Pan de Vida (The Bread of Life)

Pan de Vida (The Bread of Life)

"I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty."

I’ve been stateside for about a month now and must admit that I am suffering from an acute case of reverse culture shock. I thought that as a means of reliving the journey and restoring my spirit that I would continue to write about the adventure. So, tHIS is the rest of my story.

Several weeks into the start of living in Quito and thrashing against the disparity of the streets our group of cultural exchange students (extranjeros) stumbled upon a ministry reaching out and ministering to Quito’s impoverished, blessing society’s untouchables, loving the downtrodden, clothing the naked, and feeding the starving. Our hearts couldn’t help but be shaken; utterly surrendered to such endearing love and completely captured by such redeeming grace. I soon found that I breathed Pan de Vida for the outrageous laughter of children who otherwise would not know how to smile, for the worship experience where congregants revealed that there is no height nor depth to their praise and neither life nor death could separate them from the love of Christ Jesus without which they would not know how to go on living, for the hearty rice, beans, and fried plantains which signaled the abundance of the harvest and clung to the ribs of those who haven’t tasted such nourishment in days if not longer; but, especially, for the fact that there was not a single moment when I wasn’t fully aware of the truth that I was in the presence of our Mighty God and; therefore, should be on my knees.

The Word takes on new meaning, maybe something closer to its original intent, when you proclaim the Good News of the Gospel before the desperate, starving, and ragged by saying, "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. Life is more than food, and the body more than clothes” (Luke 12:22-23). Speaking from the comfort of my luxurious lifestyle, I see the poeticism of Jesus’ teaching, but for a woman like Gladys I was afraid Jesus’ message might overstretch its mark. A single mother of two, whose rent on a one room, dirt floor, alleyway lean-to was backed up, whose daily life was pedaling raveled, alpaca scarves on the streets as a member of the millions who compose Ecuador’s informal street economy. A mother, whose worry was not the melodrama of what to do with her life and what it means, but how to survive the living of it. Talk of a poor and jobless economy, excessive prices and stacked bills, and overwhelming debt are not haunting demons for Gladys because she has never known a life with anything else. How do you tell a mother who is suffering with the task of feeding her starving children not to worry? The answer for the struggling members of Pan de Vida is simple, you don’t have to. They know that God’s faithfulness is GREAT, so theirs is too. They believe (period). I have seen faith and faithfulness on steroids, if you will; a trust in God that surpasses Jepthath’s blind obedience and echoes a more resounding devotion that remembers God’s promise and affirms God’s provision, deliverance, and sustenance. In a society where what you wear and what you carry on your person makes you a daily target, you don’t have to explain about a treasure that no thief can come near. I have witnessed those whose hearts are stored in Christ Jesus because it is evident that the Truine God is their soul treasure. They know a life without the hope of Christ to be sheer misery.

My very first day at Pan de Vida, I was asked to pray in a Sunday school room full of all ages of small children. It was the very first time I had ever prayed publicly in Spanish and my voice was quivering. God gave me the words to converse in a language that was slowly become more and more familiar. I admit that I looked up a time or two to gage the reaction of the room and I was greeted by an abundance of curiously peeking eyes as well. We held a lesson on what it means to love one another and then drew hearts with broken crayons on previously used pieces of paper. Sitting in child sized chairs my friend and I were swarmed by little hands, little hugs, and little kisses. There was a set of twins who were fourteen and one of the girls, Catarina, was particularly glued to me. She wore what had one time been white, knee high socks, a plaid skirt, and a chewed navy sweater. Her face was smudged by days of dirt and her dark hair swept back into a single braid that had become severely matted at the nape of her neck from a neglectful lack of attention. Once she latched onto my hand, it seemed she just couldn’t bear to let it go.

We went outside to break bread together and the children received a juice box, piece of bread, and a citrus. We sat around and laughed as the kids would shout out a word in Spanish and then want to know its English equivalent. Tricky situations would arise as they would plead to know what a granadilla is in my native language and I would have to explain that there is no word because, much to their devastating dismay, no such fruit exists in the U.S. or EE.UU.

Catarina had stayed by my side and when she came back from throwing her trash away she sat down in my lap. I began to pick through her matted hair, strand by strand. Every now and then she would lean back against me, look up and just smile. As I held Catarina, I prayed a special blessing upon her life, a beautiful child who knows too much despair and not enough love, but who God has not forgotten. I couldn’t help but repeat, Thank you GOD for sending me, Thank you God for sending me. In that moment I knew what it is to feel the instantaneous reception of grace, to feel what it is to be graced with grace upon grace upon grace.

To hear the origin story told by founder, Oscar Aguirre, a young Ecuadorian businessman, who was approached by a 12-year-old boy, Juan Alpapucho, while leaving church one day; it was a case of call and response. Juan was one of Quito’s many shoe shine boys wandering the streets with polish stained hands and red rags supplicating to clean the shoes of the rich for a mere quarter. Oscar recalls the shame while he waited for his shoes to be shined and watched the beggars at the gate of the church weighing heavy on his heart, he thought, “Lord, here I am, a 33-year-old man, with a master’s degree and my own company, but what’s more a Christian, and here is this little boy cleaning my feet.” He asked Juan when he had last eaten and when the frail boy couldn’t remember Oscar walked with Jaun to a nearby bakery. Juan first refused to enter, saying the clerk would chase him out as street children aren’t allowed to enter the shop, but they walked in together and for fifty cents, Juan had lunch.

The very next Sunday, Oscar brought him a children’s Bible, and Juan brought three more hungry children. As they received their bread, one of them prayed for Oscar and thanked God for his kindness in buying them bread, and something happened in Oscar’s heart. He approached the English Fellowship Church board, asking for help in starting a feeding program for the area’s poorest on Sunday mornings. He was given time in the pulpit to ask for volunteers. And Pan de Vida, the Bread of Life ministry that meets the hunger and hopelessness of Quito’s poor was born.

In 2001, Pan De Vida had its first meeting in a driveway where less than twenty people attended. The menu was scrambled eggs with ham, rice, a banana, a piece of bread and a glass of milk. They sang some hymns and share a short Bible message. Nowadays, Pan de Vida serves about 1350 meals per month and has reached as many as one hundred and eighty in a single meeting. Pan de Vida is very blessed by partnerships with some very prominent organizations like Extreme Response International, Samaritans Purse, and Canada’s Mustard Seed.
The ministry of Pan de Vida reminds me of the tropical version of Calvary UMC’s Food Pantry which provides boxes of food to those in need in the Staunton, Waynesboro, and Stuarts Draft communities. Pan de Vida’s meal is prepared and served instead of sent home because many times there is no home to send it to or no stove to heat it on. While volunteers sliced onions, peppers, and tomatoes and boil vats of rice, others lead praise and worship, and teach Sunday school lessons to both children and adults. Pan de Vida, just like Calvary’s Food Pantry, is not just about feeding God’s children who are hungry, but about loving them and witnessing to and with them; giving the gift of the Gospel.

I was issued a very powerful call from the pulpit by one of my pastors at my home church Calvary UMC before my departure. It was a call for the New Year that we may know and love the poor as brother and sister. What made the message so compelling was the fact that the lips from which they were delivered have kissed the wounds of the broken, whispered love to the unwanted, and spoken the radical truth of the Gospel setting a living example of what it is to model the way of being in relationship with and loving the downtrodden. I found myself recycling the words throughout my time in Ecuador and Pan de Vida became a blessed gateway for such relationships. After a multitude of invitations into humble, Ecuadorian homes, I realized just how many moments there are to be love instead of charity, to be Christ instead of the crucifixion, to be justice instead of the judge. I experienced a love that was rawer than ever before. A love that like the cafecitos we shared was bold, pure, sweet, concentrated and overall, extremely rich. A love that was not afraid to welcome me, a foreigner, into the confines of a cramped, dirt floored temple, a love that was not frightened by the vulnerability of praying intimate desires and shames of the heart, a love that trembles in the offering; risking and giving everything and not wanting for anything.

Shane Claiborne, servant, missionary, and author of, "The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical" says, “I had come to see that the great tragedy of the church is not that rich Christians do not care about the poor but that rich Christians do not know the poor. Once the rich truly know the poor, there will be no more poverty;” he’s surely right.

Pain plagues this world, but I’ve realized that bargaining with God is cheap and pointing fingers at God is self-condemning. We always seem to make halfhearted, faulty promises as a means of supplication for our own wills that are sure to make Abraham and God chuckle, then we have the nerve to question God when we don’t understand the world. Why God, are children starving and why God, are people poor? Maybe, we should ask ourselves those questions and be a little more demanding of one another.

"And that’s when things get messy. When people begin moving beyond charity and toward justice and solidarity with the poor and oppressed, as Jesus did, they get in trouble. Once we are actually friends with the folks in struggle, we start to ask why people are poor, which is never as popular as giving to charity. One of my friends has a shirt marked with the words of late Catholic bishop Dom Helder Camara: “When I fed the hungry, they called me a saint. When I asked why people are hungry, they called me a communist.” Charity wins awards and applause but joining the poor gets you killed. People do not get crucified for living out of love that disrupts the social order that calls forth a new world. People are not crucified for helping poor people. People are crucified for joining them." — Shane Claiborne (The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical)

Shane Claiborne wrote to Mother Theresa to ask about her ministry and she gave the age old response “come and see,” so Shane went to serve alongside her in India and his book seems to echo her message on mission and ministry. Shane Claiborne quoting Mother Theresa, "Calcuttas are everywhere if only we have eyes to see. Find your Calcutta." I encourage you; find your Pan de Vida.

I’m thankful that the most important thing God was teaching me in Ecuador was not Spanish, but how to be a better servant for the Kingdom.

If you are ever in Ecuador, by all means, travel and revel in the undiscovered gems that she is; climb the roaring volcanoes, snorkel in the exotic Galapagos, immerse yourself in the living indigenous cultures, journey to the Amazon and soak in the most biodiverse hectare of land in the world, but if you want to change your life, if you want to upset the very nature of your being, go to the corner of Brasil y Americas with willing hands and an open heart and be transformed. The height of your joy and the depth of your despair will never quite emote the same and Christian love will never run so deep.

So take up your cross and follow Jesus into the slums of the poor and the homes of the broken.

Spread the WORD. Be a witness.

Baños: Bridging, Bikes, Butterflies, and Thermal Baths

Baños: Bridging, Bikes, Butterflies, and Thermal Baths

Unexpectedly one weekend, one of my gringa friends and I were swept off to Baños, the quaint Ecuadorian tourist town named for its thermal hot springs and famous for its many miracles. At the heart of the plaza resides the basilica or the Church of the Virgin of the Holy Water, Nuestra Señora del Agua Santa. The church is a place of pilgrimage for those who come to thank the Virgin for many miracles and to ask her blessing. The church was built in Gothic style from volcanic rock at the turn of the 20th century. Inside the basilica are depiction of the volcanic eruptions and the Virgin's miracles, each looming mural tells part of the story, as you journey through a little bit of history made flamboyant by folklore, you complete a journey around the entire sanctuary. As the legend goes: While Senor X was fleeing from the roaring Tunguragua, he fell off his horse crossing the Rio Pastaza bridge and as he was plummeting to the torrents below, yelled 'Holy Mother of the Holy Water' and he was miraculously saved.

In honor of the legend a thriving outdoor adventure attraction was born in the form of a death-defying leap off the San Francisco Bridge over the Rio Pastaza. Every tour agency in the tiny town advertises the infamous Bridging dive, which is perfectly coined in Spanglish, Puenting. Hannah was completely stoked to take part in such an absurdity. I was less than thrilled but peer pressure got the better of me and we were off to commit risk annalist suicide. The gorge beneath the San Francisco is quite scenic, but somehow the 100m (328 ft) drop just tends to mangle its majesty. A poor Quiteño boy fighting back tears was on the ropes when we arrived. All his friends were circling and chanting ¨Si se puede¨ (you can do it). Each time, at the shout of three he would reel himself back in and cling to the frail railing amidst waves of frustrated groans. When asked how was it? One of the burly Ecuas guys smirked, ¨It´s definitely a religious experience¨ prompting a boisterous chortle to pierce the shaky tension. My friend, still super pumped, got suited up and scaled the doomsday plank. On the air’s edge, she was hit by a chilling case of ¨What exactly was I thinking¨ as the entire town of Baños emerged to watch the spectacle. Moments lapsed and finally the very patient Bridging overseer let her go unexpectedly into a blissful backwards free fall. She swayed like a pendulum beneath the bridge. Even though she was only a suspended spec, I could see her wild grin as some chicos from town reeled her back to Earth. Then …umm…chuta…it was my turn.

As I was being harnessed, Juan gave me a very grave pep talk. Si esperas por mucho tiempo y piensas tantisimo, sufres mas. Solamente hazlo. Salte no mas¨ (If you wait for too long and think about it, you´ll suffer more. Just do it. Jump). I quiveringly climbed over the rail, waited for my buddy to snap a pic and said a quick prayer as Juan counted to three. On three and a half I just dove. I remember thinking on the way down God I totally wouldn’t blame you if something happens because this is just ridiculously dense of me. All in all, it was a wild ride and I guess one of those ¨Fearless¨ moments in life.

When we had just stepped off the bridge and rounded the corner to town, a group of three little, old women, who were vending sugar cane juice, jellies, and taffies accosted us. They simultaneously crossed themselves with the catholic seal of the Truine God and proceeded to hug us tightly. Maria, the little lady with her arms wrapped around me, exclaimed, ¨Ay Dios mios, casi me muero de miedo para ti. Es un milagro que estes bien. (Oh my God, I almost died of fear. It’s a miracle that you’re ok). We chatted for a few minutes as they continued to love on us and tell us how crazy we were. When we finally escaped their loving grasp, we were confronted by friendly gestures from the rest of the townspeople who had been watching the display. Two men playing chess with llama, church, and indigenous figurines on the street corner, broke concentration long enough to laughingly tell us, ¨I was just sure you weren’t going to do it. ¨ So, the crazy leap of faith turned out to be more fun and symbolic than originally anticipated.

One of the many reasons why I love traveling with one of my more adventurous buddies is because we just stopped at a street vender (which could always present a delicious, yet perilous digestive risk) and bought a late lunch of corn and fritada chunks, topped with a tomato, onion, and cilantro salsa. We dabbed on some ahi, Ecuadorian hot sauce, and were on our way to explore the town festivities. I happen to love Baños because it is such a safe and charming little get away from the big city. In many ways, Baños reminds me of Staunton, VA. All the streets (one way of course) are all laden with stone and the sidewalks are paved with bricks. Lampposts get you from point to point and the nightlife is bustling with folk music, distinctively unique restaurants, and little shops. We met our friend from USFQ and her college friend who was visiting from the States for dinner. It was a relaxing night conversing about Ecuadorian customs and I must say I enjoyed being surrounded by some sweet southern draw. After dinner, we embarked on a nighttime journey to the natural hot springs full of earthen minerals and constantly percolated by Tunguragua´s inner core.

The next morning we met them again at a little café for breakfast. The woman who owns the café is Dutch and her husband is Ecuadorian. She had always dreamt of having her own little restaurant, but never imagined she would fall in love and make homemade wheat biscuits and brew Colombian coffee for world travelers in an active Volcano town in Ecuador. The brewed coffee was so amazing. If you don’t already know I consume copious amounts of coffee on a daily basis. Our B-stud tag line joke is that we are addicted to coffee and Jesus, just not in that order. Since arriving in Ecuador, I think I have been through coffee withdraw. The coffee phenomenon here is Nescafe, which basically equates to going to Sheetz and getting a French Vanilla Cappuccino out of a machine or they brew espresso and then just kind of flavor hot water. The Ecuadorian marvel of the coffee imposter is quite baffling to me since we are in coffee plantation country, but alas the fresh fruit juices and batidos are a refreshing compensation. After a rocking breakfast, we rented bikes for the day and pedaled off to the Cascade Trail. When we rented the bikes we were told that the route was all downhill, mentirosas. We, however, have become quite accustomed to the extravagantly hyperbolistic nature of Ecuadorian assurances and made it successfully through the huffing and puffing parts of the terrain. We stopped at the cascades and were just awestruck by Ecuador´s landscape and God’s glorious design. I will say it’s the fastest I’ve ever been on

a bike, some parts of the 18km ride were treacherous given the cliffs, tunnels, and traffic, but it was such a blast. Baños is technically the gateway to the Amazon, so it has a very tropical and lush selva vibe. We ended at the thundering Pailon del Diablo waterfall and it was just a powerful as the first time I experienced it. We decided to hitch hike a ride back to town on the back of a truck with other bikers.

Baños is famous of its sugar cane products and melcochas (taffies). So we tried the sugarcane juice as highly recommended by the Lonely Planet Guide Book and could barley muster two sips of the vile olive substance before deciding that once again LP lead us way astray. The process of making the melcochas is quite intriguing. In the entrance of just about every store, men were slinging the gooey substance, attached to a hook at the other end, like a jump rope in order to work in all the sugar.

We received fresh samples as souvenirs and then partook of the Ecuadorian almuerzo, which consist of a jugo, bowl of soup, and plate of rice, vegetables, and usually chicken for a $1.50. We dashed to the bus station and caught the last ride of the night back to Quito. On the 4.5 hour ridethe peach, apple, pear, and strawberry farmer from the north, and I picked out gorgeous plots of farmland and dreamed of a ¨Walk in the Clouds¨ romantic little lifestyle, living off the land in this gem of a country that we have so come to love. The only negative in the scenario of living on the outskirts of beautiful Baños would be the emergency volcano evacuations…yikes!