I Found My Mission

Meredith Johnson

YAGM Volunteer - Uruguay - 2006-2007

Closing Thoughts

(1) Personal and Spiritual Growth

During my last few months in Uruguay I finally figured out how to articulate a feeling that had been growing in me throughout my time there: I realized that the God I felt in Uruguay was a much harder, poorer, more uncomfortable God than the one I knew at home. I have always loved and worshipped a creative, artistic, joyful, poetic God. I was used to finding God on mountains and in orchestra concerts.
But in Uruguay, I learned to find God in horse-drawn carts and down unpaved roads. I met the God of noodles-for lunch-every-day, the God of broken buses, the God of my-mother-doesn't-live-with-us anymore and I'm-afraid-to-be-alone-with-my-father-because-he-hits-me and Do-you-have-a-winter-coat-to-give-me.
At times, it was hard to love that God. I'm still figuring out how to reconcile my own ethereal spirituality with the gritty, down-to-earth work that lives in the heart of the Church. But, like I said in my first newsletter, I try to see Uruguay as a river of painted birds, and painted birds, being magical, show up in the strangest places. If it was ever hard to find spirituality or beauty in the Barrio Borro, it was not for a lack of spirituality, just my own inability to find it.
As the poet Rainer Maria Rilke once said, "If your everyday life seems poor, don't blame it; blame yourself; admit to yourself that you are not enough of a poet to call forth its riches; because for the creator there is not poverty and no poor, indifferent place."
Finally, I wanted to share this passage from a beautiful poem called "Un Padrenuestro Latinoamericano," by Mario Benedetti ("A Latin American Lord's Prayer"). Benedetti is one of Uruguay's most respected poets, and although I couldn't find a date for this poem, I'm pretty sure he wrote it during the dictatorship from 1973-1984.
I think "Un Padrenuestro Latinoamericano" captures the spirit of social justice that is so alive in the Christianity I encountered in Uruguay.
"...claro no estoy seguro si me gusta el estilo
que tu voluntad elige para hacerse
lo digo con irreverencia y gratitud
dos emblemas que pronto serán la misma cosa
lo digo sobre todo pensando en el pan nuestro
de cada dia y de cada pedacito de dia
ayer nos lo quitaste
dánosle hoy
o al menos el derecho de darnos nuestro pan
no sólo el que era símbolo de Algo
sino el de miga y cáscara
el pan nuestro..."
That translates (very roughly) as,
..."I do not know if I like the way in which your will is done I say this with irreverence and thanks two emotions that will soon become the same one I say this thinking of our daily bread and every little moment's bread yesterday you took it from us give it to us today or at the very least give us the right to give ourselves our daily bread not just the bread that was a symbol of Something but that of crumbs and husks our daily bread..."

(2) Awareness of Global Issues

I wrote about this in my journal many times, and when the groups from Bethlehem and Good Shepherd came to Argentina, I shared the following passage from my journal with them:
"I've been trying to figure out why it bothers me to see North Americans outside of North America. Even when they're not doing anything wrong, there's a part of me that can't help cringing whenever I see or hear them in Ciudad Vieja or walking along 18 de Julio. I think it's because in the grand scheme of things, North Americans are like people leaving a party in a brightly lit house in the middle of the night. They walk out into the street calling to each other and laughing and slamming their car doors without ever stopping to think that there are other people sleeping or nursing children in the small, dark houses down the block. And yet, at the same time, how can you blame them? From inside such a bright house, they couldn't see out the windows even if they tried."
I could make a whole list of specific issues I've learned about in Uruguay, and that list would include everything from unemployment problems in Uruguay to the aftermath of the dictatorship to issues surrounding health care, education, and trade with the U.S. But I think one of my most important realizations has to do with Americans and the way we interact with the rest of the world. I finished my time in Uruguay feeling both forgiving and reproachful of my fellow Americans and myself. Being able to leave the metaphorical "bright house" of the U.S., I realized just how hard it is to be aware of global issues in the U.S., how biased our media is, how difficult it is to find real news, etc. And so I felt compassion for myself and my countrypeople, and I forgave us, a little, for our ignorance. But I also held us responsible: if the house is so bright that we can't see out the windows, shouldn't we dim the lights and turn down the music?  If we can't even see out our own windows, when is it time to break the old windows and install new ones?

(3) Reflections about leadership

In his travel journal "Gracias," Henri Nouwen writes, "True prayer always includes becoming poor." In Uruguay, I felt the same about the models of leadership I witnessed. Working with Pastora Wilma and Milton and many other dedicated social workers, teachers, and laypeople, I was blown away by how radical their approach to leadership seemed. It was all horizontal, all based on mutual conversations and decisions and commitments. And, being horizontal, even the "boss" figures were working way down on the ground. I remember being at Pastora Wilma's house one day when the doorbell rang and a homeless man asked her for food. She told me it was the 15th time someone had come to her house begging that day, and she had given food or winter clothes to each of them.
At times I felt scared or guilty when I saw Pastora Wilma and Milton's commitment to the poor. I got scared by some of the people who came to Pastora Wilma's front door, especially one whom we knew was violent. And I felt guilty for not immediately loving them or always wanting to help. I remember walking down the street in the dark with Pastora Wilma one night and passing a woman with crazy eyes wrapped up in a blanket. "That poor woman," she said, just as I was thinking, "I want to go home."
But I was continually challenged and inspired and renewed by the projects I helped out in, too. I found a community of people in Montevideo who are all committed to the same cause, although they approach it from many different angles (pastors, teachers, doctors, social workers, artists, etc). As the year progressed I came to know many of the people who waited at the bus stop with me-they were social workers and teachers who were headed to different projects in the Barrio Borro, and I felt a great sense of solidarity when we discussed our program activities and the challenges of our daily work. I especially loved getting on the bus and realizing that I knew half the people already on it, because they were fellow teachers/social workers or residents of the Barrio. I would walk down the aisle greeting practically every other person with a kiss, as is customary in Uruguay.
The following passage is a stanza from one of Benedetti's most famous poems, "Te Quiero" ("I Love You"). It's about the solidarity of loving someone not only for who he or she is, but for the work (s)he does and what s(he) stands for. A lot of young, liberal Uruguayos read it at their weddings. I especially love the lines, "Somos mucho mas que dos," i.e. "We are so much more than two," because it makes me think of all the volunteers and program coordinators in the YAGM program, not to mention our local co- workers, who are like an army of peace deployed in groups of one or two to different parts of the world.
"Si te quiero es porque sos
mi amor mi cómplice y todo
y en la calle codo a codo
somos mucho más que dos"
"If I love you it is because you are
my love, my accomplice, my everything
and in the street elbow to elbow
we are so much more than two"
The poem also makes me think of the dictatorship, and all the young people who were killed or "disappeared."  I imagine them as ghosts or spirits walking in solidarity with the people who survive and are fighting for the causes they died for.

(4) Reflections about the Role of Churches in Society

This has a lot to do with (1), so I won't write too much more here. But, as I said in other newsletters, I was always impressed by Pastora Wilma's boundary-less sense of Church. I learned to see the Church not as a building or even an institution, but as a force of energy driven by people with a great vision and even greater love.

(5) New Theological and Biblical Approaches

I'm not a theology student, and I don't know the Bible as well as many of my fellow volunteers. I'm as Biblically literate as anyone who was confirmed 9 years ago and has taken only a few formal religion classes since then. But I do love learning about theology, and one of the best surprises of my year in Uruguay was having the opportunity to attend lectures and meetings with ministers from the IELU (Iglesias Evangelicas Luteranas Unidas, the Lutheran Church body with which the ELCA has a relationship). The following are direct quotes from Lisandro Orlov, an Argentine pastor who does amazing work with AIDS patients in Buenos Aires. I took these notes during our orientation a year ago and they provided a theological framework for understanding my year of service. I know they're in a basic form, but they're too powerful and eloquent not to share.

Latest Message from Meredith

16 December 2006

Dear friends,

I imagine that many of you are spending this season of Advent decorating Christmas trees, lighting candles in your windows, and crossing your fingers for a white Christmas. Here, the days are getting longer and hotter and longer and hotter and hotter. It's a dfferent kind of "season of light," for sure! I'm still getting used to seeing Christmas trees and plastic Santa Clauses sold next to the swimsuits and beach mats in the supermarkets here.

November and the first part of December have been full of new things.

In my last email I said that I was beginning to have normal days, but I still have plenty of abnormal days, too! So I'll devote this email to some of the new things I have been experiencing and doing:

1. Turning 23 in Uruguay! I celebrated my birthday, November 11, by going to an all-night Uruguayo rock festival. It was...well, it was an all-night Uruguayo rock festival. So it was sublime, obviously.

2. Camping with the kids from La Obra (cabin-ing, actually.) We spent a weekend in November playing capture-the-flag, making sandcastles, eating snacks, singing around a campfire, and running through the woods in Colonia Valdense, Uruguay. It was a wonderful way to spend time with the kids in an informal setting, especially when we had free time at the beach. But I was exhausted afterwards!

I have renewed respect for parents, camp counselors, and elementary school teachers everywhere.

3. Learning to cook! This is the first time I've lived outside of my parents' home or a college dorm, so I'm learning all those things that 20-somethings learn after college--I just happen to be doing it in Uruguay! I eat lunch with Pastora Wilma's family every Saturday, and I'm always asking, "How do you make this? Is this easy to make? Can you teach me how to make this?" For the record, the best meal I've cooked so far was chicken with a little bit of orange and fresh vegetables fried in vinegar, salt, sugar and soy sauce. It's easy.

I'll make it for you sometime when I get home.

4. Thanksgiving in Uruguay. We six volunteers, along with our coordinator Kate Lawler and her family, spent the weekend at Centro Emmanuel, a Church-run organic farm in Colonia Valdense. Strangely enough, the cows and fields and open skies reminded many of us midwesterners of home! And the food reminded us of home, too--we cooked our own dinner of chicken (turkey's hard to come by here), mashed potatoes, vegetables (my contribution), lefsa, fruit pizza, jello, and chocolate chip cookies (also very hard to come by here).

5. New responsibility in El Cerro. I've begun leading the children's Sunday (Saturday) School classes by myself every other Saturday. This gives Pastora Wilma a little bit of time to rest, and it also gives me the opportunity to step up and get more involved in the community there. These past few weeks we've been talking about the Christmas story--what it means to "share the good news" (like the shepherds); what it means to give gifts to Jesus (like the wise men); and why it's significant that Jesus was born in a humble, simple place. We're also preparing for our Christmas pageant, which we'll be having next Saturday, December 23. We don't have enough kids to cover all the parts, so I get to be in the pageant, too. I'm Joseph.

6. Making Christmas cookies with Casa Joven (food seems to be a theme of this email...). All of the teenagers are currently involved in projects related to Christmas--some are making picture frames, others are making small gifts, and a third group is baking cookies for our Christmas party this Friday. I've learned how to make ojos (literally "eyes"), a delicious cookie with a jelly-like center, and alfajores, the popular cookie sandwiches sold everywhere in Uruguay and Argentina. This Tuesday I'm leading the group in making chocolate chip cookies.

7. Friends! It's hard to make friends in a country where I don't know many people my own age, not to mention the added difficulty of dealing with a language barrier. Sometimes I think that there's no way I would want to talk to me in Spanish. But I'm slowly and surely meeting people, and a few weeks ago I experienced Montevideo night life for the first time, something my co-workers had been insisting that I do. The next time I meet a foreigner in Minnesota I'll jump at the chance to invite him or her over for dinner, because now I know how much that kind of thing means to someone living in a new place.

There are a million more new things that I could write about, but hopefully this gives you a little taste of what I've been doing these past six weeks. People here keep asking me if I'm homesick because it's almost Christmas, but the change of seasons keeps me from feeling too homesick. It's like you and I are separated not only by miles and kilometers, but by months as well--I'm not homesick for Christmas in Minnesota because it doesn't feel like Christmas in Minnesota here.

It feels like Christmas in Uruguay. And how could I not enjoy that??

I'll write again soon to let you know how the Christmas pageant went and what we did to celebrate Christmas and New Year's.

Thanks to all of you who have been writing to me! Take care, and have a very Merry Christmas!
Love, Meredith

2 November 2006

Hello friends,

The last time I wrote to you, I had so many new things to share! I had been in Uruguay for only 2 weeks, and everything seemed different and exciting and significant. Now, as I sit down to write this second newsletter, I can think of hundreds more new and exciting and significant things to share with you. I've still been here only 8 weeks. But as I settle into a routine I find myself trading in all my initial bright reactions--surprise! joy! loneliness! fear! amazement!--for quieter, more pastel versions of themselves. I'm beginning to have days that feel normal.

A normal day for me begins with a breakfast of tea, toast, and jam. I always eat with my host grandfather, who is the president of Nuestro Salvador. Then I take 2 buses to work--the 105 and the 328--and make sure to leave my house about 90 minutes before I have to be at work.

I get to see a lot of the city from the window of a bus. When I get to work, I sit around a table at La Obra and drink mate with the teachers while we wait for the kids to arrive. I love hearing the kids come in and pound on the windows and call to each other and greet me in beginning English ("Hellohowareyou?"). It's like hearing a city wake up after watching a peaceful sunrise. And at the end of the day I love walking along the road between La Obra and the bus stop, knowing that I will see the same things I see every day: two horses grazing in the yard next door, a small shop selling cigarettes and hamburgers, and the sun setting behind a torn-up field where a crowd of boys and a few lone girls play soccer all day.

The actual work that I do at La Obra varies from day to day. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I help out in a program called Centro de Estudios in the morning and a program called Casa Joven in the afternoon. Centro de Estudios is a program that offers academic support and homework help for kids in junior high and high school. I get to help kids with English assignments like naming all the parts of the body, describing a family member, or writing about plans for the summer. Casa Joven is a program that offers vocational training for high school age kids who aren't part of the traditional education system. One of the coolest projects they have is a peluqueria (hair salon) in which the kids learn to cut hair and then offer free clinics for people in the community. I am in no way qualified to cut hair, much less teach anyone else how to cut hair, but I try to be as helpful as I can. I've gotten pretty good at washing hair without letting all the shampoo run into the clienteles' eyes. This is trickier than you may think.

On Wednesday and Friday afternoons I help in Club de Ninos, a program for kids ages 6-12. We play soccer, make kites, play with play dough, and go for walks through the neighborhood. I also teach English lessons every Friday, and I love trying to think of creative ways to engage the kids. So far my most successful lessons have been teaching the song "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands" and making pop-up books about the zoo to learn the names of animals in English.

My least successful lesson, in case you were wondering, ended with 2 students getting into a fight while the other 3 threw a soccer ball at one anothers' heads. I try to focus on the singing and pop-up books, though. :)

I spend Saturdays working with Pastora Wilma Rommel, the pastor of Montevideo's Lutheran Church (Nuestro Salvador). We go to El Cerro, a low-income part of Montevideo where Pastora Wilma teaches catechism classes to kids and then works with their mothers, many of whom come from difficult or violent homes. The classes are held in a private home, so the kids can play outside in the yard while their mothers meet with Pastora Wilma. The whole program has an incredible grassroots feel. I really admire the work Pastora Wilma does there--she really embraces the idea of "accompaniment" and meeting people where they are (literally or figuratively) and figuring out what they need or want her to do to help. And I love her theology, too. As an example:  a few weeks ago one of the women in El Cerro made a cake for us, but we didn't eat all of it. So Pastora Wilma used the leftovers for Communion the next day. I thought the symbolism of that was so beautiful--like, what could be more holy than a cake made by a woman in a low-income community and offered to you as a guest in her home?

One of the things that I like about my work is that I see so many direct examples of people serving other people:  the teenagers in Casa Joven washing one another's hair; the cooks at La Obra dishing bowls of rice and pasta; the woman in El Cerro opening her home for our meetings. It makes me think about things that I can do to serve the people around me, even when those things are very small--things like cleaning up crayons and stacking chairs and giving up my seat on the bus.

I've recently realized that another important part of my service is listening to people talk about the war in Iraq. I can't tell you how many people have asked me about it, from taxi drivers to members of Nuestro Salvador to fruit vendors to a Canadian backpacker I met in Buenos Aires. For awhile, I found myself getting frustrated at the tone of some of their questions. I felt guilty, I felt attacked, and I felt helpless. But the other night I had an experience that helped me gain a new perspective on my role as an American. It was late at night, and I was taking a taxi home after having been in Buenos Aires for a reunion with the other volunteers. I was already exhausted, and then the taxi driver began asking me about Iraq. As he launched into his reasons for not wanting to ever visit the U.S., I suddenly realized that what mattered most was not how I responded to his questions, but simply that I was there and listening and acknowledging that his opinion is important and valid. I think part of my responsibility as an American living abroad is to listen to the voices of people our government doesn't listen to. Some things I can change; some things I can't. But the least I can do is give the people I meet a chance to tell an American what they think of America.

As always, there's a lot more that I could tell you about my daily experiences and the things I think about and the people I meet. But I know this email is getting long, and I would rather leave you wanting more than thinking "Is she finally done??" So, that's all for now. Thanks to all of you who responded to my last newsletter and have been thinking about me and praying for me. It's wonderful to hear from you!

Take care,

Meredith

P.S. Pictures are coming very, very soon. I promise.

22 September 2006  

Dear friends,

Hello from Uruguay!  I'm writing to you from a "cyber," which is what Uruguayos call internet cafes. Spring is in the air!  I'm wearing a t-shirt without a fleece for the first time today, and I can see beautiful green birds flying from tree to tree down the street.

It took me several weeks to actually get to Uruguay, but the journey was lovely. I left home on August 20 and spent a week in Chicago for the Young Adults in Global Mission orientation. There, I met up with about 35 other youth volunteers from the ELCA and about 35 more from the Presbyterian Church of America.  My fellow ELCA volunteers are serving in Mexico, Kenya, Slovakia, India, Germany, the Philippines, the UK, and of course Argentina/Uruguay! We spent the week worshipping together, eating together, sharing our faith stories together, and attending lectures on everything from globalization to the ELCA's model of accompaniment to why we are discouraged from adopting babies during our year of service (okay, that last one was only part of the general policies and procedures lecture, but it was my favorite part).

On August 28, I left for Buenos Aires with five volunteers who are serving in Argentina-Stacey, Justin, Rachel, Carrie, and Lesley. We had to spent a night in D.C. due to weather delays in Chicago, but we finally arrived in Buenos Aires on the morning of August 30.  Our country coordinator, Kate Lawler, and her husband, David Wunsch (who is also an ELCA regional representative), met us at the airport. They are amazing!! None of us can get over how incredibly organized, thoughtful, and kind they have been throughout our first few weeks.

We spent our week in Buenos Aires sharing more worship, food, and faith stories. We also attended some incredible lectures and events. I learned and saw and felt so much! I learned about the debt that Argentina is still paying off from the time of the dictatorship. I saw many faces of Argentina, including those of tango dancers and AIDS patients and Las Madres de la Plaza del Mayo whose sons were among the disappeared during the dictatorship. And I felt excited to explore a new city, touched by our meeting with Las Madres, and inspired by the way that many of our speakers practice Christianity. The highlight of the week, for me, was meeting with Pastor Lisandro Orlov, who spoke about the role of Christianity in today's world. He said that our identity as a religion must be found in the unconditional love of God, and that the sign of the real Church is when others say, "Look how they love each other!" When we draw a line between "us" and "them," he said, Jesus is always on the other side. Amen. Another bright spot of the week was meeting with Pastor Judy VonOsdel-Hansen, who is partially sponsored by my home congregation, Bethlehem. She spoke to us about feminist theology and learning to make visible that which has been made invisible (e.g. women in the Bible or oppressed people today). One thing she said that really stuck with me is that the Gospel is, by definition, good news. It HAS to be good news! So if all we find in the Bible is judgment and exclusion, maybe we haven't found the good news yet.

I finally arrived in Montevideo on Thursday, September 7. It was late at night when I arrived, and my initial impression was that of a city filled with palm trees and horses and carts. Since then, I have had the opportunity to form many more impressions. There certainly are a lot of palm trees and horses and carts (as well as cars and buses). There's also a lot of mate, which is the traditional bitter tea that Uruguayos drink from gourds. I'm learning to like it, but I´ll admit that I prefer it the Argentine way, with sugar (shh, don't tell!). There's also a lot more poverty than a person might realize if he or she came just to go to one of Uruguay's popular beaches. Parts of Montevideo are very beautiful, with charming panaderias (bakeries) and cute houses and clean streets. But other parts of Montevideo, like the neighborhoods I work in, are very poor.

One of the neighborhoods I work in is called Barrio Borro. I´m serving at La Obra Ecumenica Barrio Borro, which is like a school/community center for kids and youth in the neighborhood.  I'll write more about the specific programs offered at La Obra in a future newsletter, but for now I'll just say that I have been dividing my time between a group of 6-12 year-olds (helping with math homework, teaching English, playing games, doing crafts, etc.) and an older group of teenagers (again, helping with homework, teaching English, and assisting as they learn vocational skills).  Although, honestly, I have been doing a lot more learning than I have been teaching so far. I´m learning to speak Spanish the way Uruguayos do, which is not necessarily the same as textbook Spanish. I´m learning to be patient. I´m learning the way things are done in this country, this city, this barrio. And I´m very grateful to all my co-workers who have been teaching me things like which bus to take to work, how to conjugate new verbs, and what to do when a 9-year-old cuts her lip at the same time as two other 9-year-olds are on the verge of punching each other (though I´m still not sure I´ve got that last one down).

The other site where I´m serving is in a different low-income area of Montevideo, called El Cerro. The pastor of my Church here, Pastora Wilma Rommel, offers Bible studies for children and women in a private home on Saturday afternoons. Pastora Wilma is at a conference in Europe right now, so I have been able to visit that site only once so far. The Saturday that I went, we sang hymns and talked to the kids about the Lord's Prayer (Padre Nuestro) and what different parts of it mean. The whole program has a really interesting grassroots feel, since we work with a small group of families out of a private home. I will write more about that site, as well as my Church, Nuestro Salvador, in a future email. I want to wait until Pastora Wilma returns to describe it, though, because things have not really been "normal" in her absence.

There's so much more I could write about, but this newsletter has gone on long enough already! So I´ll just end by saying thank you to all of you who have written to me or told me you would be thinking of me. I've been thinking and feeling so many things in these past few weeks, and it's wonderful to know that other people are interested in sharing those thoughts and feelings with me.   The type of Spanish spoken in Uruguay and Argentina is influenced by Italian, so most Uruguayos end conversations by saying "ciao!"  I´ve also seen it written "chao." So, ciao, chao, friends! Take care. I'll write more soon.  

Meredith