It was one of the most special weeks of my life because my family of origin shared the lives of my Salvadoran “family,” that is, the communities, families, and friends who have shared life with me for the past year and a half. I had several hopes for my parents’ time here in El Salvador: share quality time with them, provide them a realistic perspective of life in El Salvador, share about the work and life of the ecclesial base communities through visits and interactions with the communities, meet the people, families, and communities special to my life here, and have an enjoyable time. We spent the first day of their one-week stay in San Salvador. I introduced them to all my co-workers (and friends) here at FUNDAHMER who have made my work into an enjoyable life experience. Over breakfast, the director of FUNDAHMER Anita shared with my parents about the history and work of the organization. I remember she said: “throughout its history, FUNDAHMER has worked to support communities that assume a manner of living more committed to the Gospel. This implies favoring the rights of the poor, demanding justice, and working for transformation.”
We also visited various sites in the city that are important to the theologically-inspired effort to improve life for the poor and oppressed, including the crypt of Monsignor Oscar Romero, the “people’s pastor” who was assassinated in 1980 for his work on behalf of the poor and oppressed people. We visited the downtown area of San Salvador, always a bit crazy with vendors, buses, and people at every angle. I also tried to show them perspectives of varying realities of different parts of the city. They had arrived to San Salvador after dark, and I remember that my dad told me that first night that he knew that there was more to see that laid under the cover of the darkness. And that there was a part of him that didn’t want to face what laid under the covers. In the same 24-hours we both ate gourmet pizza at Pizza Hut and traveled via train through marginalized communities that literally have the front-doors of their aluminum-, cardboard-, and plastic-built homes a foot from the tracks. The train trip was a “reality shock” as my parents said—raising such questions for them as: What conditions brought these families to live here in marginalization near the tracts?, What options and opportunities exist for these people?, How can the families themselves and the government improve this situation? What structural problems have caused this crisis and this desperation? I know that after living in El Salvador, where the contrasts between the haves and the have-nots are so stark, makes me re-evaluate with a critical eye the demographic, social, and economic landscape of cities and states in the United States where I have lived or visited. In the States as well, there is an appalling range of living conditions that reveal over-abundance for some and near-death (or at least undignified life) conditions for others.
It was very important to take my parents where I andar (live and work) usually, so we spent three days and two nights visiting with the rural communities in Morazán. We visited the community of Yancolo, where I live the majority of the time. My parents met the family with whom I live: Juan, Reina, Viviana, Rita, and Adrian, with whom I have been talking about the visit of my parents for months. The community at-large received us with a get-together comprised of presentations of music, folkloric dance, and community’s history and organization. The teachers from the school in Yancolo stayed over late in the evening to coordinate the event and meet my parents, a big deal considering the walk into and out of the community is about an hour. The idea in all of the get-togethers with the communities was to share. The community leader, Crecencio, from one of 2 founding families of Yancolo who also endured the war in Yancolo, took particular delight in sharing how the community has changed over the years and answering my parents’ questions. I was amazed and honored by the turn-out of the community to share with my parents; there were over a hundred people. Late in the evening, as my parents settled into the 2 beds in the house (maybe the only 2 in the community) and the rest of us into our hammocks, Reina and Viviana (the grand-mother) shared how their family had been one of the brave ones to return first from the refugee camps in Honduras to make a statement that the killing and destruction of the war should stop.
We visited the youth group in Junquillo, who engaged my parents in an exchange about the lives and collective work of youth in the communities. In these and other communities where we visited, the communities were honored to receive my parents and curious to get to know the parents of this muchacha (young woman) who has been a part of their lives for the past year. My parents as well were interested and happy to be sharing the lives of the communities and to be given the chance to hear about the histories and challenges of communities. They listened to the young adults talk about their hopes and dreams: to continue with their collective work and see the day when there are more opportunities and jobs. My two god-sons, named Nelson and Angel, live in Junquillo as well, so we visited with them and their family. It was hard to even drive out of the community that day because various community members kept walking up to our pick-up wanting to greet the senores (my parents) and see the photos that my mom had brought of my brother and I when we were young.
We capped off our time in Morazán with a visit to the Museum of the Civil War, which presents the history of the 1980’s deadly civil war from the perspective of the people living in the mountains of Morazán, an otherwise unavailable perspective, especially in English sources. The four salons of the museum explain in pictures, words, and some objects recuperated from the time of the war four different aspects of the civil war: the causes of the war, the solidarity of other countries with the revolutionary force, life for the people during the war, and the Peace Accords. Every time I visit, the room that shows the causes for the war always impacts me the most. Before the civil war, in the 1970s, students, labor unions and other organized workers, religious organizations, and rural farmers and landless people had organized to bring about changes in the country to benefit the workers, the poor, and the landless. A civil war occurred in El Salvador because of the on-going poverty, the great unjust division between the poor and the rich/powerful, and because the movement for change was suppressed by assassinations of its leaders. Assassinations of those speaking out and working for change was commonplace. In the world at the time, the US was worried about the spread of communism, and interpreted the revolutionary force as a threat to their interests, and thus financed the side of the Salvadoran army. The Commission of the Peace determined that 90% of the 100,000 murders during the war were attributed to this army force. At the museum my parents and I saw arms used by both sides during the war (a majority “Made in the USA”), scraps of planes and helicopters, bomb craters, and an example guerilla camp. A final building of the museum houses the no out-of-use radio station of the revolutionary force. During the 12 years of the war, the radio broadcasted from literally underground in trenches, its antennae painted green and hidden in the trees, and its generator buried deep in the ground to suppress the sound. The radio station broadcasted updates and commentaries on the war as well as programs inspiring the people in their struggle and reminding them of their goals of justice and peace. The radio had to be mobile so that when they suspected that the army was about to invade the area where it was buried, the operators could carry it to safety and set it up to broadcast again.
Both the museum and radio are important for me because I realize that a majority of time, all throughout history, the rich and powerful have been the “voices” that have told history and controlled the means of communication like radio and television. For so long, the perspectives and histories of people like the poor farmers in Morazán have not been told, but both the museum and the radio that existed during the war are examples of ways that the poor are having their voices heard, albeit in a small way. This same idea is one of the reason that I find liberation theologies so empowering to the people long left out of the telling of history and theology: for the first time in the last few decades, these people have begun to read the Bible and texts for themselves, reflect on them in the light of their own realities, and thus form a faith with a theologically grounded commitment to work in their realities as Jesus would have done had he lived in this day. The “empowering voices” motif in my experience here could be further extended to the work of the youth in Morazán to acquire a program on the radio that broadcasts in the area. The radio is the main means of communication in Morazán where there is no electricity (and thus no TV). The youth call their weekly program the “Youth Space” and they talk about different topics of relevance to the young people and about the commitment and work of the Youth Movement of Morazán.
Upon returning from Morazán, we spent an afternoon and evening in Jardines de Colón, a semi-urban ecclesial base community on the outreaches of San Salvador. Upon our arrival, the youth and pastoral leaders of this community shared with my parents about different pastoral initiatives, the scholarship program for students in elementary, middle, and high schools, and in university, and the violence that affects the community. The community was re-populated after the war by people coming from various parts of El Salvador, some with prior pastoral and organizational experience in other ecclesial base communities. Thus, from its beginning, the community organized itself with a strong faith commitment to follow the example of Christ to bring about the Kingdom of God here on earth. They have “built” the community two times already, once initially in 1992 and again in 2001 when part of it was destroyed by earthquake. As my dad said, whether it be ditches, the chapel, or school scholarships, the people “did it themselves” organized and inspired to work together. We visited the recently-constructed community center, right now with recently-installed windows and doors but still lacking floor, lights, bathroom. Avelino from the community, who oversaw the construction of the building by the people themselves, explained to us how they construct a project like the Center with limited resources. They have a plan (complete with the absolute needs and the dreams for later down the road) and step by step realize the work. With the Center, they first bought the land, then cleared the land, then found the construction materials, then started digging and building, and little by little the doors, roof, windows, and desks have come into place. But all resources (time, space, work, money) are those pooled together by the community members themselves.
In one of the most special evenings of my parents’ time in El Salvador, Jardines de Colón welcomed my parents to their community with a Celebration of the Word service. I have talked frequently about the ecclesial base communities’ Celebration of the Word services, which are their main moment of community worship and celebration for the work God is doing in their communities. In this service, my parents experienced a little of the spiritual life of the ecclesial base communities that inspires every part of their day-to-day work and struggle for a better life. My parents experienced the format of the services: songs from the book “The people sing”, three Bible readings corresponding to the day’s lectionary readings, reflection led by a lay leader of the community, and sharing of the peace. The service was extra-special because it was an “Act of Thanks” for those who leave what is familiar and comfortable to them to accompany processes of working for life and for bringing about the Kingdom of God in foreign places. The offering of the day was my parents’ sharing with the community. Up in front of the community’s chapel, with me translating, they shared about their experience of sending their daughter to be a missionary in El Salvador, about their experiences visiting in El Salvador, and their own faith experiences.
One of my favorite moments of the week occurred when, as the service was closing, the community sang a song “Vos sos el Dios de los Pobres” (“You are the God of the Poor”), a song extremely special to Salvadorans who receive hope from a God who they know to be like them and have a special care for them. Standing between my two parents, I was signing from a song book in my hands. At one point I recognized the voice of my mother, who had begun singing in a language unknown to her a song that expresses how I have come to experience God, the God that I see here in El Salvador and that has changed my life, my priorities, and what I care about, and guides me in the work I do as a missioner. I have translated the chorus for you here:
You are the God of the poor,
a humane and simple God,
a God that sweats in the street,
a God with a worn-out face.
For this is why I talk to you
as I talk to my people,
because you are a working-class God,
Christ with the workers.
This song speaks to me about 2 things: one, that the poor communities that sing this song realize that God is with them and cares especially for them and their lives as the poor, the simple and humane, and the tired and worn-out workers. That is how God is. Second, God is revealed here with us in the very people that work on the street, that you meet in the communities, and that live out their daily lives. They (or rather, we, that is, all of us working) are who and what God is.
My parents’ visit was meaningful for them, for the communities, and for me. I pray that as they have returned to North Carolina, their experience of life in another part of the world and of communities of faith committed, despite great difficulties, to work for more dignified lives, will continue to influence their own lives, decisions, and commitments and through sharing it, their experiences will influence the lives of others as well.
