Faith in Advent

I’m understanding more and more that faith is about showing up.

That’s all I’ve been able to do this first month in country. Show up. This is because, by and large, I’ve spent most of my time recently waiting.

Between May and November, I waited for my departure day.
When I arrived here, I spent the first two weeks visiting the different Jesuit works here (three schools and an afterschool center for kids in need). I waited to move in with my host family.
I moved in with my host family, spent days at my school, Miguel Pro: in meetings, observing classes, practicing teaching. I waited for Christmas.
I spent Christmas with my host family, and I waited to move into the JV house.
I moved into the JV house, and I’m waiting for mes de misión, a month-long service project in a small mountain/desert town with kids from the school.
I’m waiting for school to start in March, when I’ll know my students, classes, etc.

All the while, I’m waiting to feel at home: for the day when language, friends and work come a little more naturally… it’s the “feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete.” –Teilhard de Chardin, S.J.
Clearly I’m praying for patient trust.

How appropriate to have spent my advent season waiting! It’s hard to wait because there isn’t a lot you can do while you’re waiting. I still don’t know a lot about life here, so I’m really limited. I can’t even prep for my classes because I don’t know what/if I’ll be teaching! Unable to see the “final product” (after all, like Romero says, we’re the workers not the master builders) and anxious to encounter some sage-like version of myself that will emerge in a few months or even a couple years, there is one thing that I can do every single day. I can show up.

Sometimes I bring a lot to the table, like when my Spanish is inexplicably on fleek. These are the days full of possibility, and I’m excited by the magic of this desert.
Sometimes I show up with very little, like when I’m feeling down or broken.
These are the days I do the best I can and let God and the people around me take care of the rest. But each day I show up- without knowing what I’m doing or where I’m going. Truly, this is an act of great faith.
I’m praying to be a better worker (Romero).

And each day, I encounter God. I see God in the far-off Andes mountains during a bus ride. In the kindness of my coworkers. In my welcoming community mates. In the wind. In feeling peaceful or at home. Most of all, I see God in all that She has to teach me here. God is in the opportunity, in the hope.

God is with us in the suspense, helping us show up each day as we wait for the coming of His son. And so we can rejoice in the anxiety of feeling ourselves in suspense and incomplete! This is the time we discover the joy of God helping us (Psalm 13). While being frustrated with the waiting, how we falta (lack) with our humanity… suddenly we are given reason to celebrate humanity. This is the greatest reason of all- the birth of Christ. So at midnight on Christmas Eve, break out the panetón (a Christmas season staple in Peru… sort of like a fruit cake), chocolada (hot chocolate), cuetes (fireworks), besos, abrazos and of course
La Paz

Maddie

The Why Question

I feel like I have a capacity for great light, but it feels accompanied by a deep darkness

  

When I tell people what I’m doing for the next two years, they usually ask “Why?”
It’s a good question. Not many people choose to leave the comfort of home and enter into the unknown: culture shock, a new job, foreign language and a volunteer lifestyle. But I never really understood the why question. Oftentimes my discernment process to enter the Jesuit Volunteer Corps actually felt painfully obvious. I identify so closely with the values of the program (social justice, simple living, spirituality and community) so closely that it felt as if they were a part of my being. Therefore, this seemed like the best way I could offer my gifts to the service of God. Obviously this would be how I could come to know God, the poor and myself. These seemed like important things to get to know better. I felt sure. Better yet, I felt called, a deep conviction to live life as an international JV for two years.

Then comes the follow-up question, “But aren’t there people closer to home you can serve?”

This question too was understandable but unwavering for me. I never saw a difference between people close to home and people here in Tacna. People are people, and there is one human family. Simply because some people are closer to me in location does not mean that they take precedence over others. God gave me the gifts and the desire to serve people’s needs here in Tacna. Therefore, those are Her children I will accompany right now. 

Three weeks into the JV life, I finally understand the why question. This is because I now ask myself “why” every single day. It didn’t hit me- the doubts- until I boarded the plane. Since opening the gates, the doubts have flooded in; they invade my spirit.  It took me a while, but I finally settled into post-grad life at home.  And I grew to love and appreciate my home community more than ever. That great community of support, of loving family and friends, waiting for me a plane ride away makes doubtful times feel treacherous. If I can serve God and others closer to home and- better yet- also serve my family and friends, why am I not doing that?
God, why am I doing this?   

Even more dangerous- what is so wrong with me that I need to go so far for so long in order to encounter (God, the poor, myself)?

The invaders exhaust me- more than the language and the newness of everything. Throughout the internal confrontations, the ups and down, there is this small, peaceful part of myself. This part, which I often choose not to listen to, is enough to help me pray for hope. I hope for greater faith- in God and in myself. I pray for the patient trust to listen to this part of myself. This peace must be Grace because it certainly does not come from me. (This extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us. 2 Corinthian 4:7) With this light comes the responsibility to allow myself to be a ray- to let God’s light shine through me. When two years feels too extraordinary, I am thankful for God’s sustaining power. God’s grace would never take me to a place it could not sustain me. I hope I can believe in the slow work of God enough to allow for so much light that there can’t even be shadows of doubt (much less darkness).