Beloved Friends,
Our neighborhood is home to one of Buenos Aires' most famous parks. The National Historical Museum on the grounds houses more than 50,000 artifacts related to Argentina's history up through the 1950's. Each weekend artisan stands and flea market items line the perimeter, drawing thousands of locals and tourists. And while the many paths within Parque Lezama lead you to various sculptures and monuments, Cora still knows it best as the "carrousel park." Hundreds of other children also flock to its playground daily.
A new addition to my morning routine a few days a week has been a walk through the park, so I head over after dropping Cora off at school. The major streets that border the park are very busy, especially in the morning rush hours. But if I take the paths deep enough inside, I can look up and see only a lush canopy of trees. One morning I take the middle path through and head around towards the amphitheatre.
And that's when I remember.
What one does not notice while visiting the park during the bustle of the day is that many people spend their homeless nights there. With hopes of raising awareness about the growing situation of homelessness in Buenos Aires, our church organized a nighttime outing to Parque Lezama last month. For this one evening, we all committed to spend the entire night out at the park and to take to heart this experience.
Some of the youth we minister among, were also invited to participate. As we all huddled together on the steps of the amphitheatre that chilly night, it was actually quite natural for them to share their own personal stories. Having these friends among us was so important. For hours we all talked about the reality life on the streets, meditated on the words of Christ in Matthew 25 and how Jesus identifies himself with the least of these.
As the hours passed, and sleepiness came upon us, we began finding our spots on the ground, which would be our bed for the night. I huddled close to a friend, thought of Walter and the girls, and hoped to drift off to sleep. Not long after, I began to wrestle with the ground, trying to find a comfortable position in which to lie. Sleep would not come easily. The moon was bright in the nighttime sky. As I looked upward, I felt the hardness of the ground beneath me. The chill running through me would accompany me all night. Instead of fight it, I decided that I would use this time to pray. What a great opportunity to remember my friends who live on the streets and offer prayers on behalf of all whom God would bring to mind. And that's how I spent my night as I drifted in and out of sleep.
I was ashamed at the relief the sunrise brought me and the thoughts running through my mind. The night is over. I identified with the poor. Let's go home. The spirituality of the experience was at that moment overshadowed by the pain in my hip.
While that little pain lasted several days, it served as a reminder to continue praying. That night really was a beautiful expression of our church body desiring to enter in to the lives of those around us who suffer.
But once my hip felt better, the experience slipped from my mind. That is, until I walked past the amphitheatre on my morning walk one month later. It was early enough, that some men, who had just woken were washing up by the drinking fountain. This was their reality. How quickly I had forgotten.
It really is so easy to get caught up in my own life and forget the suffering of those around me.
Even as a Christian.
Even as a Christian Missionary.
Even as a Christian Missionary serving among the poor.
It must be an intentional decision to walk with, to enter in and celebrate suffering. Years ago, I wrote an article for The Cry, about choosing to enter into suffering. Today, it continues to be a choice before me. My night out at Parque Lezama didn't change the homeless situation in Buenos Aires. My night out at Parque Lezama was one more feeble attempt to enter in.
With love,
Adriana