Kirk Hall
Letter from Nuevo Calvario, San Vicente
May 2002

HELLO!

Needless to say, it has been a long time since I have contacted you all with details, stories and perspectives from my time here in El Salvador . As the time has flown by, much has happened and I appreciate all of your support through this journey. I hope that this gives you all at least a brief picture of my experience here, as I look forward to sharing more face to face when I reach the States.

Since my last report I was initiated into the experience with a spell of Typhoid Fever. Because my doctor thought it was Dengue (which you can’t do much about other than sleep, drink water, and moan things like “whatthehellisgoingoninmybody,”) the treatment was a bit delayed. It turns out that I should have asked for a second opinion (if I’d known the words, I would have) and three weeks later, I am in the hospital with the accurate diagnosis and enough Jell-o to make Bill Cosby sick. I spent Thanksgiving in the hospital developing a new compassion for all other turkeys that were getting cooked, carved up, poked-at so far away. However, by Christmas I was back to fighting weight and celebrating Christmas as an El Salvadorian turkey.

As the time has quickly passed, I have found a rhythm in the weekly activities and my role here in El Salvador. Now that the language is becoming less of an obstacle and the work seemingly less overwhelming, I have also found a comfort here that has allowed me the time and perspective to reflect on this entire experience. Although there is no way to express all of my thoughts in this correspondence, I wanted to give you all at least a small peek into what I have been up to this year.

CRISPAZ

I have come here as a volunteer for CRISPAZ (Christians for Peace in El Salvador). They are a faith-based organization that continues to develop relationships between the United States and El Salvador. Based in the capital (San Salvador), Crispaz hosts long-term volunteer program (at least 1-year terms), a Summer volunteer program (3 ½ months), a delegation program hosting groups who come for a week to two week experience, a bi-monthly newsletter (Salvanet), and program called “Economics for People Program,” distributing local artists’ work to a variety of buyers.

As a source of guidance and support, Crispaz has helped make this year a productive and healthy experience. Although all of the volunteers are independently working with host organizations, the structure of Crispaz has given us all an invaluable community of support. Sharing the day to day experiences with other North Americans helps us all reflect and process this experience from our specific perspective.

THE REFORMED CHURCH

As a volunteer with Crispaz, I am working along side the Reformed Calvinist Church here in El Salvador. Although a small church, the Reformed Calvinist Church is the mission partner with the Presbyterian Church (USA) in El Salvador. They serve 8 communities and have about 200 members. Guided by John Calvin’s conviction of living out one’s faith in the community, the Reformed Calvinist Church is committed to focusing on not only the spiritual journey of the community, but also actively addressing their social, political and economic issues.

When I first came to El Salvador, I was hoping to work outside of the church in order to obtain an objective perspective of the Church and how this particular socio-economic context is shaped by (and shaping) their understanding of the gospel. As the initial stages progressed, I had the opportunity to work with a deacon in two small communities as a consistent pastoral presence. This seemed to be a good opportunity to maintain a relatively objective perspective while staying involved in local ministry. I figured that I could maintain this balance by working alongside someone else.

My first lesson in El Salvador was that there is a great danger in using the term “si” (“yes”) as an appeasing phrase that tries to blanket my lack of knowing what is going on. As I woke from Typhoid, I found myself having offered (or agreeing to) assume the role of pastor in two small towns. Now, this shouldn’t be so bad as I should be comfortable in this role. Yet the idea of a foreigner here for only a year in such a role has its dangers. The deacon, with whom I work, was happy (almost eager) to pass over the spiritual responsibilities after I answered his hard to decipher questions with “uh…si?” Within this role, I have found myself holding a service twice a week (one in each community), working with the youth, teaching English and, of course, the various pastoral responsibilities that come with the job.

Leading services for Christmas and Holy Week was an adventure, as the traditions and rituals were far from holidays of my past. However, it was interesting to witness a community of faith, mostly raised Catholic, translate some of those familiarities to the Protestant traditions. The rituals that I had only read about came to life in the communities around me. This was fascinating to see in person, as being in the midst of life here provides the perspectives to the “why’s” and “how’s” that books can’t seem to capture. The worshipping community has been a blessing on many levels. As a small minority in a strongly Catholic country those confessing the Reformed faith continue to face social opposition. Through this, they have invited me to further shape my understanding of the phrase, “community of faith.”

Although I have “Forrest Gumped [my] way through this,” I have realized what a good experience this has been. (Of course, one may say that Typhoid was a “good experience.”) In the Spanish that I quickly realized that I didn’t have, I have had the opportunity to see a community of faith develop among people searching for hope, trust and love. As I didn’t want to create a role that would cause a void when I left, the weekly worship has shaped itself into a discussion of the Word with the participation of as many willing people as possible. After a reflection, people are invited to reflect and share what is in their heart. Over time, they have built a trust to speak among one another and share how the gospel lives in their daily lives. As most come from a Catholic background, this liberating “space” is a new concept to many. Historically, worshippers were instructed what and how to believe without a voice to discuss, ask, or interpret to their daily lives.

OK, OK, I will admit that this structure (or lack thereof) has a little to do with my own fear and intimidation when I first started. However, what was once a formal “meeting” has blossomed into a space where people can come, bringing what lies heavy in their hearts, and reveal themselves in incredible ways. Some have told me that they come for the community of faith and trust, some for an opportunity to reflect on the Word, and some just to reach a time and place that they have waited for all week. I am humbled to be a mere witness to what they come to find. And even more in awe of what we all discover.

The youth are a challenge. I feel like I should stop with what could be considered a statement of universal truth. However, in these youth I have found the honesty and the raw hope that hasn’t been tainted by the stories of the war that faintly exists in their memory or by the poverty that surrounds them every day. They struggle with their own understanding of the Truth, not because they are forced to, but that they are accepting an invitation to engage in their faith. Most of the time they seem to maintain a conviction that they can make a better life for themselves. I admire this, as I look around at the odds that they face and only imagine how quickly I could lose that hope.

Now they’re no angels, don’t get me wrong. Actually, much of the time it is a full time effort to get them excited about their faith. But it is those moments when a youth reflects on the Word and what it means in their lives that they reveal a deep seated passion and hope. That keeps me searching for their struggle and ways that I can be a part of (or at least witness) that fight. It is awesome.

Although it has not turned out as planned, the work itself has given me the opportunity to experience the Holy Spirit in ways that one I couldn’t imagine. The work is hard but just as rewarding (why do those two always go together?) and, looking back, I have never been more grateful for any challenge while discerning my own call to the ministry. It has invited me to look at my own life, faith, and the relationships that surround me. Maybe being out of our comfort zone allows us enough discomfort to engage the hard questions and face the even more difficult answers.

THE COMMUNITIES

The two communities with whom I serve have offered two different perspectives on life here in El Salvador. The smaller, Santa Elena, is hidden in a valley among corn, bean, and sugar cane fields. It is made up of 11 families who live in either the adobe-type construction (common in this area) or the temporary housing (aluminum huts) provided after last year’s earthquakes destroyed so many homes (January and February of 2001). The shifts in the Earth’s surface have also caused the sources of water to be blocked, leaving the people with limited access to water. Needless to say, the “dry season” (December to June) has been a challenge for many.

Although there is no road leading into the village, there is access stemming from a local township. For me, the village is about a 40 minute hike from my other community or there is an access in an around about way that offers a little more safety. Because of the difficult access, the reconstruction efforts toward the homes that were destroyed during the earthquakes have yet to happen.

I live in the larger community, Nuevo Calvario, located about 12 miles north of San Vicente (you may find on a map). Home to about 100 families, this town was built 6 years ago for refugees who returned to El Salvador after the war. This government built town consists of one room, cinder-block houses (about 10 x 15) and although there is electricity, the water supply is provided by two central spickets where families haul the water to their homes when it becomes available. Lately, because of the “dry season,” this water is on every couple of days for a few hours so you can imagine why no one seems to want to hug me after service.

As El Salvador maintains over a 50% “official” unemployment rate, the opportunity to work in this community is mostly limited to tenant farming or “creative entrepreneurial ventures.” Most of the men try to find work, which becomes scarce after harvest. The work is hard and the days are long, however everyone still seems to find the energy and time to visit with a neighbor, lend a hand to another, help others in need, or even try to understand the local “gringo’s” Spanish (which takes both time and energy). The work within the home seems to take all of the women’s efforts and almost all of their time.

The youth are recruited young to help out around the home or in the fields. This sense of community that extends to all ages is captivated in the outlook of the youth who neither seem to complain about work, what they could be doing, nor what they would rather do. They see the work with a distinct appreciation for the ability to have the opportunity and resources to live.

With more than 300 young kids in this community, the energy of the town comes from the younger generation. This makes a wonderful accompanying noise to the roosters and various eatable “house pets” (a relative term). Without the distractions of “stuff,” the smallest members of the community have help me redefine the term “to play.”

THE FAMILY/PEOPLE

I live with a small family of 5 (“small” is another relative term). Because the mother (Maria Luisa) is the head of four town groups, the home seems to be a central area for many people. This, of course, allows any ‘gringo’ the opportunity to meet the town and continue to be a game for many of the smaller kids. Estenia, Ingrid (two daughters) and Hernan (son) have all been welcoming and patient with their foreign guest and although don’t always understand him, have shown that they consider me a fourth sibling. The father is, like many, a farmer of corn and beans. Although he doesn’t say much (that I can understand), he is a kind and gentle soul. From him, I have learned the most about appreciating relationships, the gift of work, and the beauty of the present moment.

The family has been great and I can say it will be really hard to leave them. At times, I really feel like they consider me a member of their family, as I often feel the same. Through my time with each member of the family, I have been given the opportunity to learn about life here and some of the triumphs and many of the struggles that they experience everyday. More than that, I realize that they have invited a total stranger into their lives in a way that they don’t regard as a burden that they are expected to bear, but simply as an opportunity to have a bigger family with whom to share their lives.

Believe it or not, it is a bit obvious that I am “not from these parts.” However, the people with whom I work and live have welcomed me as one of their own. As the year has progressed, I seem to have found not only a rhythm to what I do here but also a comfort as a member of these communities. I recently wrote a friend that their openness gives life to my hope that there are still people in this world who welcome any stranger as if it were Christ knocking on their door. They have so little but would give it all away for a friend or neighbor who needed it.
I do think, however, that the people that I have encountered here have found a deeper understanding and meaning to life through their suffering. It seems that in a country plagued by war, poverty, and social injustice, the people from whom I am learning seem to have learned how to live out the truth that all of life is a gift of God. From this, they embrace life in appreciation for relationships and what little they do have. I can not say that I have or will acquire this perspective, but have appreciated the opportunity to sit and witness the humility that this reality offers.

Although I would love to write all of the experiences, lessons, and thoughts that have grown from this year, there is not enough time or room. I look forward to sharing with one another about the adventures that life has given us all since last August. Until then, I thank all of you who have shown support this year and look forward to seeing you soon.

Grace and Peace,
Kirk