November was the start of the high
school mural project. There was not a great amount of organization around it
aside from I create the sketch, the school will supply the paints, and the
students will help. Prior to the project I was really hesitant about mingling
with the high school as my insecurities around the language barrier grew. The
directors wanted me more involved in the two schools but I just was not sure
how to achieve building the bridge. Do I just hang out in the patio and wait
for someone to approach me? I hated high school. Why would I purposely place
myself back there? Aside from my own love of art, the mural project was exactly
that bridge I needed to interact with students with a bit of a buffer. Leading
a mural project requires knowledge of colors, actions, and small talk lines.
Easy.
At first it was just me
painting. Students in groups would watch me and scurry back and forth to class.
I kept saying “You can help! Come on!” They would assure me of their assistance
tomorrow. Eventually they came through. They came in packs of different grade
levels asking to paint. Some paired up and shared the responsibilities. We
shared smiles and “gracias”, terms of endearment and compliments, greetings and
kisses good bye. Day by day my Instagram followers grew rapidly as I would
continue to post videos and photos of our work. We broke barriers when they
asked to do the #MannequinChallenge. Dozens of us posed with our paint brushes
and cans and cheered afterwards.
Then yesterday happened. To be
clear, this is not about the mural but more so what the mural enabled in our
space. Some of my regulars came by to paint. There was not much left to do
until we get a ladder so we wrapped up early. However one of my students stayed
a bit later. She wanted to finish up a corner. I didn’t mind the company. One
of my communion mothers approached me about Christmas and my student must have
overheard me mention worship. I still
don’t know what triggered it but then she asked me about God. Since I’ve been
in Argentina nobody has asked me anything incredibly theological. No students have shared anything exceptionally
compelling about their faith life or recent conflicts of faith. Maybe that’s
why her question had caught me so off guard. For this reason I want to recap a
bit in a verbatim format of the conversation I had with Student 1 (S1).
S1: “Nic, ¿qué piensas de Dios?/ Nic, what do you think of God?” (She kept painting. This feels like a loaded question.)
NF: “¿Nuestros Dios, de arriba?/ Our God of above/up ?” (I should have said cielos. I hope she understands me.)
S1: “Si,
que piensas?/ Yes, what do you think?” (I
am curious as to where this is coming from.)
NF: “Eh...me gusta. Dios es mi fuerte. Dios es mi vida. Yo
tengo mucha fe en Dios. / Ehh. .I
like God. God is my strength. God is my life. I have a lot of faith in God.” (That was the corniest answer I could give. But
how do you explain what you think of God? Should I have said God is real?)
S1: “¿Entonces
vos crees?/ So you believe?” (She seems
very curious for my answer although she has not made much eye contact with me.
I think I look a little uncomfortable.)
NF: “Claro, estoy una vicaria. Dios es el razón que estoy acá./
Clearly, I am a vicar. God is
the reason I am here.” (I wonder how many
of my students actually know I wear a collar? I also wonder how many of her
teachers she has asked this same question since this is a Lutheran school.)
S1: “Igualmente. Creo
en Dios y el camino es difícil./ I feel the same. I believe in God and the journey is difficult.” (I am relieved that this was not going to
be a conversation about her not having faith or a crisis in her life. I don’t
think I would have been ready for that. She continues to paint. Maybe this made
the conversation easier for her to have. Maybe she was just killing silence
like I would. Maybe I should have more one on ones with the students.)
NF: “Claro, el camino es siempre difícil. ¿Cuánto anos tienes amor?/ Clearly, the journey
is always difficult. How old are you love?” (My
posture changed. I began searching to make eye contact as I felt this was going
to be a bit deeper. What does this private school teen know about a difficult
journey? I want to ask what happened for her to say that. I won’t because this
is our first real conversation.)
S1: “Quince
años/ 15 years old.” (She looked me in
the eye when she answered. Yet her body was still directed at the wall. I begin
to think of who I was at fifteen. About a decade ago and a year after my
brother died.)
NF: “¿Oh si? A su edad, es cuando yo realizo que yo quise
ser una pastora./ Oh yea? At
your age is when I realized that I wanted to be a pastor.” (She finally stopped painting and turned all the way towards me. This
seems to have caught her attention. I
can tell she is religious at the way her face lit up. I feel a little more
relaxed. I wonder if she is Catholic or Pentecostal.)
S1: “¿En serio? Hay mucho responsabilidad./ Seriously? That is a lot of
responsibility.” (She had practically
stopped painting for a moment. She was very taken by that last statement.)
NF: “Si, claro hay mucho responsabilidades pero. . ./ Yes, clearly there are a lot of
responsibilities but. . . “(She had cut
me off as I struggled to find the word.)
S1: “Es
mejor./ It’s better.”
NF: “Exactamente. En realidad, a mí, hay mucho pastores o
gente que dice ellos son personas de Dios que tiene muy conservador teología
que discrimina contra otras. Necesitamos.
. . / Exactly. Really, to me, there are
a lot of pastors or people that say they are people of God that have very a
very conservative theology that discriminates against other. We need. . . .” (The conversation was cut short as another
student interrupted us. I was disappointed in myself that I did not have the
words to answer her at first. I could have led with something stronger than “God
is my strength.” She placed her brush in the water and walked off to her friends
after we said our good byes.)
Why was this encounter significant
enough to write a blog post? For me it was the first time that I felt like I was
a Vicar in the community. I was not just this American girl with big hair painting
during school hours. I was challenged to articulate my beliefs in another
language to a youth who I know nothing about. Back in the States there were so
many books that concentrated on the God of our understanding based on race,
ethnicity, and cultural context. Articulating what I believe to others who are in
the same context is easy. However I am oblivious to who is the God of
Argentines. Though my supervisor speaks of the God of justice and daily bread,
there is the fortunate group here as well. Those who are fortunate enough to
receive imported iPhones from family vacations and have money to spare for
annual class trips across the country. I do not doubt that the God of the
Oppressed speaks a universal language but what language is spoken by the God of
the already comforted? This encounter was significant because I realized how
much more I should be doing out here in order to better accompany my community.
Word of advice to myself and others in unfamiliar territory: Build more bridges. Ask more questions.
#ReclaimMissionary
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