Here I've written out some reflections
on my experiences on the trip to Marotte, Haiti with Engineering
Ministries International Canada. This is a story about
disillusionment and communication.
I grew up amid stories about poverty
(in particular, poor Christians), and many of them made it sound like
a pretty good deal. In devotionals, in songs, in parables and on
Missions Sundays, the poor were usually portrayed as living in a
Nirvanic ambivalence, or even ignorance, of their material lack,
driven by their unwavering faith in Jesus Christ. Their faith is
supposed to be stronger, their relationships deeper and their daily
routine more meaningful than we distracted, ungrateful Canadians
could ever dream of. This portrayal was consistent enough that I wondered why we were even giving them things. Why should we
spoil it for them?
To me, the main attraction of the
contented pauper image is that, at first glance, he seems to lack
certain problems I have never been able to escape from: He has a
large, close family―How could he be lonely? He never has real
privacy―How could he be tempted? He doesn't have to go to
school―How could he experience performance anxiety? These are not "first-world problems," and to imagine they don't exist in poor populations is ignorant. They are not "first-world problems" in the sense of being unimportant, either, as some of my struggles with them have been genuinely traumatic. There is a
part of me that panics at the prospect of spending the foreseeable
future in the West, a wasteland of shallowness and vanity, and which
part takes comfort in the escapist fantasy that someday, maybe, God will send
me permanently away from Canada, to Ecuador or India or wherever.
Rationally, I recognised this as mere
fantasy before embarking on this internship. It wasn't hard to
picture the pauper asking equally ignorant questions: "You
Canadians import the whole world's food―How could you have hunger?
You have public healthcare coverage―How could you be sick? You
have post-secondary education―How could you be worried about your
future?" Before the trip I assumed that, when I would see the
conditions in Haiti, it would surely drive reality into the spot in
my mind or heart that needed it. It didn't happen that easily, though.
Just outside of Marotte, we met a farm
family who would help us gather data about the soil and the
groundwater. (These data were needed for designing foundations,
septic fields and a well.) One day, the father of the family said he
could walk us over to the outskirts of Marotte to get a sample of
wellwater for tests, but when the time came, he wouldn't budge. We
couldn't figure out why. Not only could he not explain what was
wrong (our interpreter being busy elsewhere) but I couldn't see that
he was even upset at all. I later found out that several of his kids
had been gone on an errand much longer than it should have taken, so
he was worried sick. This illustrates how difficult it was for us to
understand them. They didn't look at all discontented with their
meagre food and tiny house, sure, but what does it matter what the
blind see in their faces? Where there is no understanding, there is
no disillusionment. For that, I needed backup.
Prior to the trip, someone had
predicted: "The Father knows every person you'll meet, and the
Spirit can reveal about them what you can't perceive."
Following our first day with the farmers, the Spirit commanded me to
forget about my own wounds and dreads, to not be offended that my own
pain wasn't being understood and to give up the fantasy and watch the
reality all around me. The reality was that this family was
struggling to obtain the resources they need to live, and
consistently failing. The Spirit reminded me of where it is written,
"[Lazarus] longed to eat the crumbs that fell from the
rich man's table" (Luke 16:21).
Lazarus and the rich man are under the
same curse. Both can send their roots into the desert, if they are
foolish, and despair (see Jeremiah 17:5-8). But many have sent their
roots to the stream, and a well-watered tree is beautiful to know. I
have known many, and to the best of my perception these farmers were
among them (although literal water remains for them a persistent
source of frustration). I pray that in time I too will grow into one
of them.
Concerning the cultural habit of
romanticising poverty, I haven't totally decided what I think, but
this post has gone unposted for long enough already. In the
meantime, (1) I think of the contented pauper as an inspiring and
not-entirely-fictional character, but he is certainly a bit of a
stereotype. (2) Poverty shouldn't be conflated with leading a simple life. And (3) I guess I'll try to redirect my escapism toward
Heaven.
