Today I had breakfast at a new B&B just outside of Guatemala City. This was my view:
Yesterday, I spent my afternoon hanging out with friends in Zone 3. This was my view:
Both locales are a twenty minute drive from my house. After five years of living in Guatemala and experiencing both realities, I’m still having a hard time making sense of it.
This past week, two journalists were killed for revealing connections between the mayor of a rural city and narcos; in addition, a gang through a grenade at a hospital in hopes of killing a rival gang member – instead, they killed three innocent bystanders and injured about 25 more. I’m having a hard time making sense of that, too.
I’m thankful that I have a hard time making sense of it. The people who think they’ve made sense of it are the most dangerous kind – they’re quick to speak and slow to listen; they minimize pain and laugh at the expense of the outcast and overlooked. They bulldoze over people who are in the way of their “mission” or “vision.” They apply mathematical formulas to situations that require the rhythm and rhyme of a poet.
The people who think they have it figured out forget about the journey that is Lent – the journey to the foot of the cross where suffering was put on display because people demanded blood.
As we journey toward the Cross, take a moment to ask “why?” Take a moment to wonder, to let go of what we’ve figured out and be present in the moments that surround us to stand up for those who are oppressed and forgotten, and to love deeply and freely.
We don’t have to make sense of it.