Ministry to Children

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Our Missionary Journey

All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit enabled them. Now there were staying in Jerusalem God-fearing Jews from every nation under heaven. When they heard this sound, a crowd came together in bewilderment, because each one heard their own language being spoken…..Amazed and perplexed, they asked one another, “What does this mean?” Some, however, made fun of them and said, “They have had too much wine.” Acts 2:4-13

When God poured His Holy Spirit upon all peoples, some mocked the disciples and said that they were drunk. This was not the only occasion that people failed to recognize His audible voice. Prior to the Passion, God spoke to Jesus in an audible manner. Some just heard thunder. Some thought an angel spoke. Only a few heard God’s voice (John 12:29). These were not special people. They were just people whose hearts were ready to listen to God. The Holy Spirit changed radically how the first disciples understood God and faith. God was no longer a property of a specific group or culture. He was, in a way, liberated to be who He is truly; a gracious and merciful God of all languages and peoples. He became truly impartial in the hearts and minds of the disciples. All languages contained the capability and concepts to express the divine mystery of God’s grace. In other words, God revealed that He was and is speaking and working among all peoples. Our missionary task is to discern His presence among them.

I have been a missionary in three different seasons of my life. I started out as a lone ranger missionary. It wasn’t because I thought that I did not need anybody. I just allowed my zeal and enthusiasm dominate my actions. I wasn’t necessarily foolish. Maybe I was a little impatient. I was only 23 then. I had an idealistic view of missions. I left for the missionary field thinking that it was a lifetime call and I was never going to return to my land of origin. This actually turned out to be true. I remember saying goodbye to my father at the airport. It was the last time I ever lived in the same place as he did.

In my first missionary experience, I went out with the intention to bring the gospel to people who have not heard the gospel message. I went to the Amazon first. It sounds cliché but I thought it would be a good place to start my missionary journey. It was a complete failure, at least from my perspective. However, it did help me realize that I am diehard urban citizen. I only felt truly at home in a concrete jungle. Any city under 4 million habitants was a small town for me. It became obvious that I should retry my missionary efforts in São Paulo. I left for São Paulo from the Amazon as I was turning 25 and started working with the homeless children and teens immediately. I loved it. It was like coming home to a place where I never knew existed. I always felt close to God where a normal human being would want to flee. Not because it was dangerous. It was the unforgiving stench. It would be obscene to try to describe it. We are still not immune to it but we won’t trade places for anything. It is the place where God meets us. He meets us in the strangest place. It was here where I met my wife and we became one unit in ministry. People now cannot imagine a time when we weren’t together. Things were going great until we had to leave against our will. It was an issue with our visa to stay in Brazil. We moved to the States and worked on returning to missions. We managed to do it but it was a failure. Well, perhaps at this point, it would be appropriate to mention that there is really no such thing as failure in God’s economy. It is all part of our personal maturity. A true failure would be giving up completely. We almost did this but something gave us the strength to move forward. Before we could do this, we needed to understand why the failures were pivotal in our understanding of missions.

During our first missionary experience in the streets, the Holy Spirit opened our eyes to see that these children needed to be connected with the church. Our second trip we tried to create this connection according to our own understanding and wisdom and thankfully, it was a disaster. This is our third return to missions to the same place. This time we realized that missionary work is not our task. We don’t make things happen. It starts and ends with the Holy Spirit. It started on the day when God poured His Spirit on all peoples. The gifts He bestowed upon His disciples were to help them discern and participate in His work. We don’t bring God to these places or peoples. God is already there, about a million steps ahead of us. He calls us to do something simple. He did say that His yoke is easy. He calls us to listen and testify to His Voice of Grace and Mercy that is always actively present wherever people are present.

His voice connects us with each other. The church is defined by those who listen and heed the voice of the Holy Spirit. We took us many years to realize that any effective ministry begins by listening to the Holy Spirit. We listened and listened. Then our eyes were opened to see what God is doing. However, we still can’t see the whole picture. It is not necessary. God does not burden us with all the details. He gives us what we can handle. There is injustice and violence and pain and suffering where we work. We don’t know the answer to all these problems. However, we can love despite not having the solutions. Then God showed us that love cannot be separated by space and language. He is able to connect those who listen to His voice even if they are thousands of miles apart. We testify to this truth. It is amazing that a boy who can hardly read or write can say complex foreign names like Nancy and Jenny or Kat perfectly when these names are usually difficult in his native tongue. It is because they are no longer strange names. They are people who have become part of their lives. We thought that it was up to us to connect the church with the children. In reality, God was already doing it. Sisters and brothers, mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers who write to these children were not inspired by us to do so. They are people whom God has prepared for this task. It doesn’t mean that those who do not do this aren’t listening to His Spirit. It only means that God has another project for them. He is doing something among all peoples. Mission work is learning to listen and discern God’s project in our midst

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A Closed Book

Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit. John 12:24

I just finished a book. It has kept me up for two nights. Thankfully, yesterday was a public holiday and I could afford a late night of reading. It was one of those books that demands a second reading. For now, it will return to its place on my book shelf. I am beginning to have a small library. It seems like I am always rebuilding my personal library. It coincides with the new phases of my life. This one is four years old just like our ministry here. I noticed that I am reading books that I never thought that I would read in another time. Before, I was more indiscriminate in my reading. Maybe it is a sign that I am getting old. I remember a pastor whose sermon I can no longer recall but I remember one small digression he made in his discourse. He observed that when he was young, he had tons of friends. Now he is older, he only has friends that he can count with one hand. Perhaps it is this way with everything. As we mature, we realize that it is not quantity but quality that really counts.

Some reading this might remember that I used to write frequently about Igor. Much of our reflections centered on our interactions with him then. I haven’t written much about him lately. For those who are not familiar with him I will give a brief introduction. He was a homeless young man who had lived in the streets since he was 8. For a short period, we were his parents and he was our son. I think this best describes our relationship. Thankfully, he is no longer in the streets. He managed to find his way out. He has not found a completely stable situation but he is at a stage where the streets no longer hold any appeal to him. He used to come by our house time and time again, kept us up to date with the ups and downs of his life. However, it has been a while since we heard from him. The last time was a phone call in the beginning of this year. The conversation was different. He called and then he was silent. It wasn’t a worrisome silence. It was a silence that informed our souls that things have changed. We live in different worlds now but it was good while we existed in the same one. I think that he just wanted to see if things have really changed. Perhaps, this was the reason for the call.

I had to bring up subjects to talk about. I spoke about Janaina. Now, I have to say something about her. Not everyone might know her. Well, the most succinct way to do this is to say that she was someone we knew when she was a homeless child 20 years ago. Today she is a mother of a beautiful child and a caregiver in a group home for mentally-ill adults. We never thought that we would be in contact with her again. Now, she comes to our house on a regular basis. Igor has met her once. I commented that she came by our house and was doing well. Then, he asked, “Does she have Jesus in her heart?” I have heard this question so many times but it was strange hearing it from Igor. He is part of a Pentecostal Church. It is his spiritual home presently. He has adopted its culture and mannerisms. The church divides people into two categories; those with Jesus in their hearts and those without. I understood his question but I don’t believe in its simple mathematics. I am an Anglican. We don’t open windows into people’s souls. I told him that Janaina is very concerned about doing what is right in God’s eyes. I hope it answered his question. He did not say much. He changed the subject and talked about his church activities. He is helping his pastor in the church and working with the pastor. The conversation ended soon after this.

Igor has moved on. He is detached himself from the street life. We are still connected to it. It is the place where we are going to be staying for a long time, God willing. It means that he has to let us go. If not, his link with the street will be sustained through us. It is not a positive connection for him now. He needs to move forward and forget everything that was behind him in order to reach his goal. Unfortunately, we are intrinsically part of his past. Perhaps this was the nature of our last conversation. It was a realization that our time together has come to end. It was time to let things die. We understand. He needs to grow and discover for himself what it means for him to be a child of God in this world. We discovered that our place is in the streets. He has different books to read. We were glad that we were a chapter in his life. Now, I can close this chapter and put it on the shelf. We would like to read this book again, maybe sometime in the future.

Janaina was a closed book for a long time. One day the Holy Spirt blew the dust off the cover and loaned this precious book to us again. We get to read another chapter with her. She is studying English with Mary and, afterwards, we usually have lunch together. It is interesting that when we knew her in the streets, we never imagined this present scenery occurring. The English language was the bridge that connected us to Igor. It was the first thing he wanted to learn from us. We had regular English lessons with him in the streets and this was how our relationship grew. Perhaps one day 20 years from now, Igor will be having lunch with us on a weekly basis.

Igor is gone from our lives for now. Unfortunately Igor is not a book that belongs to my library. He belongs to God. We just had the privilege to read his book for a brief moment. Perhaps God will allow us another glimpse at it. I hope so.

Do we consider Igor a success story? Well, there is no such thing as success or failure in what we do. There are just blessings. It was a blessing to know him and it is an extra blessing that God has brought Janaina back into our lives. To call it a success would be reducing this wonderful thing into something trivial. I like the idea of books. They invite me into their world and I leave being deeply enriched. It was a wonderful gift from God to read a chapter in the life of our dear friend and one-time son, Igor.

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Judging Others

Jesus said, “Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye?” (Matthew 7:3). Reading this, I decided that it was time to take a look in the mirror. I saw a young teenager in high school. His teachers, the good ones, or rather, the ones that really mattered, were telling him that he was doing a good job in his studies and how proud they were of him. For unknown reasons, the boy was happy and terrified at the same time. He did not want to disappoint his teachers. He did not want to lose their affection, but alas, he lost confidence in himself. He sank into the abyss of low grades. He stopped interacting with his teachers. He thought that he lost their affection forever. They remained the same, perhaps just a little puzzled. They could not understand why the boy was not doing well. Neither did the boy. It just happened. Something triggered in his soul that made him think that he wasn’t worthy of this kind of attention. It didn’t make sense then and still it is mystery. We are such complicated beings. I have spent enough time in the mirror. Now I am ready to write to about another teenager who is not me. He was late and we had been waiting for him for almost an hour.

We had marked a dentist appointment for him. He had been complaining about his toothache for months. We tried going to the free clinics but nothing came out of it except free painkillers. This time we went to a private practitioner. This boy had suffered enough. It was time to get the problem solved once and for all and yet he was late. We told the dentist that we might have to cancel the appointment. She was kind enough to say that she was able to attend to him even if he showed up an hour late. Then we saw him walking nonchalantly towards us. We wondered what excuse he was going to conjure up. He did say a word. He just walked past us. I was furious. What a rude boy! I thought. Then I remembered that this was not unusual behavior for him. I went up to him practicing all the self-control I could muster up and asked him if he remembered his appointment. We had reminded him for several days and the day before we got the time and place finalized. He said yes and then mumbled something incoherent. It was pointless to sit there and talk about the virtue of punctuality with him at that moment. Time was ticking. We asked him if he still wanted to go to the dentist. He nodded and off we went. Two extractions later, he walked out of the dental clinic smiling and then he went on his way without saying a word of gratitude. It would be easy to jump to conclusions about this boy. He is not ungrateful or rude. He is who he is. One of the other teens remarked recently that this boy was truly strange. He is not strange neither. He was just severely neglected. It is not an excuse. It is just the plain fact. He does not know how to interact with people in a normal way. He is not autistic. He is aware of people but he doesn’t know how to engage them. He has spent most of his life unstimulated. His cluelessness is coherent. He doesn’t do anything illegal but he doesn’t know how to do anything positive for himself. He just exists without knowing why. He did thank us in his own way after two days. He greeted us with a big smile. This is the best he could do. I won’t mention his name. It is not necessary. We don’t want anyone to have a negative opinion of him. He has enough of that in his life. He is a very different kind of teenager but not by his choice.

Danyel has been in the hospital for five days. He suffered an accident. He almost got killed and fortunately he only suffered a broken leg. It is something that can be fixed. Naturally he was shaken up by the whole incident. He had been sniffing paint thinner and the doctors could not administer any painkillers until the chemical substance leaves his system. Apparently this is an eight-hour process. He just laid there in agony on a cold bed in the intensive care. He was surrounded by adults but none of them were his parents or relatives. Only one visitor was allowed at a time. Mary went in to see him first. He saw her and then broke down and cried. Perhaps he was waiting to do this the whole day. He needed to see a maternal face. I entered after her. He was much calmer by then. He told me that he almost died this day. He closed his eyes and rested.

His father showed up while he was in surgery and never returned after that. His mother only visited her son for the first time five days later. We were in the room when she came. She did not hug him. She said something to him but there was an obvious lack of affection. It wasn’t deliberate but strangely natural. Danyel is accustomed to it. He was happy to see her and was satisfied with her minimal display of fondness. It is not that Danyel is a hard child to love. Everyone adores him in the streets including complete strangers and even the nurses and doctors in the hospital fell in love with him. His mother looked like a person who had had a hard life. We got ready to leave the room so that Danyel could spend time with his mother. He insisted that we stay and she went downstairs to get some fresh air even though she only had been in the room for five minutes. The next day we found out that she did not stay long.

I can understand why Danyel and his brother are in the streets. The neglect is very clear. However, it is not intentional. His mother cannot give what she has never received. It is not fair for me to take the speck out of her eye. I don’t know her life. I don’t know her experiences. I know Danyel in the streets and I am amazed how he has managed to be such a kind and considerate boy despite his circumstances. Each of us are different. Danyel and the unnamed teenager are victims of neglect. Danyel ran away to the streets when he was younger and perhaps, in a strange way, he suffered less from the consequences of neglect. The other boy just got accustomed to being neglected. It was his way of life.

Neglect is such a strange thing. It is not something peculiar to poverty. Children of millionaires can be victims of neglect as well. There is no cure for it. All our children carry the scars of neglect with them. Perhaps all of us do in reality. Not everyone suffers neglect equally. Some of us have people who help us overcome the neglect we have suffered. I don’t remember if I suffered it when I was young. I remember being complicated. I remember the teachers whose kindness and genuine concern remained imprinted in my soul but I don’t remember anything they taught me. I just remember that they cared for me despite my idiosyncrasies and insecurities. They did not judge me. They just cared for me. Maybe they did judge me. They judged me to be worthy of love.

Jesus said, “For with the judgment you make you will be judged, and the measure you give will be the measure you get.” (Matthew 7:2)

Hopefully one day Danyel and our unnamed friend will have many faces that are clear in their minds as they look into the mirror to take the log out of their eyes.

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Speaking in Tongues

When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.- Acts 2:1-4

Learning Portuguese is a challenge. Well, learning any language is a challenge. There is no such thing as an easy language. It takes relatively a short time to learn the words. However, they are not just mere words. They represent symbols and experiences of a people. I can say the words without understanding their deeper meanings. I can spend years speaking without really communicating. I can only connect verbally with the Brazilian people when I allow their symbols and experiences to inform my soul. Only then there will be a communication between souls.

There is one lingering problem. I can never appropriate the meanings of these foreign words perfectly. They will always be foreign words to me. I cannot integrate them perfectly. Amazingly, I find this is quite irrelevant. The Brazilians, more specifically in our case, the children and teens don’t seem to mind. They are happy to hear their words flow out of our lips. We might say the words in a disjointed manner but they are still able to accept us. They can see that we want their experiences and symbols to be part of our reality even in an imperfect manner. Perfection is not a prerequisite, just a willing and open attitude. The strange thing is that we are beginning to use these foreign words to express some of our deepest thoughts now. It is no longer “their words” but now we feel that they belong to us as well. They reflect who we are. The children and teens have grown accustomed to our way of speaking and now they don’t even notice the difference anymore.

Mary sat down with Ruan to teach him to read. He spent some of his time correcting her pronunciation. Then he realized that it takes an extra effort on her part to teach him in a foreign language. It made it more special for him. Now, he only wants her to be his teacher. No one else can take her place. It means that he needs to make an extra effort to decipher her accent to understand the words. It doesn’t matter to him. She is able to communicate perfectly to him. She understands his symbols and experiences. Native speakers of Portuguese might have a better advantage over Mary but it doesn’t mean that they would be able to communicate with Ruan. Learning to communicate takes time and patience and, most importantly of all, love.

The Post Office was on strike recently. I only realized it when the strike ended and I received a stack of letters. They were all for the children and teens. We have established a letter reading ritual with the children. I inform them that they have received a letter and they demand that I read it to them at once. Then we sit down at the nearby square together and they open their letters. They want to be the ones who open them or at least, they want me to open the letters in front of them. They like to see the words in English. They are proud that they are written in a foreign language. They can tell others that they received a letter from abroad. However, seeing and touching the letters do not make them meaningful until they hear them read in their own language. The act of translation works like magic for them. The foreign words are suddenly transformed into tangible notions for them. Alex was not happy with just hearing the words in Portuguese. He wanted me to write them down and give him this translation. He is illiterate. He can barely read his name. However, it is important for him to have these words from his special person in the States in his own language. This way he can own these precious words permanently. One day the children asked Mary to read one of Alex’s letters in English. They wanted to hear the letter in its original language. She did it and Alex was baffled. He took her aside and asked how she learned how to read in English. He could not imagine that Mary, once upon a time, did not use the same language as he did.

Words are abundant in the city of São Paulo but communication is always lacking. It took us years to learn how to communicate with the children and teens. We are not there yet completely. It is a long process and there are no shortcuts. It is not a question of using impressive vocabulary or having perfect pronunciation or abiding to the convoluted grammatical rules. All these things are helpful but they don’t necessarily guarantee perfect communication. Communication is something that comes from the heart. Words are spoken everyday without any attempt to communicate. They are like a clanging cymbal. They do not bring peace or joy to those who hear them. Words are necessary but they have to come from the heart to touch the soul.

I have some influence of the Pentecostal movement in my spiritual journey. It was a long time ago. Whenever someone would ask me if I spoke in tongues I always had the right answer for them. However, Mary is not so fortunate in this sense. For years, she said “no”. However, as we grow older, we understand this gift of the Holy Spirit better. The coming of the divine Spirit was to give us the ability to communicate meaningfully. It means that we recognize that God is not limited to one people’s symbols and experiences. He is present and active in all people’s languages. The gift of tongues is the ability to recognize God’s presence in these symbols and experiences. Mary definitely has this gift. She communicates clearly to the children and teens with her gift. It is not about the words.

There is much talk about dialog and communication today. Perhaps, the feast of the Holy Spirit is more relevant today than it has ever been in the history of humanity.

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On Forgiveness

For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses. Matthew 6:14-15

Novinha was upset that we didn’t get her a gift on her birthday. It wasn’t even her birthday. It was just jealousy. Her birthday was several months ago. However, it was the birthday of another girl. We got her a notebook. We have known this girl for several years. There is a strong bond between us. On the other hand, we barely knew Novinha. She lived in the streets but she hardly spoke to us. She was just not interested in us. This was fine with us. Not everyone wants to be our friend and we certainly don’t want to force ourselves upon anyone. However, Novinha was imposing. She demanded a present for birthday that was long gone. She kept insisting. Eventually, it became unbearably annoying. She was not a young child or teenager. She was about 23 years old. Her behavior was unbecoming of her age. Perhaps it revealed her true reality. It was something we never considered at that moment. Her persistence forced me to give a brutally honest answer. I told her that we give gifts to people whom we know. This was the truth. Gifts are something that flow out of a relationship. However, it was not the right time to say it. It wasn’t said in love. I was annoyed with her. I just wanted her to stop with her demands and it worked. The fact was that we never warmed up to Novinha. We were always disturbed by her attitude. She is a mother of a toddler. Often times, she brings her child to the streets where the child is exposed to all the vices of the streets at a young age. It is not uncommon for her to leave the young child unattended while she sniffs paint thinner. It is easy to dislike someone like her.

After this conversation, Novinha ignored us completely. Sometimes she would walk pass us without acknowledging our presence. We would try to say something to her sometimes and she would give us a weak response. She had lost all interest in us. The relationship just kept gradually deteriorating. Nothing happened to make it better. Then one day, all of the sudden, there was forgiveness. She forgave us first. She approached us and asked to play a game together. Surprisingly, we had a good time together. Then several weeks later, we ran into her with a stranger in the streets. She told us that he was her friend from Columbia. In her introduction, she reminded her friend that we are the people whom she often speaks about. This was strange. We never imagined that she would have such consideration for us.

Things between us got eventually better. Somewhere along the line, forgiveness took control of the situation. We forgave her for being obnoxious. We forgave her for being an irresponsible mother. We forgave her for being demanding. These conceived thoughts we had of her were hindering our relationship with her. We had to release them. She had to release her image of us. Maybe she thought that we did not have room for her in our hearts. She interpreted our actions according to her concept of us and we did the same. We needed to forgive each other in order to discover the true character of each other.

We started talking more often. We discovered that she was born into homelessness. Her mother was a crack addict and she lived most of her life in the streets or in the state orphanage. She never had much of a childhood. She did not say this about herself. She wasn’t aware that there is such a thing as childhood. She was exposed to drugs and violence and abandonment since she was an infant. Now she is a mother. It would be unfair to expect her to act like a perfect mother when she had very limited resources.

This year we bought Novinha a gift on her birthday. Actually it was something Mary made for her last birthday. We did not forget her birthday last year. Even though she hardly spoke to us, we still had a small gift for her. Unfortunately she was nowhere around to receive her gift then. Weeks turned into months before we finally saw her. Since she did not speak much to us then, giving her the gift out of context would be awkward. We even told her about it when she was persistent about buying her a gift. She did not believe us then. However, when we finally gave her gift on her birthday this year, she received it with a timid smile. She did not say much, just enough to show that she appreciated it. A couple of days later, she approached us and asked us for help about a situation regarding her child. She really wants to be a good mother. She is aware that she needs to change many things in her life. It wasn’t our conversations that made her realize this. It was within her all along. Perhaps she just needed someone with whom she can share these things; someone outside her circle who would understand her plight. She needed some resources to help her make these changes, They are available to her but she is afraid to go to these places alone and ask for help. She asked if we would go with her. She is not afraid to do the talking. She just needs someone to be with her in these places.

Our relationship with Novinha was a strange journey. We didn’t like it at first. We thought that it was going nowhere. Then forgiveness came into the picture. It gave us a new direction. It changed how we looked at this young woman. We thought that she was an unfriendly person and an irresponsible mother. She was really an abandoned child who is a little lost and afraid in this world and yet she wants to have the courage to do the right thing in this life. She still brings her child to the streets occasionally. Now, we can say something to her about it and she listens. She wants to do what is best for her child. Forgiveness opened our eyes to see this. It wasn’t a gift she was demanding in that unpleasant encounter. She wanted a relationship. I am glad she forgave us first. It made us realize that we needed to forgive as well. This is how it all works. Mistakes abound but forgiveness…it is just a wonderful gift from God. When we receive and use this gift, our eyes are opened to see people for who they really are.

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A Silent Visitor

I met Grace this week; not a concept nor a girl with that name nor a gracious person. It was a young man who did absolutely nothing. Yet, he helped me understand grace in a strange way. He appeared out of nowhere. We never have seen him before. He just stood there and watched us. It wasn’t from a distance. He was close enough for me to reach out and touch him without moving an inch. However, it wasn’t the proximity of his presence that caught my attention. It was his unrelenting gaze. Yet, it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was no awkwardness. It was a just silent gaze.

I made eye contact with him. I thought perhaps he wanted our help or even join us. There was room for him. He responded with a vague smile and then continued watching us. He never said a word or made any gesture that he wanted to join us. He was content doing what he was doing. Naturally, I assumed that he was mentally-ill. After all, who in this busy city of chaotic activity would take the time to stop everything and watch complete strangers doing activities with homeless children and teens. Perhaps he was but it doesn’t matter. Grace is not hindered by our shortcomings.

He was not a Brazilian. He looked like an immigrant from the African continent. There are a group of street vendors in the center from several African nations. Initially I thought that he was part of their group. However, he did not have any wares with him. He was just on his own. The children initially were indifferent to his presence and then slowly they started to turn their attention towards him. They were obviously fascinated and at the same time, they pretended that they were not allured by this man’s quiet aura. Our children like the majority of Brazilians have African heritage. For the children, this man was a living reality of what was just a distant memory for them. Most of the African refugees here can name the tribe to which they belong. Our children have no concept about anything of their African heritage. They don’t even feel like they belong to the society where they live. They gently approached him. He maintained an unassuming smile. They started talking to him. He did not say anything but somehow the children felt comfortable with him. Their curiosity got the better of them and they became bolder. They asking tons of questions and eventually their hands started wandering to his hair. It would seem a little disrespectful for the casual passerby but there was a sense of innocence in their actions. The young man smiled and allowed the children to play with his hair. They were comparing their hair with his. It would have appeared racist if our children weren’t Afro-Brazilians. I was going to say something to make them stop but I didn’t get the chance. I was glad. Felipe quietly walked around this young man and gently told the children to stop what they were doing. They seemed to understand that they got out of hand. They slowly left the man alone. Felipe stood close by like a bodyguard to ensure that no one would bother this young man.

It is amazing to see Felipe act this way. He is one of the young adults who has been in the streets the longest. He told us that he has been homeless since the age of eight. He had some brief stays in the state orphanage but he practically spent all his childhood in the streets. No parent or teacher taught him any ethical values. In a world of the survival of the fittest, Felipe survived. He could have been one of the children in Golding’s Lord of the Flies. Instead of a wild child, we saw a kind young man going to the defense of another whom he perceived as being subjected to undignified treatment and protecting him. Felipe did this act gratuitously. He wasn’t aware that we noticed him. He does not know that I am writing about his actions. It was goodness in its purest form manifested in Felipe’s life. It took a quiet man to help bring this forth.

I did not see our quiet stranger after this day. No, he is not angel. He was just a man. He did absolutely nothing and yet he did many wonderful things. He made the children to be excited enough to learn about another person. It seems like a simple thing but actually it is very rare that people look beyond themselves. We live in a world where people have lost their sense of curiosity for their neighbors. Everyone is busy, caught up in their narcissistic existence. Yet, this man without saying a word or doing anything drew the children unto himself. He gave Felipe the courage to act compassionately. He gave us the privilege to see that, despite being abandoned and homeless, God still teaches His goodness to His children. After all, the most important thing in life is not being successful but being a compassionate person who gives without expecting anything in return. We need grace to understand this. This is why I call this quiet man Grace.

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Melancholic Beauty

I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service.-Romans 12:1

There have been weeks where I didn’t post anything. Those weeks are gone forever without any memories. I lament their silent passing. They deserve better. I started writing this blog as a way of keeping in touch with people but it has evolved into something special and sacred. It has become like altars constructed with words. The biblical patriarchs built altars to mark an encounter with God. They used stones and we use words. I usually spend the week waiting and listening for these words. They come to me through different means. On rare occasions, they come through a book or a casual conversation. More often than not, these words are spoken through the children and teens themselves. After all, this is why we are here; to hear and discern the voice of the Spirit in the midst of His lost sheep.

Every week we experience the same cycle. We start our Mondays as if we are stepping into the unknown. We are taught to believe that each week is a linear progression to a goal. However, in reality, every Monday is a reset in our experience. We have two days break in-between. Many things can happen during this time. Our children and teens don’t have a notion of tomorrow and next week. They only have today before them. They can only deal with one day at a time. It is not to be confused with modern pseudo spiritual jargon of living in the moment. They don’t live in the moment but in a state of melancholy. It is not joyful. It is sad. They cannot afford to think beyond today because they cannot imagine a future. The past is something that they use drugs to forget. Today is all that is left for them. When they don’t see us for two days, they have lived two days without our existence. They have grown accustomed to life without our presence. When we reappear on Mondays, they have to redefine their world once again to accommodate us. Mondays are always unpredictable. Sometimes there is a subtle rejection. Other times, there can be excitement to compensate for the lack of attention they experienced in the past two days. We have even experienced Mondays where everything is just perfect. Like I said before, it is like stepping into the unknown.

Tuesday is more predictable but not necessarily good or bad. It is just uneventful. The children and teens are around but they usually don’t want to do anything special. They speak to us for a few minutes and then go away. Sometimes we sit and wait for them and no one comes around. If they do, they might spend just a few minutes with us. They still need time to get accustomed to us.

Wednesdays are hopeful. We find them waiting for us. They greet us with a smile. They announce to everyone, “Stephen and Mary are here.” Some might even leave a message asking us not to leave without saying hello to them. They ask about the letters. They complain that they are not arriving soon enough. They promise to write replies to the ones they received in the next couple of days. Everyone wants to play all the games we have at the same time. They will make plans for excursions with us that most of them will not go on when the time comes. Wednesday is the day when we are fully accepted into their circle. They will even encourage other children to give us their attention. I think that the children think that they are ministering to us and, in a lot of ways, they are right.

Thursdays and Fridays are when the flowers bloom. Things become crystal clear for everyone. They understand our presence here. They want us to stay longer. They are game to do anything as long as we are doing it with them. It is on one of these days last week when Felipe asked us if we talk about them with other people. We thought that it was a strange question but then it made sense. He wanted to know if they are part of our lives apart from our time in the streets. His question inspired my reflection today. As I was writing this, I realized that they are an essential part of our weekly liturgy. The purpose of liturgy is to help to us pray and discern the presence of God in our lives. In the Anglican tradition to which I belong, we use the Book of Common Prayer to aid us in saying the right words and thinking the right thoughts about God. Our children and teens are our living Prayer Book. The Spirit uses their words and actions to show us how to think and reflect about God. To Felipe, my answer is a resounding Yes! We constantly talk about you and the rest of the children to our friends and families. You are part of our liturgy.

A Serbian Orthodox priest here told me that liturgy is suffering that brings forth beauty. It made me have a fresh understanding about liturgical practices in the Bible. They seem like a lot of work. I think about the churches that want to make liturgy light and sentimental in order to be more appealing, they usually lack beauty. Beauty hides behind melancholy. It reveals itself in the strangest times and places. In our lives, it can show its face on any day it chooses from Monday to Friday. This is why we take courage and participate in this melancholic liturgy every week because we know beauty is lurking around the corner.

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Within our Limits

Sometimes certain images haunt my mind throughout the week. They make demands for a reflection. One of these was of a mother walking away from us. All I saw was her back as she walked away. We wouldn’t have noticed her if one of the boys hadn’t told us that it was Dreyson’s mother. She came to convince her son to return home. She wasn’t successful. Dreyson was sitting in front of us. He did not look upset. He was just adamant. He wasn’t going to go home. She gave up and walked away without looking back at her son. We stood there in the middle between the mother and the son. Perhaps some would wonder if we could have done something to meliorate the relationship between the child and parent. If we go after the mother, we would be entering a complex maze of problems and situations. It is a world that is too big for us. We might become lost in it and in the process we might even lose focus on Dreyson. We are just finite beings in a world of infinite problems. We need to recognize our limitations. Dreyson was sitting in front of us. He is staying here. It only makes sense that we stay with him.

His parents named all the children with the letter “y” in their names. Besides Dreyson, there is another young son in the streets. His name is Danyel (pronounced as Daniel). The “y” is purposefully inserted to make their names stand out. These parents wanted something special for their children. They had good intentions. We don’t know what unfolded that resulted in their two sons being in the streets. We met the boys when they first came to the center about three years ago. Danyel was 12 and Dreyson was 13 then. The streets haven’t been sympathetic to them. I have seen Dreyson in tears many times. He suffered but has survived the street life. When his mother came for him, he was emaciated and wearing filthy clothes. She wore clean clothes and looked healthy from the back at least. Yet, he wasn’t convinced that his home was better than the streets.

The other children chided him for not going home. It was their chance to be self-righteous, even though they would do exactly the same thing in his position. Only Ruan was honest. In fact, he is one of the most honest teens in the group. He said that it would take more than words to bring him back home. He said it quietly but loud enough for me to hear it. I have been to his house. His mother has a big screen TV and a small dining table. Ruan would rather have a big table and a smaller TV.

I think this is what the children and teens want now. They mostly come from extremely poor families. Thanks to the availability of credit cards, some of their families are able to acquire amenities that they cannot afford. They have entrusted the care of their children to these things. This is another devastating effect of poverty that is hardly addressed. It gives people the false notion of material things. They put all their eggs in the material acquisition basket. The children, on the other hand, want a home where people sit at the table and talk and listen to each other. They want there to be an empty seat with their names permanently written on it. In Ruan’s house, there are hardly any chairs but there is a worn out couch placed in front of the TV. Conversations are non-existent. Ruan and the other children and teens love to talk.

It took a few years for Dreyson to open up to us. It happened a few weeks ago. We were waiting at the square for the children and teens. Only Dreyson showed up. He sat down next to us and did not say anything for a while. I asked him if he wanted to play a game or do something. He wasn’t interested in doing anything. He just wanted to sit with us. Then he said that he missed traveling. His father used to take him and his younger brother to different states in Brazil when he was young. He remembers almost every detail of these trips including the color of the buses and scenery. He said that his father did odd jobs to earn money for the family. Suddenly our usually gloomy young friend became alive. The conversation flowed in different directions. He started talking about school and how much he enjoyed learning new stuff. He asked questions about ourselves and asked what we liked to do. We had a lively conversation for more than an hour. Unfortunately, it was abruptly interrupted. Nothing drastic happened. It just the reality of the streets. Interruptions are part and parcel of it. However, they did not steal or destroy the time we spent with him. We asked Dreyson if he wanted to go a science museum the next day. He nodded his head enthusiastically. We planned the time and left. He did not have a clean shirt for the excursion and I said that I would give him one of mine.

The next day I had a nice t-shirt for Dreyson but he did not show up. We went to the museum with another boy. We were going to take them both together. When we returned, Dreyson was waiting for us. He ran up to us and apologized profusely. He said that he overslept and felt extremely bad. We assured him that we will plan another trip to the museum together. It took a while to convince him that we were not upset at all. Then he calmed down. He was assured that there is still a chair with his name on it in our lives.

This is the Dreyson that was sitting there quietly as his mother walked away from him. He was terrified that he had disappointed us but he did not budge when his mother asked him to return home. Something happened for a child like Dreyson to prefer the streets. It is not normal for a young boy to reject the embrace of his mother. Perhaps, we will never know why he refuses to go home. Perhaps it is not important. It is essential that he never forgets that he has a place where he can talk and be heard. Maybe one day he might have the strength to go home and face his reality there. Until then, we will stay with Dreyson in the streets.

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Unexpected Grace

Her book was exiled to the $0.25 shelf of an used bookstore in the States. It was in Portuguese and it is very rare to find anything in this language. The price is symbolic. It was an unexpected gift for me. I bought it but it never got it what it deserved. It sat on my shelves for almost 8 years. Recently, I decided to read it.

I discovered later that this author* is highly esteemed in the Brazilian literary culture. Books and thesis have been written about her. She never considered herself as a professional writer. Her priorities were being mother, friend, and common observer. Her ordinariness provided her with an unique outlook of life. She had the gift to be amazed with the common things of life. She revealed her secret. She never felt at home where she was. She was of Jewish extraction living in a predominantly Catholic nation. She was born in Lithuania but the only home she knew since she was a toddler was Brazil. All these life experiences helped her maintain an outsider perspective while being deeply engaged in her world. It sounds like the spiritual vocation of a Christian. We live in this world and yet we don’t belong to it. This could be something devastating or beautiful. It really depends on one thing. This author, despite being a non-religious person, wrote extensively about grace. In fact, most academics noted this trait about her. This is why I am writing about her here. Perhaps it is not necessary for me to say so much about the author but nevertheless she deserves the recognition. I want my posts to be a portrait of people. In this case, she would be a portrait of the power of grace. It does not limit itself to a certain people or religious groups. God freely pours His grace to all. One of things she mentioned about grace is that it comes to us in an unexpected manner. It seems appropriate that I am reminded about this peculiarity of this divine gift through a book bought on the $0.25 shelf.

We use the word, “grace” a little bit too freely. We have forgotten that we can only use this word accompanied by awe and wonder. Sometimes some churches think that they have ownership of grace because they have defined it. However, what they have is a watered down version of it which does not deserve its name. Grace remains free because it belongs to God. I remember trying to explain its meaning to a group of teenagers. I could see in their faces that my explanation was empty. They were kind about it. I knew that I failed. I wanted it to be refreshing and life-giving but the words could not do any justice. It was refreshing to read about a grace from an author who was not religious. She had a simpler idea of grace. Perhaps it was purer and perhaps truer to the biblical notion. She described it as a moment where everything becomes crystal clear and harmonious so much so that it touches the depth of our souls and leaves us wondering about life itself. She used the Annunciation as an example. I can think of another one: the Transfiguration. In both events, the people who experienced it were willing to have a radical change in their lives. This is what grace does; it gives us the power to change.

There is really nothing more simple and ordinary than a letter written to a stranger. Our children and some adults in Florida have been corresponding with each other. Often times, both parties tell us that they don’t where to start. Consequently, the letters are written in the simplest manner. Nothing special or dramatic is revealed. Everything is very basic. This was the kind of letter I read to Wanderson. It was really the first time I ever read a letter to him. Despite its spartan content, the sincere and genuine concern was obvious. I asked him if he wanted to write a reply. He nodded to say yes. Then he confessed that he had been sniffing paint thinner all day and he was not in the right frame of mind to compose a letter. It was an unnecessary confession. He is always sniffing paint thinner. It is almost as if he has a bottle of this dreadful chemical surgically attached to him. He promised, however, that he will not use anything the next day so that he could write the letter with a clear mind. We left it at that. About fifteen minutes later, he came back with a card in his hand and a receipt. He spend half of the money that he had kept aside for drugs to buy a card for this woman who wrote to him. He said that it was only right that he gave her something special since she took the time to write to him. For today, Wanderson found something better to do with his money than using for drugs.

No one told him to do this. He had the receipt in his hand to show me that he did not steal the card. He is not the kind to steal or engage in any criminal activities. The other children were watching. Alex who has received several letters asked him how much the card cost. He said that maybe he would buy some to write to the people as well. I did not say anything. There was really nothing to say. Maybe some would not understand what just happened because nothing really did happen. Everything that occurred was something ordinary. We buy cards to send to people without thinking about it. For us, it is the most ordinary thing. In Wanderson’s case, it was something different. He had experienced grace which opened his eyes to see that there was something much better than drugs. He decided to forego a few hours of chemical induced stupor for the sake of an ordinary woman who took the time to write to him. We did not tell him what to do. It was just simply grace in action. For a moment through ordinary means, Wanderson saw a harmonious life being offered to him instead of the drug-induced chaos. He decided to grab hold of it. Even though it may be for just a moment but it is still powerful. It is a gracious moment and it has the power to help a person to take a step towards transformation.

 

*The author’s name is Clarice Lispector

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A Question about Easter

Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” John 20:24-25

“What is Easter?” Wanderson asked. It seems like a simple question. The answer should be very easy for any clergy person. However, I was little stumped. Perhaps it was the unexpectedness of the question. We had just stepped out of a science museum. He had wanted to go on this excursion for weeks. He even offered to pay his way as long as we accompanied him. Of course, we did not let him to do this. He is an intelligent teenager. He likes to be the clown of the group and yet, there is a seriousness about him. He tends to be melancholic when he is not being the fool.

It is interesting that such a question would be asked in this most populous Roman Catholic nation. The city is replete with marks of Christianity. There are evangelical churches on almost every corner. The center abounds with majestic Catholic churches that tower over the principal squares. Preachers of all sorts and conditions taunt the average passerby with their rhetoric of religious jargon. Nuns and friars walking in their religious habits are a common sight. We spend all our time in front of a church where the doors are closed but its tiny square is our meeting place to play, teach and talk with the children. Religion is everywhere, but despite this, Wanderson still does not know the meaning of Easter.

It is not that he hasn’t heard the standard answer. This is why I couldn’t answer him. I knew him well enough to know that he was asking for something more concrete. If I had replied, “Easter is the celebration of Jesus’ resurrection”, he would have nodded his head and never brought up the subject again. I did not want the question to die without the possibility of resurrection. The standard answer has no relevance to Wanderson’s life. It is hearsay as far as he is concerned. It is enough for him to join in the celebration. He needed to know something more significant and relevant. He would have been Thomas if he had been an apostle. For that matter, I would have been Thomas. His attitude makes complete sense to me. I would want to see the marks of the Cross on Jesus before believing any account of the disciples. It is interesting that Thomas said that he would only believe if Jesus still bore the wounds of His sufferings. There is no doctrine that states the resurrected would bear the markings of their previous lives on their bodies. However, for Thomas, only the Jesus who suffered would do for Him. It was that Jesus who was most relevant to his life.

Our children know suffering. Well, every human being is acquainted with suffering. In our fantasy, we believe that children should be given a brief reprieve from it but reality is often times more brutal. Our children and teens have embraced their suffering. They treat it as part of their lives. They can’t imagine their lives without its unrelenting presence. Consequently, the suffering Jesus is a powerful symbol for them. The idea that God has experienced suffering is very comforting to them. No one has doubts about the meaning of Good Friday. Perhaps the only questions asked about this day is about the dietary restrictions which have nothing to do with the Cross. The image of the Crucified Jesus makes complete sense to our children and teens. It makes God become as one of them. The Resurrected Jesus brings something new to this conversation. It is an invitation to go beyond the Cross. This is quite difficult because it demands that we go beyond our comfort zone. Suffering and pain is our comfort zone as strange as this sounds. Our minds are aware of these things and have grown accustomed to them but the Resurrection opens the doors to something different and new.

Thomas wanted to see the marks of his wounds which led to his powerful confession of Jesus as his Lord and God. The boldest statement made by a Jewish man in the Bible. It is a grave injustice to remember Thomas only for his doubts and not for this confession but such is our human nature. We are more fascinated with failures than success. Failures of others comfort us and we are disturbed by their success. Failure reaffirms our frailty and success perhaps challenges us to go beyond our status quo. In the same way, the Resurrection should disturb us. It marks the victory of Jesus over humanity’s greatest enemy. It is not death. It is suffering. Death comes quick but suffering lingers, especially, when it is unjust. It paralyzes and dehumanizes. Thomas experienced these feelings at the foot of the Cross. The Risen Christ does not put an end to suffering but He overcame it. It did not stop Him from achieving His fullest stature. He came back to give us this Hope. We no longer have to be slaves to our suffering. This does not validate the unhelpful and hurtful clichés of pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps or not having a victim mentality or learning to overcome life’s obstacles. All these empty sayings have nothing to do with the victory of Jesus over pain and suffering. The Risen Christ is our hope to lift people out of their hopelessness. He is the Love able to heal our souls to see beyond the pain and suffering. He is the courage to live our lives to the fullest. This is the meaning of Easter. However, I still cannot give an appropriate answer to Wanderson. None of this translates into words. He has to meet the Risen Christ.

Thomas was not easily convinced by the words of the disciples. However, he saw something in them that convinced him to stay around. They gave him hope that Jesus might appear to him as well. Perhaps, the best way to answer Wanderson or anyone like him is to bear the fruits of our personal encounter with the Risen Christ. This might generate hope in Him to wait and receive the answer from the One who truly gives the most satisfactory answer. Wanderson believes that we might have an answer. However,
all we can say are words and doctrines. None of these will do anything for him. He needs to encounter the Risen Christ. It is a possibility. This is why we celebrate Easter. It is not a historical event. It is an encounter that is still available to anyone today. Wanderson may not be aware of this. Most of people might not be aware of it. They might think that Easter is just a celebration of a dogmatic concept. Well, words are not going to convince them to stay around and meet the Risen Christ. They need to see the fruits of our encounter with Him in our lives. None of the disciples who met the Risen Lord were the same again. Their values changed. Their outlook changed. It was no longer compatible with the world’s ideas or concepts. It gave them the courage to face the unknown and perhaps grave suffering like Thomas himself who became an apostle to India. For us, the Risen Jesus has shown us something even more special. He opened our eyes to see that doing simple and mundane things like going to museum and listening to young teenager’s questions about Easter can be a special and life changing event for us and hopefully, one day for Wanderson.

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