What I Learned On A Rainy Night

View of Lago Atitlan during my 14hr. volcano hike

Love in a Fearful Land: A Guatemalan Story, by Henri Nouwen

Father Stanley Francis Rother was martyred on July 28, 1981 in Santiago Atitlan, Guatemala. In January of 2006 I stood in the room that still had his bloodstains on the walls and a bullet hole in the floor from his murder. I didn't understand the significance of his death until tonight as I finished reading the aforementioned book. I understood the realities of martyrdom sure, but the power and significance of his death did not impact me.

This brave man lived in solidarity with the poor. He faithfully proclaimed the gospel, lived, and died for his people. I cant fathom this Christian witness.

Guatemala is a country perpetuated with violence. For thirty-three years a gruesome and horrific war ravaged the country. Over 90,000 people disappeared. Today people still live in the fear of a war only barely over. The serene beauty presented on postcards should not overtake the realities of those who live within such seemingly peaceful scenes.

Above is the church where Father Rother lived and died.

In the book by Nouwen I could picture Santiago, I could picture the Mission in San Lucas, and I could picture the beautiful faces of the men, women, and children I met there. I started crying. I cried for a people who are denied the basics of humanity. They are barely granted the right to exist.

Here I am sitting in my safe apartment. I have no fears that someone will in the night and take me away to torture me for fighting for my basic human rights. I dont have to worry about food, shelter, or clothing. I worry about stupid little things, and complain I dont have the money to buy myself a nice new outfit: just because I want it.

I cried for the hundreds of thousands of people who are subjected to the stereotypes of being lazy, stupid, and drunk, and they are all Mexicans. Their lives are oppressed from all sides, but they love and trust in God with a ferocity I will never have.

I cried for my kids in Juarez. I cried for the family I became close to while there. Right before I left I helped them clean out the Iglesia del Buen Samaritanos tool shed so they could move in; a family of five moving into a dirty and leaky space smaller than the apartment I now live in alone.

I cried because I will never be able to live like Jesus. I dont have the strength to give up my possessions, my selfish ideals. I cried because my soul is lost in a harmful, self-absorbed world, and I like the places I go, the things I buy, and the safety I live in. I tell people to think about the poor, I tell people not to be wasteful and not to be greedy. I am just as bad as they are, maybe even more so because I cant/dont practice what I preach. Lo siento Dios que no hago que dices pero dijo como vivir por otras personas. Dios te pido que puedes auydarme a vivir como quieres.

I cried because Father Rother gave his life defending a people he deeply loved. He gave his life to them and utmost, he gave his life for God. I dont have the courage to die such a brutal death for a cause. He lived in fear he lived with people who could not escape even though he had the means. I dont live with enough passion for God. So much of the world lives in impoverished conditions and I take for granted the relaxed atmosphere of my life.

Juarez, Mexico. Only an example of one of the many impoverished locations in the world.