A Whisper and a Voice

I love being a “voice for the voiceless.” It's one of my great privileges to be able to whisper into the ears of the wealthy about the needs of the poor, and hope that God got there ahead of me.  

But on my first day back from a trip to El Salvador, I read a quote that challenged my preconceptions and brought the whole trip experience into focus.  

Our group started our visit there with a presentation by World Vision's national leadership team, and it seemed to me later that everything we saw that week cascaded from the strategic framework that was presented that first day...  When we wanted to learn what World Vision was doing to equip the churches, we met with the pastors and volunteers who are on the Christian Commitments committee. When we visited a water project, we learned about it from the local Water Board members. When we saw child protection work, we met youth leaders and a teacher and others who are all part of the Child Protection Coalition. When the topic was health, we met health professionals and youth and "mother coach" volunteers who serve on the Health Committee.

All this talk about committees may sound uninteresting or even bureaucratic, but the big idea is to mobilize various "actors" in the community to come together, work together, get equipped to do more, speak into the halls of power whether locally or nationally… and find their voice.  The shared goal is always to improve the well-being of children, and anyone in the community who cares about children is not only welcome but proactively invited and expected to participate.

Our final day was at an Area Development Project that had only been started 3-4 years ago.  One traveler said that a high point of her trip was when she asked the ADP Manager there how they get all the work done, and he explained that they have 8 staff... and 300 volunteers.  These community volunteers are the people who make it happen, even setting the agenda and priorities of their teams, with guidance and capacity-building help from World Vision staff.  They, much more than the staff, are making the change we and they want to see happen in their communities, and in the process, they are empowered to think of themselves differently and dream bigger than they ever thought possible.    

All of these thoughts were rumbling in my heart and head as I read In the Company of the Poor the next day and came to the following paradigm-bender by Latin theologian Gustavo Gutierrez: 

There is no true commitment to solidarity with the poor if one sees them merely as people passively waiting for help. Respecting their status as those who control their own destiny is an indispensable condition for genuine solidarity. For that reason the goal is not to become, except in cases of extreme urgency or short duration, the “voice of the voiceless” as is sometimes said— undoubtedly with the best of intentions— but rather in some way to help ensure that those without a voice find one.

Helping the "voiceless" find their own voice was in fact the underlying theme of everything we saw and experienced in El Salvador, and it was beautiful to witness.

It's true that Scripture calls us to "Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute.  Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy."  [PR 31:8-9 NIV]

But let me say--even happily now--that this is the second best solution. As beautiful as it is to defend the rights of another, how much more beautiful when that one can defend fairly their own rights.  It's actually tougher than we might admit to give over the reins of control to those who have been powerless.  How much we secretly enjoy being "benevolent" but ultimately maintaining control.

But as we heard it said in El Salvador, we must remember that the poor are "the actors in their own play." Thus, they--not we--are the ones who must ultimately make the decisions which will most affect their lives. Trusting them to do so is the challenge for all of us.

In fact, Jesus’ invitations to us are much more whisper than commandment (other than the command to love). And though that whisper still evokes a violent rejection by some, which we mark again on Good Friday, yet we would have it no other way. So maybe I still get to whisper to the wealthy, and trust my colleagues in our field offices to treat the poor with that same dignity and respect. We each are the actor in our own play.

Cory

March 2014

DQ'ed

I started my Lenten observation last week with a sunrise Ash Wednesday mass at the cathedral in San Miguel, El Salvador.  The church covered a full city block, and the doors on three sides were all flung wide open, giving a wonderful sense of worship in the midst of life's noisy activity, of respite at the center of the waking city's hustle and bustle. I've been writing a bit lately, and as part of my observance of Lent I will attempt to share some thoughts which have been especially meaningful to me, and I hope something will add benefit to this season for you, as well.

DQ'ed

As I swam this evening, I reflected on our very positive trip to El Salvador last week and some recent reading I've done on the invaluable contribution that Latin American Christianity has made to the global Church and beyond through its so-called theology of liberation.  Some altogether beautiful and invitational ideas have blossomed like crocuses from that milieu, such as God's "preferential option" for the poor, our call to live in solidarity with the powerless, and something Dr. Paul Farmer terms "accompaniment"--the idea that true service and effective ministry comes from actually accompanying the poor on their journey to wholeness and health, not just providing services which may or may not be helpful to them, for reasons we would never know without walking with them.

But I'm so frustrated that too much of this theology of liberation is far too new to me, as it is to most of the Church outside Latin America. Now, I'm familiar with some of its ideas, though in other terms. Other ideas were over my head when I read them 25-30 years ago, when I decided to trust more experienced believers (whom I trusted because they were like me) to discern the wheat and discard the chaff.  But part of the reason I did that was because liberation theology also used politically-charged words for that era, words like "comrade."  So I gave up on it.

Nelson Mandela also used such words, even up until his election. So when he died, I found myself feeling the odd need to temper the accolades he was receiving for his amazing global leadership. I felt that need because my personal discomfort with him in the 1970's and '80's kept me from " betting on his horse" then.

It's difficult to articulate how discouraged I feel about this.  I'm so terribly tired of having history find me too little aligned with those I should have been supporting.  And it's all because something they did or said caused me to, in swimming terms, DQ or disqualify them.  In a race, you can get DQ'ed for the slightest technicality...touching a wall the wrong way, or brushing the lane lines, for instance. Nothing else you did in that race mattered, because you were DQ'ed.

I've DQ'ed far too many people and teachings that would have enriched my life and perhaps the lives of others... Mandela because he visited Cuba and tolerated violence. Martin Luther King because he was purported to have had a longtime affair. Liberation theologians during the terrible upheaval in Latin America because they used language associated with communism and some of its proponents supported government overthrow against repressive regimes.  My response? To over-throw out the baby with the bathwater. 

This is more than a once or twice thing, where I can continue to fool myself into thinking, well OK, maybe I didn't align with the right side that time, but every other position I'm currently taking--or avoiding--is correct. No, there are some systemic problems which I need to face.  

As a middle-class American, and thereby one of the richest people on the planet, how would I like it if other people automatically DQ'ed my words on some topic which I know well, simply by saying "How can I listen to that guy when the Bible has 2000 verses on God's concern for the poor and the downtrodden and he can live in such a wealthy society? He has nothing to say that I could learn from."  How would any of us feel? And who says my DQ rules more valid than theirs? Oh, how much we miss because we are quick to DQ one another over technicalities.

Just as I want to be listened to, everyone deserves to be heard.  So here's the question I struggle with: Who do I continue to DQ today without even thinking about it? Who do I ignore and what do I dismiss or avoid?  It is often the most militant who are the most marginalized, and I've come to realize that in many cases this is the very reason they in their tremendous frustration have resorted to militancy.  My unwillingness to actually listen to their voice has contributed to them replacing their voice with their fist. Our collective DQ has made them provocative and incendiary, which only reinforces our stereotype about them and perpetuates misunderstanding and human devaluation.

This is not a call to neglect discernment. But far too often I've used that label to mask distrust and judgment. Rather, the call I sense from Jesus is that these are the very people, the very voices I must especially strain to hear.  In doing so, in giving them the dignity of their voice, I may just save them from becoming shrill, strident or even violent. And in the process, their voices may just redeem me.

Last night there was an odd smell wafting in the bedroom windows. We realized it was eucalyptus and manure. They use manure freely around here as fertilizer, and perhaps also where people grow crocuses, as well. Too often, my sixth sense for offense has kept me from finding the beauty right under my nose.

Cory

March 2014