Dennis Smith

War is a function of human brokenness and unchecked power. Here is my reflection, as a Presbyterian mission worker, based on my years of service in Guatemala (1974-2010):

DAMAGED GOODS (May, 2004)

I was the translator. The speaker was a Mayan pastor with deep roots in the spirituality of his people. The audience was a delegation representing several theological seminaries from North and Central America.
The delegation wanted to know what was happening in Guatemala. Almost eight years ago we had signed Peace Accords that ended 36 years of civil war. That war left more than 250,000 people dead or disappeared; more than a million displaced people. In the larger context, the delegation wanted to know what the pastor could say about Mayan cultural resistance. The Mayas had somehow survived 500 years of adversity and still maintained languages, cultures, a vibrant spirituality, a unique way of being in this world.
The Mayan pastor talked about rediscovering roots; he explored how hard and necessary that is after a time of massive brutality. How does one restore one’s humanity? How does one recover one’s connectedness with all things?
Being immersed in so much violence for so long, he said, breaks something inside us. Trust is shattered. Suspicion becomes a way of life. We become confused, numb, exhausted. And deep within us lingers a continuing spark of violence.
How do we restore balance? How do we re-build self-respect? What is the glue that helps us piece together our integrity? A starting point, he said, is to recall the stories told to us by our grandmothers.
But many, he said, have forgotten. They have been seduced by power, by the tyranny of consumerism. Inside, they are hollow, hurting, adrift.
Others have come to use the old stories for personal advantage. In the crass competitiveness of the moment, these bent ones have tapped into ancient spiritual power for vengeance, for personal gain, for partisan political ends.
Only a remnant have remained true to their vocation, to the awful, awe-filled calling to serve those in need in the name of God, whose name in Mayan languages is "Heart of Heaven, Heart of Earth".
One professor wanted to talk about the problem of evil. Is there not a time when one must take up arms against the oppressor? He was like many of us. In the 80’s, much of his identity had become tied up in Central America’s struggles. In good faith, he, like many of us, had chosen to baptize the revolutions and sidestep their ambiguities. Now, he wanted to hear that the other side was evil.
The pastor did not answer.
Another posed a similar question.
Still no answer.
I noted to myself that the pastor did not trot out his credentials of suffering. I knew he had lost close relatives. I knew he had witnessed monstrous acts.
The pastor and I talked later. I asked him why he had chosen not to tell his own story. Such memories, he told me, should not be violated. To do so can trivialize the victims, can cheapen their ongoing presence as they accompany us on life’s journey.
We talked about living in a time of great violence. We agreed that in these circumstances, there are no good guys. Within each of us exists the capacity to do monstrous acts. That is who we are as human beings. To celebrate violence only lessens us, no matter what the justification. But victimhood also lessens us. To perpetrate violence breaks something inside us. Always. There are no exceptions.
So here we are, lessened: victims, witnesses, perpetrators. After so much brutality, our very humanity hangs by a thread. God’s restoring grace, God’s forgiveness, is our only hope.
In such struggles, my friend explained, it can be honorable, it can be necessary to say: “My time, for now, is done. I now must step aside because I am embittered, I have become hard. I sense within myself the lust for power. I sense within myself the temptation to say that ends justify means. Now I must attend to my own soul and seek healing for my family. I must help my community recover the gifts of tenderness and vulnerability. We must restore the fragile balance between past, present and future".
At these moments we must attend, with fear and trembling, to our own souls. Somehow, empowered by the Spirit of the Creator, we must rebuild community.
So how do we deal with continued violence and injustice? Do we just step aside and let it roll unchecked? No. The struggle to build the world imagined by God must continue. But we must know that the struggle will consume us. In our brokenness we will become even more broken.
In Guatemala, I have come to suspect that all of us, sooner or later, end up as damaged goods.
The lectionary texts this week speak of the hope of healing. John writes to a small, persecuted community of beliefs that is desperately trying to hold on to hope in the midst of persecution.
The church I grew up in expended enormous amounts of energy in explaining that all of this – City of God – with truth and light – would come some other place, some other time – just beyond tomorrow. But the early Christian community – to which John’s words spoke consolation and hope – understood that this Holy City was for them, in their time, in their place. It helped them carry on.
All of us, sooner or later, end up as damaged goods. That is why Jesus leaves us with an advocate, a comforter, a Healer: Holy Spirit. Holy Spirit, spirit of wholeness – we are broken. We are capable of breaking others. That’s why Guatemalan poet Julia Esquivel states categorically:
“Because you can’t kill death with death
Sow life
And kill death with life.”
Holy Spirit, Spirit of Wholeness.
Restore within us tenderness and vulnerability.
Remind us that we are never alone.
We are accompanied by a company of saints, past and present.
All damaged. All broken. All forgiven.
All made whole, by the Grace of God.
Amen.