Twelve hours in a mini-van
will do things to you. Even the most tolerant will have their will
tested after battling the agony of squished seating arrangements,
relentless back cramps, and the ever evading task of capturing a few
minutes of sleep during the long 720 minute ride. This is not to say I
am tolerant at all because frankly I’m not always, so you can just
imagine the look on my face as I pried myself from the mini-van for the
final time after 43,200 seconds of the monotonous task of sitting and
waiting. Therefore, I believe I speak for all my other pilgrims to
Kansas City when I say that relief was the predominant feeling of the
youth upon arrival. So as the first day of our mission trip came to an
end with our joyful reunion with Chris and Katie Brennan-Homiak, I found
myself grateful to fall down into the couch that would serve as my bed
for the week. I slept that first night with blissful anticipation for
the peace and serenity that the good, honest labor yet to come would
bring.
The mission trip began with
a visit to Revolution, the church where Chris works as a minister. The
service was refreshing and dare I say “revolutionary” to me fore it was
a blend of principal Christian ideals in an informal, personal setting.
Revolution was centered on the idea that it’s the responsibility as
followers of Christ to reach out to the less fortunate and those in
need. This was obvious during the service and the days spent serving
with members of Revolution later on in the week. The mood for the
remainder of the week was set in this Sunday morning service.
The day continued with a
peace walk for those whom chose to participate. This peace walk was not
a dramatic demonstration focused on a singular event such as protesting
the war in Iraq or speaking out against the wrongs of ethnic cleansing.
The walk consisted of simple poster signs with various peace emblems
designed by youth and a banner with the writing “They shall beat their
swords into plowshares,” Isaiah 2:4 painted onto it. This walk was
intended not to bring radical ideals onto passers-by, but rather to
arouse the questions already within them about social injustices that
speak to them personally. The peace walk taught me that flashy,
superficial protest rallies and demonstrations are not and can never be
as effective as the simple act of trying to create change within an
individual. Because essentially drastic change does not come from
modifying the situation of conflict itself, but rather the public
questioning its view about the situation so as to harbor a unified, but
still diverse voice against the injustice at hand. The different
perspectives of many stand stronger than the lone ideal of one.
The rest of the week
consisted of a combination of working at Cherith Brook, a residential
Christian community where the guys roomed at for the duration of the
trip, the serving in many different ministries at Revolution, and the
assisting the Burmese and Liberian refugee children in numerous ways.
This allowed constant interaction with a diverse group of people ranging
from the homeless to the displaced to the unfortunate. Each situation
brought forth a distinct lesson to be learnt through the trials
experienced by someone other than me. Two people that made such an
impact on me throughout the mission trip were James and Friday.
I first met James in a
garden outside of Cherith Brook while weeding. While I can’t be
positive about his living situation, I believe James, unlike most of the
others that attend Cherith Brook, was not homeless, but rather lonely
and wanted a place to gather with other people he could relate with.
However, James would never let you assume this. James was not shy or
discreet. He was anything but shy or discreet. I sometimes even sensed
that the people around him most would prefer if he was shy or discreet.
To say the very least, he was eccentric. A quick physical description
of him would be best characterized as a modern day pirate. He had a
long, wiry, point goatee and greasy black hair…and yes he even had the
patch over his right eye. He informed me however that the patch was not
for simply appearance but was to cover the eye that had blood sitting
behind it, which according to him gave everything in sight from that eye
a reddish tint to it. James enjoyed the pirate theme he displayed and
saw the positive side of having to wear an eye patch. James was a guy
that demanded your attention and would captivate it by his startling wit
and wisdom about any given topic of conversation. He had an interesting
and troubling past that from what I understood ranged from everything to
serving a little bit of time in a foreign penitentiary to being the head
gardener at a premier country club in Germany. He even for some time
attended seminar, which was the one thing he was discreet about. James
was a very verbose and animated character that for some odd reason took
a liking to me, which meant he took some time out to lecture me
individually. However, the lesson that I learned came not from James
himself, but from the information about James that the workers at
Cherith Brook disclosed to me. Apparently when James began to attend
Cherith Brook he had a reputation for fighting. He enjoyed fighting and
thought the injuries derived from fighting were admirable. He would
provoke people at Cherith Brook into fights and had become considered at
nuisance to the people at Cherith Brook. Multiple times he was taken
aside and talked to about this harmful habit. Slowly he transformed
himself into a respectful, caring, thoughtful, wise person. The workers
took pride in the new James, and you could see from the way James
carried himself, that he took pride too. The constant love and comfort
along with the continuous feeling of acceptance built up a new James.
Friday was the eldest of the
Liberian refugee children and this upcoming year will be entering the
eighth grade. At a glance she looks like a perfectly americanized
child, and I would not have been able to separate her from any other
teenage girl. She had that older-sister vibe to her when I meet her the
first time with her younger brothers and sisters, and she seemed have an
aura of wisdom that came from experience. While talking to one of the
refugee help workers, I learned the story behind Friday’s escape to the
United States. Apparently their case worker was bringing Friday and her
siblings to a pool one day and asked Friday if she or any of them knew
how to swim. Friday responded happily that they did not. The worker
then asked if she had ever went or tried to swim before. Friday
pondered the question a little bit and replied that when she was just a
child she was forced to flee her home in Liberia and run to a refugee
camp on the border of Sierra Leone and Liberia. She, along with her
mother and siblings ran for many days under the cover of darkness in the
forest. Many times when her pursuers closed in on them they would be
barraged with bullets. Eventually Friday’s family along with some other
refugees reached a river and climbed into a boat. They began to paddle
when they were struck by gunfire from the shore. The boat tipped and
everyone fell out and began to swim for the other shore. Using the
tipped boat as a shield, Friday paddled her way to shore as the people
beside her were being shot down and floated down the river dying.
Friday says she lost a few family members that day and that was the
first day she went swimming. Friday along with her family and the
Burmese refugees that are family friends, face the cruelty of bigotry
every day in their project homes, in their neighborhoods, and in their
schools. Many days Friday walks to school while being pelted by rocks
from her peers. However she considers this nothing compared to the
tragic conditions back in her home country. Rocks are better than
bullets.
Lessons and teachings
derived from word are nothing compared to those learned by actions and
experiences. The people I worked with and served taught me that the
brutal society that we live in today is no excuse to give up. Everyone
I met, no matter how dire their situation, never gave in. Perseverance
and determination resonate in these men and women whether they be the
impoverished, the homeless, or the forcibly displaced. They endure
hardships that many of us have to endure. They are not to be segregated
from the rest of our society, because they are a central part of our
society. They are one of us, just as much as we are one of them.
