“You are nothing. You have nothing – not a job, not a home. Why bother? You have nothing to offer these American girls.” These are the lies Satan has been telling the homeless men of the ministry where we’re working.
“Offer a smile, give a hug…your heart is big, so show them. Play a guitar, tell them about your art and your love of film – you have so much to offer these American girls.” This is the Truth that Jesus is speaking to these same men.
Jesus is winning.
Our first week of ministry here in Puerto Rico, and we are already very attached to the people we are serving. We’re working at Cristo Pobre (“Poor Christ”), a soup kitchen and clothes closet in downtown Ponce. God has placed it on my heart to never let anyone be hungry, so I was very (VERY) excited about this ministry assignment. Our first day there, I was SO EXCITED. I was all smiles all day as we served food, and I prayed for people at every opportunity that presented itself. “Puedo orar por ti?” I would ask. That’s Spanish for: Can I pray for you? The person would usually shrug nonchalantly, seeming to debate. But then he or she would nod. And even though I prayed in English (while most everyone there spoke Spanish), not one person turned me down.
The next day was even better. When we pulled up in the van that following morning, the people I’d prayed for the day before called out to me excitedly, waving and smiling and shining the light of Jesus right back at me. “Kay! Kay! Buenos dias!” They knew my name, and somehow that bit of confident love I’d shown them the previous day had developed into an instant trust. My fellow missionary Karen Hall said it best with one simple word: dignity. Dignity isn’t likely something those men experience around strangers. But we were there to serve them, to love them — not because we wanted to feel good about ourselves or because we wanted something from them. We did it for the purest reason there is: Because our Heavenly Father loves them and wants us to love them (and show them dignity) too.
I grew more and more encouraged as I watched my fellow missionaries bonding with these men. On the second day, a man named Luis became quite attached to my friend Jen Kane. He had nothing to give her. He’s poor and depends on Cristo Pobre for meals. Since he couldn’t buy her something to give her — a token of their new friendship — he gave her his jacket. A man who has nothing, who may not even have a roof over his head, gave my friend the jacket right off his back…that has to be one of the kindest, most sacrificial gestures I’ve ever seen.
“You don’t have anything to give her,” Satan told Luis. “You’re nothing. You have nothing.”
“Yes, I do,” Luis said as he smiled sheepishly and pulled his arms out of the colorful jacket he so loved. “I will give her this. That is how I will say thank you to this American girl who has been so nice to me.”
Jesus is winning.
Jimmy used to a boxer. He told me his story our second day of ministry — I don’t speak much Spanish, something he knew when we started chatting, but I could tell he just needed to get something off his chest. So instead of grabbing a translator, I let him vent. He spoke slowly but passionately, nodding his head as he searched for just the right words to describe his struggles. His eyes moistened, and at that point I knew I was doing exactly what Jesus wanted me to be doing:
I was listening. Just listening.
Jimmy poured his heart out as I sat across from him, holding his hand. I caught a little bit of what he was saying — something about a wife (esposa), kids (hijos), and how his father died (padre and muerto). He seemed to have it all at one point: a family, a job (trabajo), happiness…now he doesn’t have anything. The City of Ponce picks him up each morning and drops him off at Cristo Pobre, where he’s able to take a shower, get a meal, and wash his clothes. He doesn’t have anything — Cristo Pobre even provides the newspaper (periodico) Jimmy loves to read each morning while he eats his breakfast.
These circumstances didn’t stop him from giving me a gift last Friday. As he was leaving that afternoon, he smiled and handed me an orange — his dessert from the lunch we had just served him. Maybe that’s not such a huge gesture in the minds of some people, but it certainly was in mine. You see, Cristo Pobre is only open for breakfast and lunch, not dinner. Could Jimmy have used that orange? Was he hungry later because he decided he wanted to give me a gift? I don’t know for sure, but I do know this:
Jesus is winning.
I could go on and on…about the lady who works in the clothes closet section of the shelter (her name is Lidia, and she prayed her heart out for my friend Karen)…about Pablo, Luis, Nancy, Juan, and the other folks who lovingly give these people the best food, care, and clothing they can afford…about the notebook and toy horse a man named Adrian gave us…about the other oranges that showed up in our hands after lunch on Friday (generous gifts from some of the other men who wanted to give us something)…but the most important thing to see amidst all of this wonder is this: God is moving, and Holy Spirit is working.
Puerto Rico isn’t the safest place in the world. It’s not the fanciest, and it certainly isn’t the most advanced — but it does have some of the biggest hearts I’ve ever seen. Is the situation perfect? No by any means. A photo of Jesus holding up a broken Puerto Rican man depicts the despair here better than words can express. So even though the world seems pretty bleak, let me assure you that Jesus is winning. He’s winning, and my fellow missionaries and I can attest to that fact. All glory to the King who conquered Hell, Death, and the Grave. May the name of Jesus be blessed for His Ways are True and Sure. Amen.
And then I heard every creature in Heaven and on Earth and under the earth and in the sea. They sang: “Blessing and honor and glory and power belong to the One sitting on the throne and to the Lamb forever and ever.” -Revelation 5:13
