Black
Coffee
I am 28 today. Usually I would wake up to birthday
cards and presents, the steady ring of text messages and phone calls, and an
Americano from Peets with two raw sugars and a dash of half n half. A day
filled with making memories with loved ones around food, fresh flowers, and
candlelight.
Today is a first. As I prepare Guatemalan coffee I
found in a small tienda at 6,000 feet, I scoop a teaspoon of raw sugar into the
ceramic mug. Fresh milk is a privilege and cannot be found in a town this size.
Black coffee it is, as I drink to 28.
Today will be a day of reflection and rest. A
discipline I struggle to embrace back home.
In a constant watch for scorpions as my feet tip toe
across the clay tiles of the bathroom, Michael appears in the doorway. He
begins singing Happy Birthday. A smile breaking forth, from the humor and
embarrassment as I finish my morning business.
I have been preparing myself. No expectations. A
lesson I have learned, accompanied with many tears and apologies.
Traditionally every birthday here is beckoned with a
large explosion of fireworks. When I first heard the celebratory bang, I
thought it was gunshots. Sadly, this country has the 5th highest
crime rate in the world.
I am in a town
called Santa Cruz La Laguna, Guatemala, once an active volcano historically
having erupted 85,000 years. Lago de Atitlan the now popular tourist
destination, is comprised of ten small towns nestled in the mountainside
surrounding a 5x12 mile lake. 4 different people groups all of Mayan decent for
centuries have found a way of survival in this vast crater. For many, gathering
wood is daily part of their subsistence. Children run around bare foot and it’s
not unusual to see a baby under 2 years old drinking coke from a family owned
tienda. In Santa Cruz La Laguna, there are 3 small churches, a school, a
medical clinic, and a communal wash basin.
Children yelling out, “Un Quetzales,” as we walk
through the streets dodging stray dogs and holding my breath as carbon
emissions from burning stoves fill the air. Subconsciously, I am constantly
wrestling inside asking the question, “Could I live like this?”
At times like this, I cannot help but
resent my privilege. The systems and infrastructures that have afforded me
clean water, education, transportation, and basic human rights. A blessing. The
blessings that also pull, divide, and threaten that which should be most important
in our lives. Causing us to think we are number one. Full schedules, running from
appointment to appointment. The busy, hurried, self-centered life.
58% of the population in Guatemala live below
extreme poverty. This means they do not have enough to buy a basic basket of
food (The World Bank). Dying of starvation is normal. A reality so far removed
from my North American birthright.
For most people born into privilege, adjusting to a
lifestyle of poverty would be impossible. Dirt floors, latrines, tortillas,
beans, and eggs every meal does not seem to satiate my North American appetite.
Birthed from plenty comes with a suitcase full of expectations and entitlement.
I have learned through tears and arguments not having
expectations all the time can be a good thing. Allowing one to fully breathe in
the moment and gracefully face on stressful and changing situations, especially
in a developing country like Guatemala. Unfortunately expectation on me looks
like a 3 year old fixated on a toy. If it is not to be had, well the whole
world is going to hear about it!
The war zone unleashed in my heart, privilege versus
poverty continues to ask the question, “Could I live like this?” With the inconveniences,
annoyances, and stressors of living in a developing country. Yet, with the
worlds greatest human needs.
Luke 5, Jesus calls the first disciples. For Simon,
James and John, after Jesus performs the wonder of almost sinking two boats
full of fish, Jesus says, “ “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching
men.” And when they had brought their boats to land, they left everything and
followed him (Luke 5:10-11 ESV).” Later after Jesus had cleansed a leper and
healed a paralytic he meets Levi the tax collector. With two words, “Follow
me”, Levi leaves everything (Luke 5:27-28).
Follow you where to Lord? There is no plan, map, or
preparation involved in such a large request? This sort of request goes against
my very DNA, to go, to be, and to step out without a plan in sight. Leaving the
suitcase of expectations on the front porch, I dig deeper to ask a greater
question beyond, “Could I live like this?” Rather I hear Jesus saying, “Will
you follow me?” No matter the cost. Like on my wedding day dressed in ivory vintage
lace, “For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in
health.”
The next chapter of Luke proceeds with the famous
Beatitudes, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God
(Luke 6:20).” Somewhere in my Christian theology I entangled the questions of
“Could I live like this?” with “Will I follow you?” Creating an exclusive
relationship between lifestyle and faith. The disciples left everything and
everyone. They were hungry, cold, and often had nowhere to lay their head at
night. But I like being full, warm, and comfortable. Is my devotion to the call
any less, if it does not look like Jesus’ disciples?
The Lord understands the temptation of those things
we clothe ourselves in, within themselves they are not evil, but when taking
our attention away from the prize, Christ Jesus, they become evil. Set your minds on things that are above, not
on things are on earth (Colossians 3:2).
At a 5 star hotel in Antigua, satiating our palates
with pumpkin ravioli and almond crusted sea bass, Michael wants to have this
conversation we find ourselves having so often. I cannot differentiate, is it
my privilege talking or a Rich daddy in heaven who loves to spoil His children?
Soaking the last piece of bread in olive oil and parmesean cheese, there are no
conclusions, leaving our appetites hungry for more.
We traveled to a village last week in the lowlands
of Antigua, meeting 7 different people groups known as the Ixchan. After 3
decades of sweeping genocide in the country, these are some of the displaced
people groups. A born and raised Guatemalan Christian leader, shared his heart with
us that day. We asked about the needs in the area, projects underway, and the
role of missionaries here. With the hair raised on our arms, his words brought
us back to that dinner table in Antigua. “What would the kingdom of God look
like if it came here?”
The reality of dirt floors, latrines, 5 star
dining, and full bellies, all became contextualized in this strangers soft
Guatemalan voice. And the contention around discipleship, the suitcase full of
expectation and privilege, and the storm in my heart didn't matter as much
anymore.
What would the kingdom of God look like if it came
in your marriage?
In your family?
In your work place?
In your church?
In your city?
In your state?
In your country?
In the world?
“Follow me,” the face of Jesus I see when I
stop and listen. When I open myself to the possibility of truly being his
disciple. I believe we are not all called to the mission field. For some, maybe
they will never leave their hometown. This is not of importance. I think we can
convince ourselves of such things, stacking in our minds what true discipleship
is and isn’t. Yet what I hear Father God saying is, “Will you follow me? Will
you follow the call I have placed on your life?” Because here in my will, is my
perfect kingdom.
