I've been thinking a good deal about the Peru trip. Or rather, I've been describing/explaining it a good deal to others, which is forcing me to think about it.
I've begun to wonder more and more what it would mean to really love these kids. What if right now someone told me my sister was on the streets of Lima? And she had no money, no way to get home, no food to eat.
Honestly, I would instantly stop typing, and call my parents. Next I'd probably fire up expedia and find the quickest flight to Lima possible. I'd buy it right now, pack in a frenzy, call friend after friend until I got a ride to the airport and I would be gone. Then I would spend as much time and money as it took to find her and bring her home.
I would quite literally drop everything and spend thousands of dollars to rescue my sister. I would indefinitely put my life on hold.
If that is my response for my real sister, why not for my sisters in Christ? I think Jesus is serious when he says "who is my mother, who are my brothers? here they are. those who follow my Father in heaven are my mother, my sisters, my brothers". I think I don't take him nearly seriously enough. I think I don't have enough faith. I think I have too much fear.
There's a sense in which when we go on a mission trip, we claim we're going to "love people". Specifically in Peru, I'd say that kind of rhetoric was specifically used about vacation Bible school in the community. "Let's go love on some kids" meaning, let's go play some soccer and duck duck goose, sing some songs, learn a Bible verse, and talk about Jesus. Let's go back a couple days and then never see them again.
This approach to ministry (some have called it hit-and-run tactics) has never really sat well with me, and didn't sit so well with my team this time.
Don't get me wrong. Good things happen. Kids whose parents commute an hour to Lima every day and live in poverty don't have much to do during the summer when there's not school. Having a dozen gringos to play with, to be held by, to sing with, and talk to is probably a lot better than sitting at home. I hope in our broken Spanish we managed to pass on at least some sense that they were worth our time, our hugs, our energy, our attention. And even more that Jesus cares about them.
I'm afraid we may have passed on the idea that they're only worth a few days of our time. Or worse, that they're only worth a few days of Jesus' time.
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2 comments:
es algo fuerte decirlo asi, pero eso es la cosa...
Kenny, I hear you loud and clear. One of my struggles with HOPE Camp is that personally, I'm not in a place where I can help those hundred and twenty kids more than one week each a year, except in prayer. That's where I had to learn to lift them up to God. More than that, I feel the need to remind them that while I wish I could do more, love on them more, they need to learn to rely on God, not a person. But that doesn't excuse us from doing everything we can to help others. Your point about what would you do for your sister and why it doesn't line up with our actions towards our Christian family is convicting. Thanks for sharing that. Miss you, Kenny!
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