we can have an idea of who/how many kids we're dealing with.

All in all, I'm very excited to continue doing this in the future.

Shower epiphanies

2009-02-03T08:13:00.001-05:00

During college, I always used to have epiphanies in the shower. Well, "epiphanies" is probably an exaggeration. "Moments of inspiration" is a better term. Frequently, when I had a big paper to write (often due the next morning....), I would figure out exactly what I wanted to write about, what my thesis would be or an important point to make while I was taking a shower. It wasn't intentional; I didn't usually say to myself "crap, I'm stuck -- I'll take a shower and figure out what to write next." Usually, I'd just find myself showering and all of the sudden it would come to me. It's weird, I know, but for some reason that's where I do my best thinking or seem to be divinely inspired etc.

The only catch is, I hadn't had one of my shower moments since I came to Peru. I've certainly needed them sometimes, as I've already preached a few sermons and led a few bible studies that I should have been more prepared for.... But this morning I finally had one. Ironically enough, I was showering this morning while trying to think about what I would write about in my daily blog for yesterday [this entry], since I didn't do it last night.

So what I decided to write about in the shower was food. I'm not a huge fan of Peruvian food in general. I mean, it's not terrible, but eating it every day is TOUGH. However, I've actually gotten to the point where, when I force myself, I can eat the potatoes and white rice that is served with Every. Single. Meal. And when I'm REALLY hungry, I look forward to it. However Mike and Sean, two of the other YAVs, are even less of fans. Sometimes, Sean and Mike just can't force themselves to eat whatever's on their plate (and when the rice includes beets, I usually can't either). I don't blame them. Huge quantities of rice and potatoes just seem like needless, bland carbohydrates with little nutritious value. And everything is complicated by the fact that most meals include, in addition to the rice & potatoes, a huge piece of meat and maybe a couple thin slices of tomatoes, cucumber and lettuce as "vegetables" (or even worse: the beets). But last night, Mike and I went to Chili's (if Sean is reading this, he will be quite upset that he wasn't there because he was in Huancayo) with Bethany and Matthew, two other North Americans who were in Peru for a Congress of Young Environmentalists, which the YAVs also attended. At Chili's, I ate a Texas Cheeseburger with a lemonade (actually served with ICE -- this never happens with Peruvian food). It was amazing. Not good for you, but amazing. I savored it. Mike, Sean and I have spent literally HOURS in the past month or so discussing the food we miss from the States. Eating at Chili's was like being transported back to casual family dining in the US.

Food is an important thing. As The Market continues to be THE thing that shapes every facet of our daily life, perhaps eventually the day will come where in the name of efficiency/time management/productivity people will start replacing meals with some sort of injection or pill that instantly provides a person with the required nutrients, carbohydrates and proteins for hours or a day at a time. But I don't think that food, as we know it today, will ever be phased out entirely (at least, I hope not). It's too good.

The interesting part is that later in the night, the four of us joined my friend Leah, who I met here through a Trinity U. friend studying abroad in Lima, and the subject turned to food. It turns out that Leah, who's actually been in Peru for a month longer than the YAVs, LOVES Peruvian food (she's from Brooklyn, while Mike, Sean and I are from the south and the midwest, which might explain it....). Furthermore, someone told me recently that Peruvian food was rated by someone (I don't now who... some "Food Expert?") or some organization as being the fourth best type of food in the world. So maybe Mike, Sean and I are just weird.

.....

More than anything though, I think the importance of the shower epiphany was simply the fact that it occurred, here in Peru. In the past few weeks, I've started running or working out at 6am every morning (except sunday) with Javier. Which means I'm showering every morning (except sunday). Which is way more than I was showering at the beginning of my year here (partly because I started with only cold showers). So I guess the point is that this morning I understood the shower epiphany as a sign that I'm finally becoming comfortable living here. Showering in Peru has become routine enough that I my mind and feelings are open to experience moments of inspiration while doing it. Life is good.

congregational meetings

2009-02-02T00:57:00.002-05:00

So today at Santa isabel church instead of having a normal sunday morning worship service, there was a called congregational meeting. It started at 11:30 and didn't end until 2:30. Really, the only order of business was debating and voting on whether or not to call a half-time pastor (the church is currently without a pastor). After 3 hours of arguing, they ultimately decided against it. I think there were several reasons why the motion was voted down. Some people thought the session didn't spend enough time praying, fasting etc in making their decision on who to call. They also thought there should have been more than one potential pastor to choose from. Others didn't think we would benefit from a part-time pastor, and that we wouldn't be paying him enough to keep him invested in the church. And others were simply satisfied with the way things are now, without a pastor; the IEP (the name of the denomination) believes strongly in the "priesthood of all believers" so at Santa Isabel and other churches who don't have pastors, the people who preach and lead worship services are just regular members of the church or occasional guest pastors. They think the church's money would be better spent on something besides a pastor's salary. There was a lot more arguing/intense discussion today than usually happens at congregational meetings at PCUSA churches back at home, which usually don't last more than 30 minutes or so, in my experience. There are a lot more issues of church politics that I could probably discuss later, but right now I need to go to bed.

"Short" daily entry

2009-01-31T23:02:00.001-05:00

So I'm going to try to start doing a short blog entry every day. I have internet access in the house where I live, so I figure I should take advantage of that and start doing a better job of communicating. So without further ado, here's what happened today, Saturday January 31.

Today, like all Saturdays, I went to the worship services of both the adolescentes (12-15 years old) and the jovenes (16 - 30 years old). I'm in charge of directing the worship service for the younger group every other week (this wasn't my week). Being in charge can be frustrating because: 1) even though the worship service is supposed to start at 6pm, the kids don't show up until 7; and 2) when they finally do arrive, I always realize that I really can't connect with them very well (and taht's putting it lightly). "Middle schoolers" are a difficult age to begin with. Middle schoolers who don't speak English and have lived all of their lives in a poor gang neighborhood are nearly impossible. I've just started with the job of actually leading the games and "preaching" or doing a bible study with the kids. So I'm still optimistic that I'll start to grow on them bit by bit in the next six months. But still, right now getting these kids to participate in things sometimes seems impossible. Last week, I was told to make the worship service centered around the theme of building group identity (a lot of the kids who come don't even know the names of some of the people who come... and I don't know all of them either). So I prepared what I thought was a really awesome night. I started by going out and buying tennis balls (they were the only small sized balls I could find). Then, when enough kids finally arrived, we played a game where everyone stands in a circle and someone starts the game by saying the name of someone else in the circle and then throwing them the tennis ball. That person then does the same thing to another person in the circle, until everyone has received the ball and its returned to the person who started. And then you start adding more balls, timing them to see how fast they can do it, etc. I couldn't get everyone to play, and the ones who did agree to play weren't exactly thrilled to be doing it. Once we started, a couple of them even changed their minds and sat back down in their seats.

Since the game kind of failed, I had them all sit down and decided to take a more direct approach to helping them learn each other's names. Each person took turns going around in the circle and introducing themself by simply saying their name, how long they've been attending the church, and one word to describe either their personality or an interest. About 2/3 of them, after a HUGE amount of prodding quietly rattled off all three parts of the introduction. The rest all decided to sit in the back and not participate (and ignore me when I kept inviting them to come to the front) or just shook their head when I asked them to say anything more than just their name. So I then read 1 Corinthians 12, which is about gifts of the spirit and how we are all called with our different gifts to be the "body of Christ." I started to try to get them talking by asking basic comprehension questions, and was met by silence. I then decided to ask them what "gifts" or talents they had to try and create a profile of the group. A few of them volunteered things, and I wrote their answers down on the chalkboard. But again, most of them just sat there uninterested, or just talked amongst themselves. I ended by telling them how each one of them was valued and important, each has gifts and talents, and that it was really important for them to get to know each other and become a tight-knit group. We concluded the service in the traditional style: singing a song, taking up an offering and closing in prayer.

So the worship service today wasn't directed by me, but rather by Hugo, a youth leader who is actually a member of a different church, but is nice enough to come to our neighborhood and work with the kids from Km 13. Like last week, most of the kids didn't show up until after 7pm. Hugo skipped the "games" part all together, in an effort to show them that they need to come on time in the future if they don't want to miss the "fun" part of the service. Hugo read a passage from Romans and then talked to them about what exactly it means to be a Christian. He talked about being totally against the world. He told them that God has lots of children, but no grandchildren. That's to say, that it doesn't matter if your parents were Christian, in order for you to be "saved," you have to be "born again" and accept Christ for yourself; your parents can't do it for you. He also included a short comparison of heaven and hell. He closed by reminding them that they don't know when they're going to die, that every decision, good or bad, has its consequences, and that if they decide they want to be baptized (or if they already have been) they have to "walk the walk" - you can't be a Christian in name only.

As probably all of you well-know, most of this message is very, very different from my own theology. Listening to Hugo's sermon was pretty uncomfortable at times, and I kind of wished I didn't speak spanish, so I could just sit there and pretend he was talking about something else. I've done a lot of thinking about the differences in the messages you hear at a church here in Lima versus the white, middle-upper class Presbyterian churches I'm used to back home. And I really don't think the whole social gospel/postmodern/emerging church approach would really work here. I think it makes sense for Hugo to tell them that Christians are totally different from "the world" when the world as they experience it is so rife with unwed teenage mothers, drug and alcohol abuse and gang/domestic violence. Maybe these kids really do need an old-school, black and white, disciplined version of Christianity that includes a little fire and brimstone. I'm not saying that the evangelical churches in Peru are perfect, but I do think they probably know more about what they're doing than I do. And I'm not saying that the PC-USA-type churches are wrong. I think middle-upper class white North Americans are much better suited to a more liberal theology that paints the world with shades of gray rather than black and white, that asks questions instead of providing answers, and that stresses the social gospel more than personal purity. I'd love to go more in depth with this later, but I've got to go to bed. It's a good thing I haven't gone to seminary yet, because I'm pretty sure I'd be laughing at myself right now if I had....

Adventures as a Tourist in Peru

2009-01-14T21:35:00.002-05:00

I left Lima on a flight to Cuzco at 5:37 in the morning on December 26th. From there, the rest of the YAVs and I spent two weeks exploring Cuzco, the Sacred Valley, Machu Picchu, Lake Titicaca, Puno, the Colca Canyon and Arequipa. Not including the nights we spent at Debbie and Harry's apartment to bookend the trip, over the course of our two week vacation, I slept in 8 different beds/hostals. It was definitely the most travel-intensive vacation I've ever done, and altough it was amazing, I'm actually kind of relieved to be back in some sort of routine. I'll go ahead and use this blog entry to sum up what we all saw and did during our tour of the "other" Peru.

Cuzco and the Sacred Valley

Cuzco was our first stop, as well as our third stop. (We flew into cuzco, spent one night, then departed for Aguas Calientes and Machu Picchu before returning to Cuzco spend two more nights there, including New Year's Eve.) As we technically went there during the "rainy" season, the weather was pretty cold and dreary. This time of the year is also supposedly the "off" season for tourists. And although I'm sure being there during New Years meant that there were still more tourists than during the other parts of January/February, I can't imagine what Cuzco must be like during the July/August "high" season, because we saw other gringos/tourists EVERYWHERE. We spent a good deal of time exploring small local artisan shops and an outdoor market where people sold mittens, hats, gloves, socks, chess sets, traditional musical instruments and a whole bunch of other cool stuff. We also ate some fabulous pizza (and maybe McDonalds too... shhh!) and took a tour of one of the majestic colonial-era Spanish cathedrals on the main plaza. Sean and I rang in the midnight hour on New Year's eve on the main plaza, where we were surrounded by people shouting, hugging, kissing and shooting off fireworks EVERYWHERE - totally undeterred by the 40 degree weather and nonstop rain.

When we left Cuzco (the first time), we took a colectivo taxi to Ollantaytambo, a small town on the way to Aguas Calientes, the town with the only road into Machu Picchu. During our taxi ride, we stopped two or three times on the way to check out more Inca ruins that at the time seemed incredible, but would pale in comparison to the majesty and sheer size of Machu Picchu. One of my favorite places where we stopped (yeah, I forgot the name of it) was basically a set of platforms built in the shape of concentric circles within a valley. Somehow, using these different elevations, the Incas were able to simulate different climates to grow crops that would normally only be available in other regions/seasons.

Aguas Calientes and Machu Picchu
From Ollantaytambo, we took a 5:30am train to Aguas Calientes. After leaving our luggage at our hostel, we immediately bought our tickets into Machu Picchu. Although it was quite cloudy and misty when we arrived, within a couple hours the clouds burned off and we actually ended the day quite sunburned. As for Machu Picchu itself, we quickly understood why it was declared one of the new Seven Wonders of the World. Words nor pictures really do it justice. You simply just have to go there. Everything is so green, and I can't begin to imagine how most of those stones were gathered, moved, and made to fit together so perfectly. We wanted to also go up Waynu Picchu, the "other mountain" that you see in all of the postcards. However, Waynu Picchu has restricted access - only 400 people are allowed to enter every day. Unfortunately, we must have been right around number 430 or so, so we didn't make the cut. Instead, we opted to take an hour long hike to the Sun Gate, which offers a spectacular view of both Machu Picchu and Waynu Picchu from afar (and above).

The next day, we went to a Machu Picchu museum in Aguas Calientes that I kind of wish we had visited before we went to the ruins. The museum detailed the history of the construction and discovery of Machu Picchu. The exhibits explained among other things, that this Inca City wasn't constructed thousands of years ago, like we assumed, but actually fairly recently - sometime in the 15th century, right before the Spanish conquistadores arrived. And because of the timing of the arrival of the Spanish, it was only used for maybe as little as 100 years before being largely abandoned. After visiting the museum, we decided to try out a "walk" that our guide promised us would offer us a great view of Machu Picchu. We started up what we assumed would be an easy 1/2 hour trail around 3:30 in the afternoon, only to find out that the "trail" is actually a 2 hour ascent up the side of one of the mountains. The first half mainly consisted of a series of steep ladder climbs, complicated by the fact that the BOTTOM of the trail is about 7,000 above sea level, so the air is pretty thin. What started as a fun afternoon stroll quickly turned into a personal test of strength and endurance, but determined, we made it to the top. Luckily, we made a few friends at the summit who had brought flashlights, so we hiked back down with them, knowing it would be dark by the time we were through.

Puno and Lake Titicaca

After spending New Year's eve in Cuzco, we got up bright and early on New Year's day to catch an 8am bus to Puno, a small town on the shores of Lake Titicaca, which straddles the border between Peru and Bolivia and is the highest navigable lake in the world. We spent the majority of our first day resting, but did manage to go out to lunch at a vegetarian restaurant that also offered whole grains, fruit and yogurt. This was very exciting for us, because as some of you might recall from an earlier blog post, Peruvians in general aren't too big on foods that aren't meats or starches. During our stay in Puno, we spent the night at an amazing bed and breakfast that was run by possibly the most friendly, hospitable family I've met in Peru. They basically did all they could to make sure we were happy and comfortable (and we were only paying about $8 per night!). For me especially, it was a great reminder that despite the occasional thieves in highly populated or touristy areas, Peru is largely filled with welcoming, friendly and genuinely nice folks.

The next day we set off on a day long boat tour of Lake Titicaca and some of its islands. The tour was fun, but really we spent most of our time just sitting and talking on the upper deck of a small tour boat that never really made it above 15 miles an hour or so. However, the scenery was beautiful - a fact that we were quickly beginning to take for granted, because the entire two weeks was jam packed with some of the most awesome natural/environmental features that I've ever seen. Some of the islands we visited actually float on the water (they're anchored to the bottom of the lake), are permanently inhabitated, and even include hostals where you can spend the night on a floating island if you so choose (we chose not to). The other island we visited (and again, I didn't write down the name... I'm really bad at that type of stuff. I think it started with an 'A'....?) was very much a real, natural island inhabited by indigenous people who, we were told, mainly speak Quechua, not Spanish. But it looked like they've largely adapted their way of life to being a tourist stop, and I have a feeling much of the way the dress and act is for show (they'll charge you a little bit of money if you want to take a picture with them). All in all, Puno and Lake Titicaca were pretty fun, but I wouldn't call it the highlight of the trip.

Arequipa and the Colca CanyonAs opposed to Puno, Arequipa may have been THE highlight of the trip (besides Machu Picchu of course). Interestingly, wWe didn't do anything terribly exciting there, because by this point we were definitely running out of gas. But they city itself was incredible. In comparison to Lima, Arequipa is much cleaner, modern and very "European." And the weather was absolutely beautiful - sunny and warm - as opposed to the cold, overcast/raining days we experienced during the first half of the trip. We used our relaxing days in Arequipa to continue indulging in some of the foods we had been missing in Peru - huge cheeseburgers, burritoes, and homemade grill cheese sandwiches with tomoato soup. On our first full day we went to Santa Catalina Monestary, the "city within the city." It would have been a great place to play sardines or hide and seek - the place was HUGE, and included countless different corridores and different rooms tucked away.

In the middle of our stay in Arequipa, We took a 2 day tour of the nearby colca canyon, the deepest canyon in the world. The big drawing point of colca canyon tours is the opportunity to see condors circling above as they hunt just after dawn. And even though we were awake and ready to go by 5:30am on the morning when we were supposed to go see the condors, our tour ended up leaving very late. We sat around the breathtaking vistas of the condor pass for about 2 hours, but didn't see a single condor (note: I don't know if this is THE "Condor Pasa" of Peruvian folkloric music, but I like to pretend that is). However, two of the other YAVs, Katie and Leslie, ended up with a different tour agency, and apparently 10 minutes after our tour group left, the other group actually saw 2 or 3 condors that flew directly overhead. And this is after our tour guide asked us if we wanted to wait another 10 or 15 minutes and we said no! Such is life. We still had an amazing time enjoying the incredible vistas, and Katie and Leslie promised to share their pictures.

* * * * *

And that was pretty much our trip. We returned to Lima exhausted, but having bonded tremendously as a group, and with plenty of memories that we won't soon forget. It was definitely a jam-packed two weeks. Afterward, I personally experienced another bit of culture shock returning to my placement and family - I had gotten used to speaking a lot of English and just being a tourist. But it's good to be back, and I will keep you updated on all of the surprises that are sure to come as I approach the halfway point of my year as a YAV in Peru.

Back to the real Peru

2009-01-13T10:36:00.001-05:00

This weekend I got back to Comas/Lima from vacation. It was amazing. All my photos are uploaded on Picasa, if you want to check them out. I'll let you know more soon!

Some (random) thoughts

2008-12-24T11:21:00.002-05:00

Merry Christmas! Coherent narrative storytelling/reflection just isn't going to work today. Sorry.

An official YAV newsletter will be coming soon. I promise.

I preached in Spanish twice this past week, with barely any notes (I was told that if I "read" my sermon, no one will listen). I'll upload a video on youtube later, although anyone who wants to watch me incoherently ramble in Spanish for fifteen minutes about the meaning of Christmas is certifiably insane.

I went camping on the beach two nights ago, watched the sun set over the pacific and slept on a blanket under the stars.

Evaporated milk is probably the most popular item at every single supermarket and in an average Peruvian family's home. On an unrelated note, I personally think evaporated milk is disgusting.

A group of us from Santa Isabel church took used clothes, 20 loafs of paneton (Peruvian-style fruitcake) and a bunch of soda up the hill to share with some of the very poor squatter families that live there. It was one of the first "service" events that I've participated in with a church here, and I loved it. The best part is that the church members all felt really good afterward and want to make community service a more important part of their church life.

At 5:40am on Friday I leave for Cuzco for two weeks of vacation that will include Macchu Pichu, Lake Titicaca/Puno and Colca Canyon/Arequipa. I have a hard time explaining to my Peruvian friends the difference between this "real" vacation and the "work-related" retreats/reunions that the YAV group takes every 6 weeks or so to various touristy beach/mountain locales.

Peruvians celebrate Christmas at midnight on the 24th with hot chocolate, fireworks, presents (new clothes are the normal Christmas gift) and a huge turkey dinner. All the TV stations play a Christmas countdown, much like on New Year's Eve in the states.

On New Years, they do the whole thing all over again. But with less turkey and more champagne. And with the added tradition of using all of the family's old clothes to dress a homemade mannequin and then setting the clothes on fire to symbolize leaving the old year behind and starting the new year fresh. I assume this is why people first give each other new clothes for Christmas. Apparently it's also good luck if you wear yellow underwear for new years.

I don't have a car here. And I don't even miss it. How long will it be before people in the US actually become convinced that walking, public transportation and massive carpooling is DEFINITELY worth it?

I've officially finished 1/3 of my YAV placement. That was fast.

"Crash" was on TV the other night ("Vidas Cruzadas" is the title of the dubbed Spanish version). I watched it with my host family and remembered why it's my favorite movie ever.

Remember, if you want to see photos, they're all available from the "Picasa" link on the left side of the page.

Starting in January, I'm going to be preaching a lot more in both Santa Isabel church and Kilometer 13 church. Let's hope my Spanish extemporaneous public speaking skills improve.

Slowly, I'm starting to feel more spiritually fulfilled by the worship services here. The "sociologist" in me is finally getting bored as I've gotten used to a lot of the differences between here and home. This is allowing me to take in the spirit of community and presence of God here on a personal level.

I'm still long overdue on making a boring, overly intellectual/pretentious-sounding blog post that reflects on the political/theological differences between "evangelical" churches here and mainline denominational churches in the US as they relate to respective differences in social/economic realities. But of course the real objective is to try to use big words to impress you and make you think that I'm SO READY to go to seminary and single-handedly fix the problems of the church/world.

I know this is looking WAY far ahead, but when I come back to the US I don't even want to SEE a grain of white rice or a beet for at least 3 months.... Except for the "beet" part. I don't want to see a beet again, period. Ever.

Ceviche and Tallerin verde with carne de res, however, will always be favorites.

Some days I find myself speaking spanish so well that I forget that I'm speaking a foreign language, and later on when I chat online with people from back home it's hard to remember certain English words. Other days it seems like I can barely form complete sentences in Spanish, and when people talk to me I ask them to repeat themselves at least 3 times before I eventually just say "ohhhh!" and then nod my head and pretend I understood what they just said.

Two years ago, if you told me that right now I would be spending Christmas Eve with a host family in Lima, Peru while working as a Young Adult Volunteer for the Presbyterian Church, I would have suggested that you seek psychological counseling....

Well, probably not. But I most likely would have laughed excessively and said "really?"

I missed Christmas Vespers at Trinity. I going to miss spending Christmas morning with family and relatives back home in Decatur. I'm going to miss spending New Years with more family and relatives at "home" in Montreat. And I'm going to miss the Montreat summer staff reunion and college conference during the New Year, too.

Fire and Brimstone

2008-12-09T15:43:00.003-05:00

This past weekend I went to a wedding in Chincha, a medium-sized desert town about 3 hours south of Lima. According to the invitation, the wedding should have started at 7:30. When we got there at 7:30, we discovered that according to the official wedding program, the ceremony was scheduled to start at 8:00. So naturally, everything got started at a little after 9. Such is life.

The ceremony started with a few upbeat praise songs before the pastor got up to preach a sermon. I haven't been to all that many weddings in my life, so I'm no expert, but I think it's safe to say that I witnessed the angriest, most depressing sermon/reflection/message ever delivered for a wedding. Yes, EVER. Throughout all of history (what are the chances, right?) Seriously. The pastor stands up after the praise band is done, welcomes everybody and proceeds to read one of the "classic" wedding scriptures in the bible. No, not Corinthians 13 (Love is patient, love is kind...). Nor Colossians 3 (Love binds all virtues together in perfect unity...), Genesis 2 (God makes woman to be a companion for man) or even Ephesians 5 (man leaves father and mother to become one with his wife). Nope, this particular pastor instead chose the old reliable Exodus 20:14: "You shall not commit adultery."

My jaw literally dropped. At 9:30 on a Saturday night, I had to sit through a 1/2 hour sermon railing against fornication and infidelity ... during a WEDDING! And this guy was angry too! I couldn't believe it. I've gotta say that I was actually kind of offended and saddened for the couple from Santa Isabel church getting married. Here we are at what should be the most memorable night of their lives and instead of a reflection celebrating marriage as the closest humans ever get to loving each other as God loves us, the pastor criticizes our generation for sexual promiscuity, lack of commitment, and estrangement from God. He said that Christians need to be defenders of marriage and family. You would think that a conservative/fundamentalist preacher would be the LAST person to make marriage/weddings all about sex, but that's exactly what this guy did. The sermon was all about sex, but instead of praising what he saw as the "good" kind of sex - monogamous and pure, within the commitment of a heterosexual marriage - he instead just blasted all the "bad" kinds of sex: lustful, instant gratification, outside of marriage etc. I just hope the couple was still able to enjoy the gift of the "good" kind of sex that night for the first time, because the sermon was definitely a mood-killer. To top it all off, after the sermon was over, he was explicitly clear during the vows that the husband is the head of the household and the wife must SUBMIT to him. No questions asked. To love your husband is to obey and faithfully follow him till death do ye part. And accordingly, the organist (who was actually just playing an electronic keyboard) was playing an eerie sounding, slow tune slowly crescendo-ing and building higher and higher by half steps, like during an old-fashioned horror/suspense movie right before disaster strikes. It's almost as if the message to the bride was "are you SURE you want to go through with this?" (and fundamentalist Christians wonder why people don't want to get married any more...)

The only thing that kept me sane was the conversation I had afterward with my host family and some other friends from Santa Isabel church that were in attendance. I'm not sure how quickly they would have brought it up themselves, but after the ceremony was over one of the first thing's I said was that I thought the sermon was awful and angry-sounding. Luckily, they agreed with me. I'm not sure what I would have done if they told me that such sermons were normal in Peruvian Christian weddings. They said that even though they agreed with the pastor that the state of marriage is in trouble, it was disrespectful to use an actual wedding ceremony to launch an angry diatribe against "fornication."

Beginning Again

2008-12-04T16:03:00.004-05:00

Things have changed in the past month. Most importantly, I am now living with a new host family. For reasons that I don't feel comfortable discussing on a public blog, I had to leave the family of Daniela, Juan Carlos, Giulia, Juan, Damaris and Dayra. It was an extremely difficult decision to make, but now I am finally at peace with it. I'm happy to be living with my new host family, who are members of Santa Isabel Church. I live on the second floor of a 2-story house with my host parents Javier and Raquel. It still feels strange to call them host "parents" because they actually don't have any biological children, and they're barely 10 years older than I am. Javier and Raquel got married about 1 1/2 years ago, and Raquel is now 3 months pregnant, so before I finish my placement here I will have a new baby host "sibling!" The rest of the family, Blanca, Roberto, Kelli and Manuelito, live downstairs. Blanca is Javier's mother - she's very warm, friendly and animated, not to mention a great cook. Roberto, Javier's brother, is a huge Beatles fan and probably knows more about US culture, arts and politics than I do. His wife, Keli, is quiet and stays busy at home as a full-time mom, taking care of her and Roberto's 3 month old son Manuelito, who's the cutest, chubbiest baby I think I've ever seen.

One of the hardest parts about switching host families has been the fact that my new host family is definitely much more
"well off" than my old one. In my new home I actually have an internet connection in my room (which maybe I shouldn't have shared -- now you know that I have no excuse for not keeping in touch...), as well as a cable TV and DVD player. And not to mention I have hot water for showers! (Even if it is one of those electric heaters that warms the water up right as it's coming out of the shower head. Which I luckily haven't been shocked by, yet...) The reason I say having all of these familiar comforts is one of the "hardest" parts about staying with my host family is that I expected my YAV year to be all about the challenge of living simply, like the majority of the world does, without modern distractions like the internet and cable TV. I basically just felt like living here, with my new host family, wouldn't be "hardcore" enough, like it's against the principles of the YAV program. I mean, that's what we're trying to get AWAY from for a year, right? I didn't want to get sucked back into my old college habits of wasting countless hours with internet and TV.

But as my fellow Peru YAV Sean says, the YAV program is not about "martyring yourself." It's not a hardcore contest. I've realized that my guilt over not living in a mud hut without electricity or running water speaks volumes to my own extremely western/privileged attitude towards the whole experience. I mean, how "cool" would I be when I came back and told all my friends that I spent a year taking cold showers while living in poverty in South America? I definitely didn't realize how much I had been romanticizing the "idea" of living simply. And now that I'm complaining about being in a more comfortable situation, what will everyone's response be? "Oh poor Alex" they'll say "his noble ideals are being challenged because he has to suffer through another year of having access to cable television and the world-wide web at his fingertips."

I obviously haven't discussed any of these issues with people here in Peru. I somehow think they would have a hard time understanding why I would WANT to live in the most miserable, impoverished situation possible. It's not going to help me rack up "cool" points with them like I was secretly hoping it would with my fellow white, middle class American liberal Christian friends. Without even realizing it, in my self-righteous crusade to try and understand the way the "rest of the world" thinks, feels and lives I developed attitude that would probably leave those same people utterly dumbfounded.

OK, now that I've sufficiently bashed my old way of thinking, I'm going to take a moment to justify the initial aversion I had to my old living situation. Because I've been missing my friends, family, old habits etc so much during the past couple months, I think being able to get on the 'net 24 hours a day creates a significant obstacle to forming genuine, meaningful relationships with my friends, partners, family, "brothers and sisters in Christ" or whatever you want to call the people around me here in Peru. Instead of spending time talking, laughing, learning and growing with my host family, it's all to easy to retreat to my room, close the door, and be virtually transported back to my US life in an instant with email, instant messenger, blogs, skype phone calls, world news ticker updates, facebook, youtube etc. I don't know if I am willing to admit that I'm "addicted" to the internet, but I think most people who know me really well will tell you that I am, well, addicted to the internet. The only reason I'm hesitant to admit that myself is because for the 2 months I had with my first host family, when I would just spend an hour or two 3 days a week in the internet cafe, I was doing just fine. I'm a very adaptable person, and not having internet access wasn't too big of a challenge (like it should be if I'm really "addicted"). It was fairly easy for me to find other things to do. I had other ways to entertain myself, and I would spend the time that I would normally use to read blogs about the college football season and write on peoples facebook walls to instead hang out with my host family. The problem comes when the internet is easily accessible and available. That's when I have a hard time not doing anything else.

More than "martyring yourself" by living simply, I think the YAV program is about learning to play the hand that your dealt. Because of a situation largely out of my control, I've been dealt a hand that has put me in a living situation that's quite comfortable and in many ways, not too different from the one I was used to back in the good ol' U.S. of A . And instead of pouting about not being challenged with a scenario that pushes me further outside of my comfort zone, I need to be thankful for what I have. And I still have plenty of opportunities for personal growth. First off, I've been given the opportunity to be much more honest with myself, and in the process I've admitted the secretly selfish motives I had behind my supposedly self-less intentions. I also now have a wonderful opportunity to learn some self-discipline. If I really want to learn how to live simply and free myself from my mindless internet addiction, having to force MYSELF to learn how to moderate and optimize the time I spend online will go a lot further to this end than simply being forced to do so by outside circumstances.

I think that's about all for now. There will definitely be more blog entries to come about the details of my new family and the experiences I've had with them (I've been with them for nearly a month now). If you're curious about what exactly happened with my old host family, send me an email and I'll fill you in. Finally, my new address is:

... available on my facebook page! If you're friends with me on facebook, you can see it. If we're not "facebook friends" and you want my address, email me and I'll give it to you.

Christmas letters are welcome! Thanks for reading and keeping in touch. Please continue to keep me in your thoughts/prayers.

Pictures of Breakfast Tacos

2008-11-23T19:23:00.001-05:00

For those of you who are curious, I've posted ALL the pictures I've taken in Peru thus far (which isn't all that many, because I'm not a huge photographer-type person) on my Picasa website. It's listed in the photo links section on the sidebar.

Included in these pictures is documentation of my first cooking experiment in Peru. I made breakfast tacos this weekend for a group of friends from Santa Isabel's congregation. It was an adventure. Unlike back home in the States, they don't sell tortillas that are pre-made and packaged here. So the first step for this past weekend was learning how to make homemade flour tortillas (yeah, yeah, I know, I should have used corn, but the flour ones looked easier). Let's just say that the first batch kind of looked more like biscuits than tortillas -- how was I supposed to know that MORE water = THICKER tortillas?! I thought it would be the opposite!

I also couldn't find pre-made refriend beans. So I got to do that the old fashioned way as well: with a bunch of vegetable oil, pinto beans, salt, pepper and a little garlic. But somehow, everything came out edible, and nothing caught on fire. And everyone at the meal CLAIMED that it tasted really good! I think it was the first meal I've had in weeks that didn't include ANY rice OR potatoes! The Peruvians were all worried about the gastronomical after-affects of eating a bunch of eggs, beans, sausage and cheese all mixed together. I just told them that North Americans fart a lot.

Anyway, if you have any homemade refried beans/tortilla tips, let me know! (I'm talking to YOU Guatemala YAVs!)

The White Randy Jackson

2008-11-21T23:20:00.001-05:00

Last week, I served as a member of a "jury" for an elementary school singing contest. Yep, not kidding. My friend Eva helps me teach English at Santa Isabel (she definitely speaks English better than I speak Spanish, despite the fact she's never traveled outside of Peru), and her husband is the music director of the local elementary school. Every year, the school has a big concert/contest where choirs and individuals from all grade levels perform. He always has trouble finding people who are "qualified" enough to serve on the jury to judge the contest. Eva told me all of this a few weeks ago after finding out that I played trombone for 8 years during elementary, middle and high school. And then she asked me if I would be on the jury. I told her I would be on it as a last resort - that her husband should continue looking for people, and if he just couldn't find anyone else, I would do it. And you can figure out what happened from there.

Before the contest, I had to prepare my "resume" that detailed my musical experience. So I wrote down on a piece of paper that I played trombone in concert band and marching band from 8 years. For good measure, I added that I was in my church's handbell choir (which mainly consisted of going to practice about twice a month--and all we really did was play stuff like chords for "Silent Night" during Christmas). After I showed my resume to Eva, she insisted that we spice it up a bit. So I didn't just play trombone for 8 years - I played trombone and studied music for 8 years at the "Institute" of Decatur High School. And when the MC of the concert/contest announced the jury, I was introduced as "Professor" Alex Cornell, a "specialist" in wind instruments, who studied music for eight years at an Institute in the United States of America! They didn't mention that, as a judge of a singing competition, I hadn't EVER received ANY type formal instruction in voice/singing/performance, and the last time I had practiced or participated in any sort of organized singing group was when I was in the church choir in 5th grade. In fact, until my sophomore year of college I thought the only meaning of the word "jury" was the group of people who decides if the defendant in a court of law is guilty or not guilty.

So suffice it to say, as I'm sitting there between ACTUAL music professors (or so I thought--you never now...) getting introduced at the beginning of what would eventually be a 5 hour concert, I couldn't help but feel a little silly and out of place. I was mainly just praying that I wouldn't inadvertently ruin the promising future of some 5 year old musical child prodigy by giving him or her an undeserved low score. I really had no idea what I was doing -- seriously, I don't even watch American Idol!

To evaluate the performers, we (the jury) had to give them scores from 1 to 5 in four categories: pitch, rhythm, diction and performance. Let me just take a moment to say that the spanish word for performance is "interpretación," which I thought (wrongly) meant "interpretation" (duh). I didn't find out until the next day that it actually means "performance." So while they were supposed to be graded on pitch, rhythm, diction and performance, I graded them on pitch, rhythm, diction and interpretation. I quickly learned that it didn't matter that much anyway. As long as you don't give 1's and don't give 5's (unless somebody is REALLY good or REALLY bad), everything will be okay. Throughout the night, my judging method was more or less "hmmmmm, let's pick a random number between 2 and 4." Especially for the 3 year olds. That's right, there were 3 year olds (just choir groups, not individuals). How are you supposed give a group of 12 three year olds a score for "pitch" when the only thing the choir director is concerned about is preventing them from wandering off the stage in the middle of their "performance?" They were all really cute though....

Luckily, one of the other members of Santa Isabel Church, who was once a professional musician, was also on the jury, and he let me copy off of his paper. I'm also lucky that all we had to do as members of the jury was to grade those 4 categories with a number between 1 and 5 and add up the four numbers for a final score. If there was a "comments" section, I'm pretty sure my cover would have been blown. During the couple days leading up to the contest, I pictured us (the judges) giving verbal feedback, American Idol style. I figured I could just be like a "celebrity" judge. They could put me last in the line-up, and after all of the serious judges who knew what they were doing gave technical feedback, I would be waiting at the end as the US native-gringo who just told them if their outfits looked funny or that they gave "a great effort."

I DID end up giving a couple "5's" in the competition. There was one kid who was I think 7 years old who was AMAZING. I learned later that evening that he's been on TV singing multiple times. He sang a mariachi song in a full mariachi outfit. At the beginning of his performance, as the audience sat in silence waiting for him to sing while the instrumental introduction to the song played he suddenly yelled the Spanish equivalent of "put your hands together!" to get everyone to start clapping. From that point on, I was sold.

So that's my first ever jury duty experience - in either a courtroom OR a concert. I guess this is what the "new experiences" of being a Y.A.V. are all about.

Culture shock...

2008-11-17T10:38:00.001-05:00

First things first: no more virus. Sasser = matado. Which is good news.... sort of. I hate to admit it, but the virus kinda won. With the help of my computer friend, I ended up just starting over and erasing my hard drive. But, like I good boy scout, I came to Peru prepared for just such a situation. Before I left the states, I backed up everything on an external hard drive, and brought along all of the re-installation disks for my operating system, drivers, programs etc. And all the new documents I've created IN Peru since then, I've saved to my flash drive. So even though I had to erase everything to kill the virus, I had all of the important stuff backed up. And now all is back to normal. So we'll call it a draw. But now I have NOD32, so you won't be so lucky next time, Sasser...

* * * * * *

I've been in Peru for 11 weeks now, and so I thought I'd do a little reflecting on how things are going.

At this point in my work, I feel frustrated a lot of the time. Mainly frustrated with myself. See, I speak Spanish fairly well, and people frequently compliment me on how well I speak. Still, after living here for 2 and half months, the daily challenge of using a foreign language ALL the time has gotten to me. Sometimes when people talk to me, I just hear a blur. On the other end, I often just lack the vocabulary I need to express myself. It's REALLY frustrating not only to hear someone repeat something 3 times without understanding it, but even more so when YOU repeat yourself 3 or 4 times without being understood, even though you think you've explained whatever it is you're trying to say perfectly. My Spanish is getting better, but I really have to admit that I thought it would be a lot easier by this point.

I've also felt frustrated with my own ethnocentrism. I find myself blaming things that are different or "worse" than home on the Peruvian or Latin/South American culture. "They're just not as educated or advanced as we are." I would have told you you were crazy if you told me I'd find myself saying or thinking things like that before I left. Back before I came to Peru, when it was all just hypothetical, I always hated the typical "western = better, rest of world = inferior" worldview. I never understood it when I met people in the US who'd spent a lot of time traveling or living in another country, yet they seemed like the most snobbish Americans ever. I felt like this type of "ignorant" attitude in people who had NEVER in their lives left the US, (or the South, or Texas....) was easily forgivable and explainable, but to hear it from people who'd spent months or years traveling abroad just baffled me. But now, I'm kind of starting to understand how even these well-traveled and "cultured" people could sadly have the same type of mindset.

Back home, especially for white, upper-middle class university students, appreciating new perspectives and acknowledging the value of other cultures, peoples, worldviews etc is relatively easy, because it's all in THEORY. You're just doing it at 9:30 on a Monday, inside a modern, western university classroom, with other white, upper-middle class students and a white, upper-middle class professor. And after the 50 minute class period is over, you don't really have to think about it again until next Wednesday; meanwhile, you're going back to your dorm room to spend 4 hours surfing YouTube.

However, when you're living abroad in a culture where you don't speak fluently the language you need to survive, and when cyclical poverty, domestic violence, drug/alcohol abuse, gang activity and non-western thought processes actually become daily realities rather than bite-sized, easy-to-swallow textbook concepts, theory goes out the window. Life back home seems so simple, so easy, so FUN! in comparison.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Alex, aren't you supposed to be an 'expert' at this kind of stuff, Mr. Sociology gruaduate? Aren't their GLOBAL social processes at work?" And, YES, I know there are "global processes" going on far beyond the scope of what I see at a micro-level during my daily life in Comas. I FREQUENTLY find myself applying what I've learned in classes to what I see here in Peru. But at some point it all just becomes "blah blah blah, globalization, blah blah blah, free-trade, blah blah blah, the multi-national corporations, blah blah blah, neo-colonialism, blah blah blah, self-fulfilling prophecy, blah blah blah..."

And maybe the fact that I pretend to understand the macro-level socio-economic theoretical concepts (how's that for a string of fancy words that doesn't really say much?) just makes it worse. Because then it just makes me go back to the attitude of "I understand this situation, because I'm an enlightened Westerner, and the Peruvians don't." In conversations with people, I just find myself thinking "if only they understood, if only they thought like I think, things would be better." And I can't stand it when I find myself having these thoughts.

I could definitely go more into some of this, but I can't right now. I don't think living in Peru is turning me into a cultural imperialist or anything like that. I'm just frustrated, because I'm learning that I'm a little more prejudiced, ethnocentric and "ignorant" than I first thought.

The Virus

2008-11-11T14:44:00.001-05:00

For all of you computer-literate type people out there, the name of my laptop's virus is "The Sasser Worm" (cue ominous scary music). I looked up information about it online, and it sounds pretty scary. All of the ways I read about to kill it are kind of beyond my computer knowledge.

I have a friend here who is a computer systems engineer, but I think he's having trouble understanding the problem, because although I speak spanish pretty well, I'm not too good with the whole computer jargon vocabulary.

If you ever start up your computer and soon see the message "LSA Shell (Export Version) experienced a problem and needed to close," followed by another pop-up window that says "The system process C://WINDOWS\system32\lsass.exe terminated unexpectedly with error status code 128" and a countdown timer telling you your computer will shut itself down in 60 seconds, then you're in trouble....

Protesting the Devil

2008-11-06T20:54:00.002-05:00

On Friday, I went to my first protest here in Lima. Generally, I’m a fan of protests. Free speech and Democracy in action. It’s the “cool” thing to do when you’re a college-ish aged white kid – standing up to the establishment. Even better – this was a church protest.

Every year, the kids at Kilometer 13’s compassion program hold a protest against Halloween. A protest march, that is. All of the kids bring posters that say things like “Say No to Halloween, Say Yes to Jesus!” And they have pictures of jack-o-lanterns in red circles with slashes through the middle. Many of the kids wear sandwich-board style signs with messages on both sides. One girl, who must have been about 4, wore an adorable pink sandwich-board sign with white cloth frills around the edges that said “No Al Halloween”on the front and “Christo Te Ama” on the back. Unfortunately, I’m still kind of paranoid about bringing my camera places in light of getting robbed a month ago, so I don’t have pictures of this event. I really, really wish I had brought it, because the photos would have been awesome to share.

So as you probably already knew, I wasn’t exactly in favor of the cause behind this particular protest, but that doesn’t matter. I kept that little fact to myself. Living with this bit of hypocrisy is a small price to pay to be able to say that I participated in a protest march against Halloween on the streets of Lima, Peru. There were about 60 or so kids marching, and 5 or 6 older leaders to help keep them in order. We walked a good 9 or 10 block loop, the whole time shouting “¡No al Halloween! ¡Si al Cristo!” and other variations on this basic theme. People in the neighborhood came out of their houses and stores to watch us. Most just stared in bewildered silence, but a few clapped along.

I’m still not exactly sure why the churches here are so anti-Halloween. They say it’s all about the Devil. I must say I’m kind of unfamiliar with the origins of Halloween and trick-or-treating myself. I kind of like the idea of kids dressing up and getting free candy. I guess the pagans just have all the fun holidays…

Oh well, I thought the protest was tons of fun. Of course, I’m still pro-Halloween. But I’m definitely not anti-Halloween protest marches. If the churches here want to be against Halloween, I say go for it. All the kids had a blast. They had been talking about it with excitement earlier in the week. I think they’d be pretty disappointed if next year the adults told them that things had changed and Halloween was okay now. They have a blast drawing pictures and making posters. And who doesn’t like the idea of marching around a neighborhood en masse shouting “¡No Al Halloween!” at the top of your lungs?

Fulbito Feats and Follies

2008-10-30T14:31:00.002-05:00

I wrote this entry about two weeks ago, I think so imagine that the date on it says October 17 or so. This entry is also posted in the group blog for the Peruvian YAVs: http://www.presbyterianllamas.blogspot.com/

I play fulbito at 7:30am every Saturday with the youth from Kilometer 13 church its surrounding neighborhood in Comas. It’s definitely one of the highlights of my week. Fulbito is miniature soccer, played on a concrete “field” that’s the same size as a basketball court. The goals are maybe 1/3 the size of regular soccer goals, and six people play on each team instead of 11. When we play at Kilometer 13, there are usually close to 20 people there, so two teams play while a 3rd team waits to play the winner of a short game to two goals. Fulbito is much more popular than regular “fútbol” here in Lima if for no other reason than the fact that there just isn’t space for full-sized grass fútbol fields. I haven’t quite been to all of them, but I would venture to guess that every neighborhood in Lima has at least one fulbito court.

I’m sure at some point someone in Hollywood has made a movie about kids in Latin America playing serious pick-up fulbito, and I just haven’t seen it. (I don’t need to see it – I already know that it’s about how the neighborhood kids are really good at fulbito, but they’re also really poor. They play a game against a group of richer kids with more resources and less social/family issues…. Blah blah blah, eventually they overcome their obstacles, the ragtag underdog team wins the big game and everyone lives happily ever after). Seriously though, there are all sorts of movies that follow this same formula as it applies to street basketball and even baseball, why not fulbito?

I really do feel like I’m in a movie sometimes when I play fulbito on Saturdays. We play with the same ragged, faded soccer ball every week. The top cross bar of one of the goals on our court is broken, and has been tied on with rope. The court doesn’t have walls or a fence, so when the ball gets kicked out of bounds, someone has to run into the street to retrieve it, dodging traffic as they go (don’t worry, whenever this is my job I’m always very careful; I’m not trying to win the “which YAV will get hit by a car first” prize). The walls of many of the nearby buildings are covered in graffiti, and trash lines the streets. Mostly the same guys show up to play every week. Some of them have nicknames. Most of them wear the same shirt and pair of shorts each week. Many wear shoes with holes in them, or with soles that are coming apart and flap in the wind like the tongue of a dog panting on a hot day. Some of them start playing at 6:30 in the morning, as soon as it’s light outside (or so I’m told – I haven’t quite gotten up that early yet to find out).

Usually I feel like I’m “Smalls,” the main character in The Sandlot. When I showed up the first week, I was the new kid in town, and an obvious gringo, clad in “fancy” running clothes. With very few exceptions, I hadn’t played soccer since I was 13. But I came with Julio, a youth from the church that plays regularly. He introduced me to everyone one by one and assigned me to a team and position. Near the very beginning of my very first game, I took a throw-in after the ball went out of bounds and accidentally threw the ball to someone on the other team. He was left with only the goalie to beat, and immediately scored an easy goal. An argument then ensued over whether the goal should count or not, since the guy wouldn’t have scored if it hadn’t been for the stupid gringo on the other team taking the throw-in. Afterwards, I offered to switch out and let someone else play for me. Of course they told me everything was okay and insisted that I keep playing.

Since that first week, I’ve made plenty of other mistakes and looked pretty silly a zillion times, but I’ve slowly been getting better, remembering some elementary fundamentals from my preteen, rec-league soccer days and figuring out some basic strategies that are unique to fulbito. Two weeks ago, I even scored my first goal. Our best player beat a defender on a breakaway, and I followed, sprinting behind him. As he prepared to take a shot, I “crashed” the goal. The goalie blocked his shot, but by sheer luck the deflection bounced right to me and I drilled it into the back of the net. (Just kidding. Do you seriously think our goals would have nets? I just had to say that for poetic effect. But yes, I scored.) The third team that was watching went nuts. I tried to pretend like it was no big deal as I casually jogged back to my side of the court and high-fived my teammates, but I’m sure they would tell you that I was grinning like an idiot.

However, my real “Sandlot” moment happened this past Saturday. We had been playing for a good hour or so when one of the players on the other team decided to take a “one-touch” shot as hard as he could off a deflection. The ball soared over the goal, over the street, and over the roof of the house on the other side. As you probably know if you’ve ever been to a city in Latin America, the houses here don’t really have “side yards” between them. Each block is basically one big concrete street front, divided between different houses of different sizes and colors. So we couldn’t just run after the ball, because there’s no space between buildings. The funny part is that I had been playing goalie, meaning I would normally have the responsibility of retrieving the ball when it goes out of bounds. I just sort of looked back at everyone and said something to the effect of “now what?” A few of the guys climbed up on the concrete bleachers that line one side of the court to try and see where the ball went. (I kept waiting for one of them to say “great, no we can’t play ball no more!”)

I was sure the ball had landed in the yard of a massive, monster guard dog, but at least the ball wasn’t signed by Pele or Ronaldino or David Beckham or anything like that. (This is a good thing, because I didn’t exactly bring an erector set to Peru…) As we all sort of stood around, scratching our heads, one of the guy finally decided to go knock on the door of the house that the ball went over. Eventually a man opened the door. I can only imagine how the conversation went from there: “yes, a soccer ball didn’t happen to crash through your roof a moment ago, did it?” He went back inside, and sure enough a couple minutes later he emerged with the ball. I guess the families in this neighborhood are probably used to soccer balls flying into their backyards during breakfast time on Saturday. We thanked the man, took the ball and kept playing.

So if a movie about fulbito hasn’t been made yet, now’s the time. And I want some royalties. But if I’m not entitled to any profits, all I ask is that you don’t include “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” in the soundtrack.

- Alex

Quick Update

2008-10-26T17:28:00.001-05:00

Although I've somehow managed to go 8 weeks in Peru without getting majorly sick, my laptop has come down with a virus, I'm afraid. So that means I'm kind of having trouble writing updates on my laptop, saving them on a flash drive and uploading them at an internet cafe, like I normally do.

So just know that I'm doing well. The Peru YAVs had a wonderful retreat in Huanuco, the land of eternal spring (seriously, the weather was georgous). I left Lima Friday night and returned tuesday night. We all got a chance to enjoy great food, weather and fellowship.

I guess I just hope that the retreat re-energized us enough to make it through big, bad November. November is supposedly the most difficult month of the YAV year, as culture shock is at its worst, because the differences between Peru and the United States that we don't mind when they're new and exciting start to get you down when they become old, stale and unchanging. So far I'm doing well as far as that goes. I have good days and bad days. On my good days, I feel like I could actually be a for-real missionary some day - you know, as a career. On my bad days, I can't help but despair that I won't be able to go home for another 9 months. To cope, I've thought about making a "Top 30 Reasons to Prefer Peru to the US" list, and then reveal one every day during November. Right now I'm having trouble getting to 30, but I have at least one: Thankfully, in Peru, in order to see/hear Sarah Palin on TV, you have to really try hard to look for her. Apparently in the US, you guys aren't so lucky....

Also, yesterday I went to a "Pollada" (yeah, the closest translation would be a "chicken bar b que) with the kilometro 13 church. So I'll leave you with the steps to have you're own pollada.

1. Get a chicken from the market.
2. Cut its head off
3. Cut the claws off the feet.
4. Save the feet.
5. Cut out its intestines.
6. Save everything else.
7. Grill or fry to taste.

Yeah, I'm leaving out some steps. But you get the idea. This is why I tell people in Peru I don't know how to cook. In the US, I would tell someone with all confidence "yes, I can be in charge of grilling the chicken for the family bbq." If you say that in Peru, they'll hand you an entire chicken. And you better save the heart, liver and other internal organs -- some people think those are the best parts!

Something tells me it's all happening at the zoo....

2008-10-13T13:31:00.002-05:00

A couple things: First of all, I’ve changed the settings of my blog so anyone can comment – you don’t need a log-in name. So feel free to add comments. Try to say who you are, if you’re not logged into gmail. I’ll delete anonymous comments if they start getting out of control.
Second: I’ve been here for six weeks now, which is longer than I’ve ever been outside of the country. Weird.
Third: I still haven’t eaten guinea pig (“cuy”) yet, but this weekend the YAVs have a retreat in Huanuco/Tingo Maria. This will be the first time that I’ve left Lima. People have told me they eat a lot more cuy outside of Lima, in the provinces. So wish me luck…

Last Wednesday, we went to the zoo.Well, it wasn’t just a zoo. We went to Parque Sinchi Roca. “We” were myself, Damaris, Daniela, Julia, Cristiano, and Dayra. According to Daniela, Sinchi Roca is the largest park in Lima. And I believe her. It’s huge. And it’s really nice, as far as things in Comas go. For one, it’s green. There’re actually trees and grass. And a giant pool (which was closed until summer), a tiny man-made lake with paddle boats and motor boats you can rent (reminiscent of Lake Susan in Montreat, but smaller, if you can imagine that), camp sites, plenty of soccer fields, a small zoo (obviously), amusement park-type rides, food/drink/souvenir stands and even TRASH CANS!!!! (big, outdoor public trash cans are almost non-existent in Lima).

Yesterday was a holiday, which I didn’t find out until the day before yesterday – I had been planning to go to work with the compassion program all day. I’m still not sure exactly what the holiday was. Daniela told me the name of the holiday, (which I forgot) but she didn’t know exactly why it exists. So since most families were off from school/work, the park was packed. Kids playing soccer. Couples picnicking on blankets in the grass. Huge groups of people circled around performers doing drama and comedy. All in all, it was a pretty cool scene. The whole scene overall kind of reminded me of Brackenridge Park in San Antonio on a nice weekend.

We actually didn’t get to the park until after 5pm, so we didn’t have too much time to explore before it started getting dark. The actually weren’t going to let us in to the zoo part of the park at first, but then Daniela pointed at me and said that it was her son’s last day in Peru before he went back to the United States, and they let us in. The zoo was very small, and mostly included animals from South/Central America. There were a couple gorgeous parrots and toucans, a bunch of different kinds of monkeys and small birds, a baby leopard, a giant constricting snake of some kind, a fox, and an adult puma. They were all in cages/exhibits that were probably much smaller than they should be. But you could get up really close and shake hands with/feed the monkeys, which was cool.

It was a fun afternoon. The entire family agreed we’ll have to go back some time, when the pool is open and when we have more time to see everything.