La Palabra

So, today I went to class and talked about language, of prescriptivist grammatical applications, the viable subjectivity of set sentence structures when spoken, and the deconstructed version of the old form/content discussion, among other things... interesting huh. Yet, for me it was a renaissance of a long-dormant part of my life and training. The word.
When we first arrived in Arequipa, I had an idea of what I was supposed to do. I would help where I could, play with the kids. But most of my mental energy was spent wrestling with the fact that I might have to teach English to the kids. It wasn't an external pressure but, rather, a self-imposed stricture to make myself feel useful, purposeful on the trip. When all that was taken off my hands, it was an odd mix of relief and resentment; I didn't want to give anything, but I was annoyed that I now had nothing to give. You'd think I'd have heard and experienced often enough that only when you come to the end of your own resources can God take control. But, knowing isn't yielding.
So, I had to give up all my desires for self-glorification, for usefulness, even for blessing. It was all peeled away, not unlike the skin of my nose. Hadn't Stacy and I talked the first night about Colossians 1:10? The fruit Paul talks about is for the body, the people, not for the worker who wants to be present to witness the fruits of his perceived labor. Yeah, preach it to yourself. All I could do was listen then, to God, to my teammates' stories, to the Peruvian hermanos, to the children.
As was the the case with many of us, I don't really speak Spanish, conjugate verbs, know vocabulary, etc. It must seem so funny to the Peruvians that we only speak in the present tense, giving new meaning to living in the moment. But, as I listened, I could understand bits and pieces. Tony's bible study on Thursday night, the songs in Spanish, Marylou sharing about Josue's situation, Abel's sermon on Sunday. Words.
Yes, we were created by God's Word. But unlike the animals, He breathed His breath into us, and gave us His Word as part of our birthright with which to name His creation and commune with Him. But we wanted to raise ourselves up, and the Tower Of Babel ultimately scattered us, divided our tongues, so we would be separated from Him and each other. Something like that. So when Julie tells us the stories of some of these children, words seem inadequate, no substitute for the sound of pain and rage that bursts out of me, a pit of sadness, inexplicable, she shares in prayer, each of us left to our own devices.
But I remember the Pentecost. I remember the body of believers speaking in each other's native tongues. I recall the words of my brothers and sisters on this trip, their testimonies of faith and submission and love. I weep when Julie asks us to sing her a song in English. I can hear the children's trusting laughter.
At times, I'm afraid. Of the world outside this circle, of the kids left behind, of bonds broken. And yet, again, "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it... The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth." His Spirit is with us, and He is risen; He is alive. God "led [us] with cords of human kindness, with ties of love" on this trip as ever He does. We are bound to the children as truly as He is alive in us and between us. So, never will I fear nor forget.
So, today, I go to school and remember that I wanted to be a bible translator, and all the ideas percolating in my head for how to teach English to kids in other countries won't recede. Perhaps, I'll still try to be a doctor. Dios mediante. All I know is that la Palabra de Dios is here in Philly.