A letter from Ellen Sherby in Nicaragua
April 14, 2008
Dear Friends,
I finally got Franklin to come to church with me. I was driving with our sons Galen and Kamil to our church in Barrio Hialeah and saw Franklin and a few other young men at the side of the road. At first I was going to drive by; I was already really late for the service, even by relaxed “Nicaraguan time.” But I stopped, backed up, and Franklin came over to the car.
Shirtless, wearing shorts and rubber sandals, he approached me with a slightly indistinguishable drunken or hungover look to his red, watery eyes, and yet cogently asked for the fourth time in the past month, “When are you going to take me to the United States?” We talked about my slim prospects for travel and the fact that my parents will soon be visiting, and then I asked him to come to church with us. Another young man, Nestor, walked over and I asked him to come, too. At first both of them said, “Sure, I’ll come along in a minute.” But I knew that if they didn’t come right then with me, then they wouldn’t come at all. Finally I convinced Franklin (or he was uninhibited enough) for him to suggest that he ride along with us. Franklin squeezed into the backseat next to the boys while Nestor got in up front for the remaining four blocks to the church.
When we arrived, the service had just started. Nestor picked up a Bible and sat by the open door. I moved to the back, close to our makeshift altar to help lead music with my guitar. Franklin sat next to me. Half-way through the service Franklin left, but Nestor stayed and even participated by reading some Scripture.
Franklin and Nestor are emblematic of dozens if not hundreds of young men in Barrio Hialeah and countless other Managua squatters’ settlements and neighborhoods. Surely they are in a position similar to other young people around the world. I’ve likened them to Peter Pan’s “lost boys”: at odds with the world, without direction, and forgotten by the “system” (it has been years since Franklin has been in the classroom). These “lost boys” often live in poverty, a poverty of love, a poverty of paradigms and opportunities to be able to make something of themselves and get out of material poverty. Ten years ago, when we started coming to Hialeah, Franklin was just a little boy with a prankster spirit and a spark in his eye. Now he is a teenager with empty, cold eyes committing petty crimes, abusing alcohol, and being the father of a 2-month-old baby girl.
Some years ago our church—the Evangelical Methodist Church of Barrio Hialeah—acquired funding to build a small soccer court with swings, concrete benches, and a small metal slide along the perimeter. The court is one of the church’s mainstay programs to support young men who play in church-sponsored soccer tournaments. I’m sure this program has kept a lot of them from participating in less healthy activities. Yet I also ask myself how we as a small, local church in this poor barrio can support young men at the margins—the ones lacking in opportunities and affirmation—with something beyond a soccer tournament and the encouragement to visit the church.
A few weeks ago Elmer spoke with some of these youth about participating in worship. “We don’t feel welcome there” was their response. It is difficult to distinguish between these boys’ lack of self-esteem and a genuine rejection (or lack of enthusiastic invitations) from church members.
Coco
On the other hand, there are cases of young people overcoming enormous obstacles. Maria del Socorro (“Coco”) Luna is one of them. Born with severe physical birth defects into a humble family, Coco faced tremendous challenges from an early age—among them the mere chance to attend school. When other schools wouldn’t accept her, two former PC(USA) mission co-workers supported Coco’s secondary studies at a private Jesuit school in Managua. Even years after they left Nicaragua, they continued supporting Coco’s dream, paying her expenses to study psychology at the National Autonomous University of Nicaragua. I met Coco when I served as a channel for scholarship funds towards the end of her high-school career. After years of struggle, Coco recently defended her thesis and received her university diploma. A few weeks later she stumbled across a job offer in a piece of the classifieds wrapped around an avocado her mother brought home that day. The deadline was that week; Coco applied, was called back for an interview and then offered a job as a trainer for an organization that supports the rights and social integration of differently-abled people. She called me, ecstatic.
May we all learn how we can touch others to bring wholeness to people like Franklin. Jesus said there would always be poor people with us; surely there has always been poverty, there have always been “lost boys,” there have always been people facing insurmountable challenges. Some find opportunity while others face alienation and even death.
Can we serve as healers? As instruments of life and opportunity? As encouragers and accompaniers? We can and we must. Jesus’ ministry urges us to reach out.
May God bless you with courage and love!
Ellen
The 2007 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 58
