The Coca-Cola Law

Since arriving in Bolivia last week we have learned of two new federal laws. The first, the Coca-Cola Law, degrees that as of December 21 (summer solstice—an important indigenous ceremonial day), Coca-Cola will be banned in Bolivia. On pain of arrest and jail time, no one can buy, sell, own or drink Coca-Cola, that dark devil liquid produced by the evil empire of the north. Seriously.

But in the meantime, ads for the drink continue to dominate bill boards and TV time, announcing to all citizens that Coca-Cola is the “chispa de la vida” (the spark of life). When I asked why the government was permitting the ads, my friend told me it was to help the supermarkets, small business owners and restaurants that need to get rid of a huge inventory before December 21. On that date, the spark of life will leave Bolivia.

This reminds me of the time in the 1980s when MacDonald's left Bolivia. This time it was at the instigation of the company, having determined its profit margin was not large enough in Bolivia. The government was not involved. MacDonald's had become a prestigious gathering place for Bolivia’s youth, and the company’s decision stung. I remember newspaper headlines lamenting, “MacDonald's! Why Have You Abandoned Us?”

I’m not seeing any public laments over the exit of Coca-Cola, and that may have something to do with the second new law. This one is more serious. It’s an anti-discrimination law, directed against a real problem of racial and ethnic discrimination that has plagued Bolivia ever since the Spaniards discovered her. Now, with an indigenous president and more even ethnic representation in congress than ever in the country’s history, some of the ancient wrongs are being righted. Yet people continue to carry their prejudices. And express them. This is the point the new law addresses.

It is now against the law to insult or verbally discriminate against anyone of another race, social class or ethnic group. Of course, such discrimination is never right, but turning verbal expression into a crime is dangerous in itself. Recently several newspaper and television reporters have been arrested for publicly criticizing the government. The government agents involved claimed, on the basis of the new law, that these reporters were verbally discriminating against them.

My friend warned us not to criticize the government while we were in La Paz, or to mention anything that might be considered discriminatory during our consultation on the gospel and culture. This conversation took place in a barrio restaurant, as we sat there, wondering about the future of the country, sipping our cokes.

Dreams, drama and a thesis defense

Sergio da Silveira began the presentation of his thesis with a story. As an idealistic young man he had just graduated from the state university in Rio de Janeiro with a major in Portuguese literature. His dream was to go on and get his masters degree in literature, but there was an obstacle. He sensed God calling him to become a missionary.

Sergio chose to follow God and he gave up his academic dreams. For over 30 years now he has been involved in missions, first as a Brazilian missionary to Bolivia, and more recently as director of a program that trains Brazilian missionaries in Bolivia before sending them on to their final destination in Africa or the Middle East.

He told us that this afternoon, God was fulfilling his original dream. He was here to defend his masters thesis, not in literature, but in mission.

When Sergio speaks, all his Brazilian passion and flare for the dramatic come to the forefront. This was probably one of the most entertaining thesis defenses I have sat through. Sergio doesn’t just speak; he preaches, and although this was a formal academic event, he preached his way through it, accompanied by broad gestures and dancing feet. After he informed us that his research was qualitative and descriptive, based on empirical data obtained from case studies, he paused, then exclaimed, “Isn’t this marvelous?” At another point he explained, “Don’t be alarmed. This is my natural way of talking.” An occasional “amen” and “hallelujah” punctuated the 45 minute presentation, which had to be sped up at the end to include his conclusions. We were all panting. This was followed by 45 minutes of questions from the panel of judges. Sergio’s style didn’t change.

I love the origins of the word “enthusiasm.” It combines the Greek words for “in” and “God,” and one might say it meant, “infused with God.” That describes Sergio yesterday. I know the long road he walked to get to this point and the triumph it represents. Academic propriety can just go out the window sometimes. I didn’t miss it.

In his research Sergio was evaluating the effects of the intermediary training program that prepares Brazilian missionaries for their future service. He was motivated by the fact that well over half of Brazilian missionaries sent abroad encountered problems so severe they quit and came home before their first term ended. The program Sergio directs places missionary candidates in places of ministry in Bolivia as part of their training, hoping that experience in a culture that is a little different from Brazil will help prepare them for their posts in Africa or the Middle East. In the cases he studied from a 15 year span, over 70% of the 54 candidates were able to persevere in their new posts. Hopefully Sergio’s research will encourage his mission agency to continue this type of preparation.

It certainly encourages us. Hal was Sergio’s mentor and has had to work with him long distance for the past several years. He graduates from the masters-in-mission program we founded and directed at the Universidad Evangelica Boliviana. Even though we are no longer there, it’s good to know that the process works, and that our students are making significant contributions.

 Sergio passed his defense. We all went home tired but content. Today he is back to work, full of enthusiasm, one dream accomplished, many others ahead. Thanks be to God.

On being an expert

Hal and I are once again in the throes of preparation for a trip to Latin America. This time we will be in Bolivia for the month of September. The big event is a consultation we are calling “The Gospel and Culture in the Aymara Context,” and seeks to address one of the crucial issues Aymara Christians face in this time of an indigenous revitalization movement. The Bolivian Friends Church (an Aymara church) invited us to lead this consultation, partly based on Hal’s anthropological background and years of experience among Aymara peoples. We strongly sense God’s leading and have been preparing for some time now.

It’s turning into a very participatory event, with five sponsoring organizations and many leaders. Hal is the coordinator, always a challenge when done over the Internet, but things seem to be coming together.

We received the event poster this week, and it’s impressive. But we are having a very Quaker reaction. It features us as the special invited guest experts and makes it clear that we have our doctorates, thus, I suppose, qualifying us to lead. Actually, what excites us about this consultation is the level of participatory leadership. What up-front leading is done will be shared with six others, all of whom are Bolivian, five of whom are Aymara, all of whom could be called “experts” in the topics they will be sharing. And most of the work of the consultation will be done by all the women and men who show up, bringing their own experiences, concerns and dreams.

The poster gives the idea that we’re coming to lecture. Some of my least favorite words include “lecture,” “expert,” and “doctor.” In Spanish the word for “lecture” is “ponencia,” and is linguistically related to “imponer,” or “impose” in English. It’s what the expert doctor, usually someone from outside the context, comes to do to the passive but eager learners. Ouch.

Okay! Okay!  So I’m exaggerating a little. My Quaker preference for understatement is now clicking in.  But I do wish the publicity could underscore the names of all the people who are giving time and leadership. And someone needs to warn people that they are coming to work, not passively listen to lectures.

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on us all.

On accepting our losses courageously (and hairlessly)

I love St. Francis de Sales. Although his classic, Introduction to the Devout Life, was originally published in 1609, I continue to find in it grace for living today. But maybe the real reason I like this book so much is that it makes me laugh. I don’t know if St. Francis deliberately sprinkled his writing with jokes, or if it’s the clash of cultures and centuries that so tickles my funny bone, but his metaphors and comparisons are often so strange that I’m frequently doing double-takes and asking, is this monk crazy? Or sometimes his analogies are just slightly askew, and I wonder, did he really mean that? 

Here’s one of those passages that caused a double-take. The subject is serious, but…

“If you meet with losses that impoverish you either very much or a little, as in the case of tempests, fires, floods, droughts, thefts, or lawsuits, that is the proper time to practice poverty by accepting your losses meekly and patiently and by courageously submitting to such impoverishment. Esau presented himself to his father with his hands covered with hair, and Jacob did the same, but because the hair on Jacob’s hands did not belong to his skin but only to his gloves it might be taken away without injuring his skin. On the contrary, the hair on Esau’s hands adhered to his skin, which was naturally very hairy, so if anyone had tried to pluck it off it would have hurt him and he would have cried out, been angry, and defended himself. Thus when our worldly goods cleave to our hearts, what complaints, what trouble and what impatience do we fall into if a storm, a thief, or a cheat takes any part of them away from us. When our goods do not cleave to our hearts and we think of them only because of such care as God wants us to have for them, we don’t lose reason or peace of mind if they are taken away from us. Hence the difference as to clothing between men and beasts. The garments of beasts, namely, their skins, adhere to their flesh, while those of men are merely put on them and can be taken off at will.”

Thinking in the same logical vein, I wonder if women are better able to accept losses than men because women shave their legs.

Custom-tailoring the disciplines

It seems a bit risky to blog about the spiritual disciplines, as though I’m saying, “This is what I do; read and learn.” I don’t mean that; I don’t even dare suggest it. For me the spiritual disciplines are both a joy and a struggle, and struggle often has the upper hand. But I believe the disciplines are vital for a healthy relationship with God, so I’m committed to the struggle (accepting the joy whenever it surprises me). Writing helps to solidify the gains and clarify the growth points.

The list of possible spiritual disciplines grows every time I read a new book on the subject. That alone discourages. But somewhere along the way I learned the importance of custom-tailoring the disciplines, finding the specific practices that best help me walk with Jesus. In some way or other these match my personality or my situation in life. Some writers refer to a “rule of life,” a term that has monastic roots. Since I squirm under the word “rule,” and since practicing the disciplines can so easily become legalistic, I don’t use that term, but the meaning may approximate what I do.

I’ve recognized five basic disciplines that probably will a part of my life until I die. These are the spiritual exercises I intentionally practice every day/week, in some form or other: engagement with Scripture, prayer, writing, memorization and gratitude. I will write on each of these separately over the next several weeks.

Behind the whole concept of the disciplines, I see the amazing New Testament message that God calls us into partnership, whether for the fulfillment of God’s mission in the world or for our own personal transformation.  I see the exercise of the disciplines as doing my part in this partnership with God for my formation and growth. I do my part and that puts me in the path of grace, God’s part.  Of course grace seems to come whether or not I do my part (which is why we call it grace), but somehow my faithfulness opens me to whatever God wants to do.  It helps me recognize and receive the grace. Transformation and grace are what God does.

It’s not a magic formula. It’s a mystery. I just want to get closer to it. Closer to Jesus.

I need the Spirit’s help to be faithful. And I need the Spirit’s help to keep legalism from creeping in. I need the help of my friends (one of the main ways the Spirit helps me), spiritual partners who keep me accountable. 

In my practice of the disciplines, I have good weeks and I have crummy weeks. I’m learning to go easy on myself (which doesn’t sound much like “discipline,” but if I can’t forgive myself, who will?  Oh, yes. God will. Ok. But it’s still a good thing for me to do, too.)

It looks like I need to discipline myself now and bring this to a close. To be continued. I’d love to hear about others’ custom-tailored spiritual disciplines.

At the end of my rope

The cliché, “at the end of my rope,” was graphically illustrated for me by a Netflix movie I watched the other night. It’s not one I would have chosen. Hal and I were in Springfield to help Jon and Kristin re-shingle the roof, a gigantic end-of-the-rope task whose successful execution was made possible by the small army of volunteers that showed up, among whom were ourselves. But we did it, plus a few other tasks. We decided to relax with a movie Tuesday night, and the men chose the “adventure” category. (Kristin and I, left to ourselves, would have opted for “romance.”)

We came up with “North Face,” a blind choice about mountain climbers. A German film, complete with subtitles, it portrayed the true story of four young men who attempted a difficult peak in the Alps in the early 1940s, all to the honor of Hitler and the Cause. They didn’t make it, and one of the final scenes showed the remaining climber literally dangling in the freezing air from the end of his rope while his girlfriend, part of the rescue party, clung to the side of the cliff watching him slowly turn black and die. Her tears froze to her face. So did mine, even though it’s summer here.

That image continues to spin in the spaces inside my head. I’m facing several situations that, while not quite so dramatic, make me feel at the end of my rope. One has to do with young Peter, my four-year-old autistic grandson. I spent most of my time this week with Peter and his siblings, while Hal played around on the roof. As he grows older, Peter’s autism seems to manifest in stronger forms. Or maybe it’s just the combination of the condition with the normally strong will of a four-year-old who is learning to test the limits. We’re learning, too. We’re learning how to work with him to help him develop life skills and relational abilities. But sometimes I wonder if I don’t over compensate for the autism, and let him get away with things I wouldn’t tolerate in his brother or sister. I narrowly averted several meltdowns this week, and this leaves me exhausted. I love him, and I sometimes feel like I don’t know how to help him. Am I the one dangling at the end of the rope or the one on the cliff with frozen tears on her face? (Just putting it that way makes me laugh at myself. I feel perspective returning. I’m really nowhere near that cliff, but I am perplexed and troubled.)

The other end-of-the-rope situation has to do with our up-coming trip to Bolivia. We leave in two weeks and we are far from ready. I’ve dangled from this particular cliff before, and I should be used to it. But I’m not. By invitation of the Bolivian Friends Church we will be facilitating a consultation on the gospel and Aymara culture. It’s a crucial theme at this time in Bolivia’s history with an indigenous revitalization movement in full swing and pressure on Aymara Christians to return to the old ways, offer the sacrifices to mother earth and engage in numerous animistic practices. Some respond by capitulating. Others by completely rejecting their traditional culture. A few are finding ways to be Aymara and, at the same time, follow Jesus. This, of course, is the path we want to encourage our brothers and sisters to explore.

The consultation is to be a two-weekend intensive time to gather around the Scriptures, consider the values of the context, weigh the challenges, and prayerfully find healthy ways forward. Several institutions are co-sponsoring the event, with Hal leading and coordinating. While this is the area he has been working in for years (even doing a doctoral dissertation), we don’t feel ready. It’s been hard to virtually coordinate our team, and we’re probably looking at a lot of last-minute face-to-face assembling of the program. That makes us nervous.

Since starting this blog and finishing it, we ate breakfast and read Colossians 1. We decided to read and pray the book of Colossians these next few weeks as a means of spiritual preparation. I again find my perspective shifting. Rather than focus all this nervous energy on getting ourselves prepared, we will lift up our beloved Aymara brothers and sisters, using the words of Paul’s prayer: We are “asking God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all spiritual understanding. And we pray this in order that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and may please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience, and joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the kingdom of light.”

Of course we will do the hard work of study and preparation, but finding the right perspective makes all the difference.

We’re nowhere near that dangling rope.

 Note: Several months ago I came to the realization that for me writing is a spiritual discipline. It’s one of the ways (along with prayer and the Scriptures) that I do my part toward spiritual maturity, so that the Holy Spirit will do her part. This morning’s blog illustrates that. I literally wrote my way from the end of that rope to insight and hope.

Conversation with Hal on waste removal

On the way home
from our early morning walk,
Hal pointed to the vacant lot
across the street, drawing
my attention to a Black Thing
resting in the weeds.
He asked, “Is that a crow
or a cat?” “Or a garbage
bag?” I wondered out
loud, adding to the list
of Mysteries. I was half-way
convinced of my own perspective,
when the garbage
bag levitated, twitched
its tail, and casually
ambled off. “Too bad
it really wasn’t a garbage
bag,” I offered. “You’re crazy,”
wasn’t spoken out loud,
but he said it nonetheless. “Look
at it this way,” I posited.
“What an option this
would give us for waste
removal. Just say to the trash,
‘Go there,’ and it would arise
and go, without expensive
vehicles or the cost
of personnel. Just think.”
He conceded my point with a grin
as we, imitating the garbage
bag, ambled on home.