The Meaning of Mission

Have you ever had an experience that felt so far from your regular life, that when you return to normal life you wonder if you dreamt up the whole thing? You might think my entire Guatemala experience would be like that, but in all actuality my time here has become very normalized for me. This last week, though, I found myself at an event that, when I returned to Huehue, was hard to both understand and reconcile with my normal life here in Guatemala.

This past week, Brooks and I traveled to a town near the Mexican-Guatemalan border to help with a medical mission, which was being put on by a mission team from the States, partnered with Guatemalan doctors and missionaries associated with an organization here. Our new friends Guisela and Ubaldo told us about it, and Brooks and I were initially so excited about participating, we essentially kept asking them about it until we were invited to come. On Tuesday evening, Guisela and Ubaldo picked us up and we set out on our journey. Comically, we didn’t make it far, just to the orphanage and a gas station in Huehue, because Ubaldo was trying to find a replacement truck that had broken down (carrying the luggage for a team coming for the States), and then we were waiting to meet up with the team from the States. As I’ve said before, Brooks and I have gotten used to being the only Americans or English speakers in Huehue, and it was weird to meet 30 Southern Americans in a small gas station convenience store in Huehue. We met the team, comprised of both North Americas who had flown down the day before for this mission trip, and some North Americans that had actually been living in Xela for years as missionaries. By 5pm or so, we loaded into our car and took off for our destination about two hours away. We went first to the host church, met more of the team and had a dinner and orientation for what the week was going to look like. It was weird being a part of a mission trip, but not really being a part of the mission team. Brooks and I felt like we were hard to place the whole time – not Guatemalans obviously, but not really subscribing to the North American label either. To further distinguish our different-ness, instead of staying at the hotel with the other Americans, we ended up staying with a family whose son had previously been involved with the organization. We were originally placed there because the hotel was full, but it ended up being a great blessing, because it saved us some money and we got to know our Guatemalan host family well.

The next day we got up bright and early, and were driven over on moto by the dad of the family we were staying with. Riding on a moto was secretly on my Guatemalan bucket list, and I’m excited that I can cross that one off. We went over to the church, had breakfast, a small worship service, and then went for the first time to the medical mission site. They were offering dental services (teeth pulling actually), medical services (drug distribution essentially), and optical services (honestly, mostly reading glasses). Brooks and I were first assigned to the prayer section of the event, which came last after the person had visited with their respective doctor. Once in the prayer section, we learned quickly that the main purpose of this prayer portion was to convert people to Christianity, and to ask them to accept Jesus as their Lord and Savior right then and there. Although I’m all for praying with people that are going through rough times, I am not interested in conversions and blanket evangelism. Jesus was a relational minister, and I believe it is though relationships we are all called to witness to others. Brooks and I awkwardly struggled through the morning, happy to pray with those that wanted prayer, and fumbling through the conversion spiel when we met someone that didn’t know Christ. Luckily I was saved (no pun intended) by the afternoon, as I was asked to help translate for a nurse from the States over in the medical section. Free from the spiritual and mentally draining experience of prayer (because obviously all these prayers happened in Spanish), I enjoyed my afternoon listening to the laundry lists of issues everyone was facing, and translating them over to the nurse so she could highlight the right drugs to give them. We cleaned up by 4pm, and Brooks and I went back to our house for a quick nap, and a confused debrief of what we had just been a part of. Obviously a lot of emotion and perplexity came out of this experience, but one of my leading thoughts for the week was how happy I am that we can be here in Guatemala, somewhat as Christian missionaries, but without the quick conversion, Evangelical component. After our nap we went over to the church, took a shower (because our house didn’t have running water), and had dinner with the group. After dinner, we all shuffled into the church sanctuary, where church services were being held all three nights the team was there. They began labeling them as “Miracle Nights”, and after worship songs, and a long Hell “fire and brimstone” sermon (given by an American and translated into Spanish), everyone would be invited to the front to be prayed for and to ask for God to do miracles in their life. Again, not my type of church service. I believe that God is capable of doing miracles in our lives, but I do not subscribe in the type of statistical, mass-produced miracle they were asking to be performed. Brooks and I went back to our house that night, confused, exhausted, and overwhelmed.

Thursday was essentially a repeat of Wednesday. We had breakfast in the morning, a small worship service, and then headed over to the medical mission site. I spent my morning at prayer again, this time not worrying about the conversion spiel but simply praying with people, and then spent the afternoon translating. Brooks, because we really could not handle the prayer time anymore, switched himself up to paperwork and greeting, collecting papers and saying goodbye to people as they left. Again, after the mission it was nap, shower, dinner, and church service. It was by Thursday that we both began to realize that the main purpose of the medical mission was not medical, but evangelical. The medical services they were offering were quite limited – the dentist could only pull teeth, the doctors could only pass out drugs (only certain drugs at that) and the eye doctor, although they had a select few prescription glasses, could really only refer them to be fitted for reading glasses, and to buy eye drops at a pharmacy. Although I’m sure a few people were genuinely helped, the majority waited in line for an entire day, some even fainting in line, to receive a few Advil and a prayer. As Brooks pointed out, we were trying to help in a place of entrenched poverty, and the pain and suffering this population had been facing their whole lives could not be cured by anything we could do in one day. Most, when asked what their complaint was, would say they “hurt all over”, pain caused from years of grueling work, in a culture where personal care was limited based on their means to provide it.

Friday, because my spiritual reserves – and also my Spanish abilities – could not handle another day of prayer, I slyly moved over to optical. I ended up being a glasses runner; once people were fitted with a reading glasses prescription, I would walk over with three or four styles for them to choose from. It was a quick day, and I was on my feet most of the time, but I welcomed the change of pace and the break from speaking in Spanish. After the medical mission was over, we packed up all of the eye glasses, meticulously counting each one, and set off home to do the same thing we had done the previous days – shower, have dinner, and go to church. After the church service it was time to say goodbye to the friends we had made over the past three days; although we met many great people from the North American team, there were still many others which we wondered their motivations for coming to Guatemala. The majority couldn’t speak a word of Spanish, and their servant heart didn’t really make themselves blatantly evident.

After the church service our plan was to leave with Guisela and Ubaldo, because they had an event early the next morning in Huehue. We hurried over to our house, packed up our things, and said goodbye to Rosa, who, although awkward at first, was now a dear friend of ours. From there we went back to the church, picked up a friend of Ubaldo’s, and went over to the hotel so Ubaldo and Guisela could get their things and eat some dinner. Although I thought we were in a hurry to get back home, I forgot that nothing in Guatemala really happens in a hurry. We ended up sitting around for an hour or so, eating, drinking coffee, and chatting with some new friends. It turned out the friend we had picked up from the church is the owner of a large company here in Guatemala, as well as some property and coffee fincas. Another man we met at the hotel restaurant was the owner of both that restaurant and another café in Huehue. We ended up talking about the Slow Food movement, the intricacies of coffee processing, and the different types of coffee. They also all talked quite a bit about the orphanage, something near to their hearts, and how to elicit social change in Guatemala. I absolutely loved the conversation, both because I love learning about coffee and enjoyed meeting our first Guatemalan foodie, and also because it was beautiful to meet Guatemalans with such optimism for their country. After the chitchat and dinner, we left in a carpool around 11pm, with Brooks and I actually in the car of Guisela and Ubaldo’s friend. The whole ride Brooks and I were fighting against the urge to sleep, and ended up dozing off a few times in between questions and conversations. We finally arrived home at 1am, called Sheny to let us in, and within minutes I was in my bed, glad to be home and still trying to process the experience I had just had.