A voice of one calling: “In the wilderness prepare the way for the Lord!
Make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
Every valley shall be raised up, every mountain and hill made low;
the rough ground shall become level, the rugged places a plain.
And the glory of the Lord will be revealed, and all people will see it together.
For the mouth of the Lord has spoken.”
A voice says, “Cry out.”
And I said, “What shall I cry?”
-Isaiah 40:3-6
As I've spent this last week preparing for our BUMC group's arrival on the island, I have had many of the "prepare ye the way" passages from the Hebrew scriptures, as well as several Advent/Christmas songs, running through my head. Never before, though, had I noticed how these scriptures are so steeped in desert and water imagery. As someone living in a temperate, developed pocket of the world, the pictures painted in the Bible about barren wastelands, straight highways, and springs gushing up in the desert are nice to think about, but they don't directly relate to my day-to-day experience. Spending eight days in a place that hasn't had rain for eight months, however, has transformed the power this imagery has to elicit almost a visceral response in me. I am thirsty here. Everything is thirsty here. Sadhana Forest, the reforestation project where we work, has put a hold on planting,amything until the rains come again. People are hauling water great distances just to drink and wash. The dust is overwhelming, and it's hard to think about anything, outside of getting enough to drink and protecting myself and others from the sun and the dust.
As I've spent this last week preparing for our BUMC group's arrival on the island, I have had many of the "prepare ye the way" passages from the Hebrew scriptures, as well as several Advent/Christmas songs, running through my head. Never before, though, had I noticed how these scriptures are so steeped in desert and water imagery. As someone living in a temperate, developed pocket of the world, the pictures painted in the Bible about barren wastelands, straight highways, and springs gushing up in the desert are nice to think about, but they don't directly relate to my day-to-day experience. Spending eight days in a place that hasn't had rain for eight months, however, has transformed the power this imagery has to elicit almost a visceral response in me. I am thirsty here. Everything is thirsty here. Sadhana Forest, the reforestation project where we work, has put a hold on planting,amything until the rains come again. People are hauling water great distances just to drink and wash. The dust is overwhelming, and it's hard to think about anything, outside of getting enough to drink and protecting myself and others from the sun and the dust.
And here, in this harsh and barren place, I am to prepare a way for seven people who have stepped out in faith and agreed to join me? I can imagine the ancient Hebrew prophets in their own deserts, wondering how they were supposed to prepare a way for God in the midst of destruction, fear, and hopelessness.
I don't have a great answer, but I did read the passages again this evening, after I collected the group fromthe Santo Domingo airport and we ate together in a quirky artists' enclave. I notice that the prophets don't say that they are the ones making the way or causing the waters to spring up. They are only heralds, workers in the fields, and people who re-orient us toward a God who makes the way. The prophets`job is to be present with the people in their most despairing times. With their presence, they keep faith alive, carrying a candle for God in the places where people´s hands are too full, or where their spirits are too drained.
Looking back, there have been many prophets in my life this week. Enolve, the Haitian reforestation volunteer who carried my water bucket when I protested that I simply couldn'tgo on without breakfast first. Enolve began to sing a song as we walked, and he looked me im the eyes and told me I was strong.
Another person, Lixonne, brought his guitar to a makeshift camp outside the city and got the people there, of every age, to stand up and sing powerful songs in Creole about freedom, standing up, and protecting human dignity.
God is all around us, and prophetss help me to see and feel that truth. They remind me to keep the path open and to ¨never never never give up.¨ I pray that this week, as we give thanks for and support to the prophets in Haiti, we also might, in some small way, join their ranks, calling attention to the presence of God in what others have dismissed as a barren desert.
Another person, Lixonne, brought his guitar to a makeshift camp outside the city and got the people there, of every age, to stand up and sing powerful songs in Creole about freedom, standing up, and protecting human dignity.
God is all around us, and prophetss help me to see and feel that truth. They remind me to keep the path open and to ¨never never never give up.¨ I pray that this week, as we give thanks for and support to the prophets in Haiti, we also might, in some small way, join their ranks, calling attention to the presence of God in what others have dismissed as a barren desert.
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