The bombs had stopped at last, but that only made it possible to feel again. Feel the pain, disbelief and anger at seeing the fragile but hopeful Israeli-Palestinian peace dealt such a blow by a few extremists on both sides. The sorrow seemed to thicken the air so that it took super-human effort just to move and breathe. As I gathered with my faith community of two other women, we found we didn't even have the strength to pray --- pray for the families, pray for the peace, pray that "thy will be done". And so we just sat in silence. And then the last thing I expected happened. Suddenly I was overwhelmed with waves of gratitude that I could care so much that my heart could break. I realized once again what a privilege it is to be touched so deeply by people that your heart is broken when they are hurting, and it soars when they are happy. In my caring for them, I found hope.
That was January 1996 when a series of 4 bombs exploded in Jerusalem and rocked my life in the Gaza Strip once again. It was my forth international post with the UN Development Program and Peace Corps. Shortly thereafter I returned to the US after 6 years of living overseas. That was the end of that stretch of living overseas and yet the call to building an international community has not subsided. It seems to be in the very air I breathe.
Developing World
When people find out that I work in international humanitarian assistance, they frequently say, "Oh, I could never do what you do. It takes a special person. You must be a saint." Well, I'm not. Being of service to make the world a better place is important to me and a large part of my motivation. But the truth is, I know I benefit far more from the work I do. I have never learned so much or had so much fun as when I'm living or traveling in the developing world.
The images in my mind don't correspond to the ones on television. When I think of Africa, famine, poverty and war doesn't come to mind. Instead it is music that makes me dance, engaging stories, and strong community traditions. When I think of the Middle East I think of the importance of honor and integrity. When I think of Asia it is the societies as complex as the flavors in their food that fill my mind.
Another reason I am hooked the developing world is joy! I have tasted a way of life I can too easily forget in the US --- people living in the present moment -- taking time to celebrate when they have a chance. I have met people with heavy burdens to carry who set them down at every chance they get to laugh and love. They laugh as hard as they have cried, for they know their burdens will be waiting for them to pick up again.
As a Peace Corps Volunteer I was there to help. Yet when I visited villages of Kiribati and received the traditional welcome feast, I was crowned with a garland of fragrant frangipani flowers, and dowsed with perfume spray and power. An anointing with extravagant oil for the guest. I would think of the passage that says, "When I was a stranger you comforted me," realizing that I'm unexpectedly the one receiving the comfort, the food and the clothing. Unconscious of their "poverty", the Kiribati celebrated the riches that surrounded them on their small island nation. And I grew to celebrate as well. I celebrated community, I celebrated abundance, I celebrated LIFE! Through caring, I celebrated hope.
Lessons in Life
Internationally we tend to view "the poor" through their poverty alone. We take all their linguistic and cultural diversity, history, and forms of artistic expression and group them as one group --- "the poor". We forget that they gave us engineering, mathematics and coffee. Instead we see only their deficits and lack of skills. We think that they are a window into our past. If we can just "catch them up" they will be like us. In truth, these ancient cultures are instead a window into our future. There is strength in these societies and wisdom that was formed when this continent was still wilderness. I think of the lessons I have learned about life from those considered less privileged than us and how much I sit at their feet and listen and learn.
As individuals, "the poor" are some of the most resourceful and skillful people we have. They know about survival, they know about wisely using scarce and non-renewable resources and they know about caring for what is important. They have so much to teach us in the US, starting with justice, relationships and how to live in community.
It was my last weekend in Kenya and I had the honor of spending it with my colleague's family. His farm was carved into the side of a steep mountain with no electricity or indoor plumbing. After an initial conversation with translation, I communicated easily with his mother throughout the weekend. She would speak to me in Kikumba and I would respond in English. Neither one understood a word the other was saying but we would laugh at the situation as the hilarious joke we shared. Words were no longer needed to communicate. That weekend I observed what it means to be part of a deep community. As the "able bodied" men of the village left for the city, the only place where they can find jobs, the elderly were left to tend the farms and look after the families. In turn, money that was brought back on the weekends left hands freely. It was clearly not charity but simply recognition of the interdependence they shared. The village needs everyone to survive. It was a grace-filled glimpse of how the world is designed. The work I do is not "charity", but a recognition of our interdependence and that our destinies are inextricably linked to one another. In caring for them, I found hope for the world.
Upon returning from that trip I taught the liturgical dancers in my church the processional I had learned in Africa observing a congregation that weekend --- a gift from that church in Kenya to mine. And so continues my work and experience. One act of generosity and service comes back ten-fold, replenishing the giver. Caring gives way to hope which leads to more caring. My work becomes the fuel I need to do my work; It is a cycle of abundance that can only be a sign of call --- a reminder that there really is enough for everyone.
Meg Kinghorn works with Catholic Relief Services, Washington DC.