feet & faith

My favorite Bible stories are about feet. In Luke 10 Jesus visits the home of Mary and Martha where Mary "sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said" (v.39). We're told that Jesus was welcomed into the home of these 2 sisters, but as he arrived, Martha was busy fussing over all the preparations while her sister just soaked in the presence of the Lord. I don't know exactly what stories and lessons the Lord was weaving, but I love that image of Mary sitting so attentively at his feet, looking up at his face, animated by the truth he was sharing. I have often seen myself in Martha in this story -- wrapped up in a task-oriented way of living that prevents me from giving my time or attention to whatever or whoever is directly in front of me. This verse, then, captures the presence we are invited into by our Lord; we do not need to prepare anything, rather we can come wide-eyed and empty-handed. We are allowed to set aside our (inconsequential) to-do lists and just sit back with a deep breath to listen with gladness to whatever the Lord has to share with us.

Staying on this same theme, later, in John 13, Jesus washes the Disciples' feet. The evening before his crucifixion, I imagine Jesus getting his knees grimy in the dirt and dust as he soaks each disciple's feet with freshly drawn water and dries them with a clean rag, all the while gazing at the disciple in front of him with love in his eyes. He brings himself to the level of the people he is serving-loving, and he offers the fulness of his unrushed attention, starting with their feet. The grimy and gritty and dirty meets the holy.

Here in Colombia, 2 afternoons a week I have the opportunity to accompany a children's program run by a local Presbyterian church in a nearby community, an area largely populated by migrant Venezuelan families. A neighborhood of the city that is often reduced to its violence and low socioeconomic status, I have found that the residents are generally blamed for their current circumstances when a truer interpretation might be that the most vulnerable communities are often handed the most difficult (and most unjust) circumstances and left to deal with the challenges that arise. To provide more context on what the Venezuelan migrant crisis: honestly, it is a really challenging and complicated situation (despite the mainstream narrative of media reporting on Venezuela in the US), and I'm hesitant to try to summarize the situation when I myself am not completely sure of the interwoven parts. Generally speaking, though, Venezuela has been in an economic crisis for some years as opposing political forces have continued to make decisions that disproportionately affect the most vulnerable populations. As a consequence, there has been an influx of Venezuelan migrants coming to Colombia (Barranquilla in particular) and other Latin American countries in search of some sense of stability and access to basic necessities that weren't readily available in Venezuela. There is no existing official information on the standard of living of Venezuelan migrants in Colombia, but without proper documentation, stable employment is extremely hard to come by, so many migrant families are living in acute poverty.

Re-centering, then, on this children's program: a central goal the program has defined for itself is helping kids build strong values. Yet, thinking about Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, before we can fully develop children's values, we have to work on meeting their basic human needs. It's a delicate patchwork of priorities, between clean water, food security, a hospitable living space, and safe playtime. I'm not criticizing the program's goal to instill strong values -- in fact I think it's an incredibly worthy one and the director has a true gift for mentoring these kids with an awareness for their current circumstances, but, personally, I have struggled to know what space I can hold in the program. These are tough kids who have seen a different side of life than me -- their daily reality revolves around very different questions than my own as their circumstances don't always promise when their next meal will be or how their family will pay their rent. Unlike my experiences working with kids in the past where I knew the right questions to ask, the right games to engage them, and the right discipline to direct their energy, I have had to set that experience aside to start from scratch in this new context -- I can't hold on to the same certainties of who lives in their families, what reading level they are at, or how they spend their free time. And so I ask, What can I offer that will provide structure and support for these kids? I feel so deeply the need to come prepared, to have something quantifiable to point to and say, "this is what I can offer"... almost like Martha. To clarify: the success of this program does not depend on me. There are some very capable local leaders working with the church to make this a success -- but as a YAV I have the invitation to participate and, moving forward, to continue wrestling with my personal place in this space.

In addition to the children's program, once a week I also work with my local church's ministry team that serves a different migrant Venezuelan population. On Tuesdays, 5 church ladies and I pile into Pastor Cristhian's car and we drive 20 minutes to another nearby community of primarily Venezuelan migrant families to lead an afternoon of music, Bible stories, and art activities. The church has been running this program with great success for 3 years already, but recently in November we decided to add a component to the program: home visits to the mothers who had otherwise been left out of the activities, most not even aware of the purpose of Proyecto creciendo con Jesus (Project Growing with Jesus). This component was only added to the program after we spoke with the mothers of the community and received unanimous interest in the idea. Early in December we did our first home visit and then again this past Tuesday; while the other ladies started their respective music and Bible Study classes, Cristhian and I set off on foot to visit the mother of one of the kids in Proyecto creciendo con Jesus -- we'll call her María although that's not her real name. The intention of these visits is essentially to come alongside these women and build relationships -- between the Caribbean climate, lack of neighborhood safety, and almost non-existent childcare, it is not uncommon for migrant Venezuelan mothers to spend almost all of their time inside their homes. Not to say that is a comfortable alternative to the heat and busy streets -- rental homes in these neighborhoods are often small, unventilated, dark spaces that serve as living room, kitchen, bedroom, and closet all at once. On this particular visit, we followed María to a narrow passageway that opened up into a courtyard with 12 single room habitations branching off from a shared patio/bathroom space at the center. Looking around, there were uneven concrete steps looming close to where young kids were playing together, exposed wires, and a slanting concrete floor that suggests some pretty serious flooding when it rains. And, within each of the 12 rooms,12 families struggling to get by day-to-day, 1 or both parents in each family working to earn whatever monedas they can to get by on simple arepas, rice, and eggs.

María spoke with us for over an hour, just sharing with us the realities of her day-to-day, now more than 2 years into her flip-flopped life in Colombia, one that feels so far away from her life in Venezuela where she was an educated professional, hardworking employee, a home-owner, a daughter, a wife, a mother. Our entire visit I was struck by her resilient spirit; her loyalty, faith, hope, and goodness were so evident even as pain, frustration, and struggle covered every story that she shared with us. A mother of 3, everything she shared with us circled back to her desire to protect and provide for her beloved children -- she spoke about the struggle to put food on the table when she doesn't have the necessary documentation to get a stable job and the desire to send money back to her family still living in Venezuela. It was heavy and holy all at once. I'm still asking myself if I deserved to be in that space; even while we brought some staple foods to gift to the family, I still felt like we arrived empty-handed, like my presence was so completely inadequate. Just as I struggle at times knowing how to connect to the kids in the children's program, I had to think closely about what questions I asked María, not wanting to assume anything about her situation or ask an unintentionally uncomfortable question. At times, I'm so conscious of the degrees of privilege that separate me from migrant folks like María and I wonder what arrogance I must have to think I am fit to accompany these communities with care. I am neither a mother nor a migrant nor in the path of poverty...what can I offer to people who live with such different realities?

And even as I hold these questions and I reflect upon the levels of life experience that separate me from these vulnerable communities, Grace whispers that my presence might be enough, ready with a bucket of water and a clean rag to accompany these vulnerable communities, even in all my insufficiency. Grace whispers that it is enough to sit at the Lord's feet with awe and wonder, to let down the endless work to just be present with whatever beautiful and broken person is in front of me. I can offer love, consistency, and attention -- 3 often unrecognized human needs. These are 3 things I can seek to foster in the children's programs every week and these are 3 things I can hold with tenderness in any future home visits we do, in all the heaviness and holiness. This is how I can wash feet, even as we wait and work for structural change that offers widespread support for migrant families who need documentation, stable employment, access to nutritious & affordable food, and more.

And this time of year, we remember the night a baby was born to a teenage mother, far from their home, in a stable built for livestock. May we hold close to this story this time of year. The grimy and gritty and dirty meets the holy...Hallelujah.