Resurrecting My Tendency Toward Death into New Life

The following piece originally appeared in an online publication called Busted Halo. You can read it by following this link: http://bustedhalo.com/features/resurrecting-my-tendency-toward-death-into-new-life
My thanks to Barbara Wheeler-Bride, the editor-in-chief of Busted Halo, for getting this published.

The Christian narrative is, to borrow the cliché, a matter of life and death.

I do not mean this in a Bible-thumping, accept-Jesus’-death-to-save-your-soul-and-find-life sense. Rather, I am talking about the possibility of the most gruesome, violent of deaths giving way to the most dramatic and powerful of new lives.

A few weeks ago, my Jesuit Volunteer community shared dinner with a group of Sacred Heart nuns. Before the meal, a Spanish woman living with the nuns and discerning a call to religious life led us in a series of activities reflecting on resurrection. In one instance, she pointed out that Jesus’ female followers were the first to learn of His resurrection. She suggested that this is because women, who after all bear children, are more open to life.

I found her take fascinating. For the past 3 1/2 months, I have been the only male in a community with up to six women. Whatever insight I have gained from this leads me to affirm that women — or at least the ones I have lived with — are indeed very open to the beauty of life and all it entails.

During the activity, I was the only man in a room with eight women. Our Spanish friend seemed concerned that I might feel attacked by the inherent implication of what she was saying: namely, that if women are more prone to life, men must be more oriented towards death.

I have no idea if this is true of all, or even most, men, but I think about death all the time. This is odd, as I am only 24 years old and (knock on wood) of sound mind and good health. Death, nevertheless, has been a surprising theme throughout my past year and a half living in the Peruvian Andes.

Musings on death

On the surface, my preoccupation with death can probably be attributed to three people I have at one time been close to dying unexpectedly while I have been in Peru. Nothing reinforces an awareness of the fragility of existence like a life cut short.

That said, my musings on death go beyond the loss of certain individuals. One way in which these thoughts have manifested themselves is in how I view time.

When I first arrived in Peru, the 2-year commitment that lay ahead of me seemed like an eternity. My eventual return to the United States felt like something that would happen in a future life.

Now that I am well past the halfway mark of my service, I am aware, to borrow another cliché, of how much time flies. It only feels like a short time ago that I landed here. The notion that I have less than a year left is difficult to grasp.

Coming to terms with how the briefness of my remaining time involves accepting that I will leave with countless goals unfinished. There are many places I will not have the chance to visit, many subjects I will not have the opportunity to explore, and many projects I will not have the occasion to realize.

This is true not just of my time in Peru but of life in general. Nobody’s time on this planet is boundless. While I hope to lead a full life, I know I will die with many possibilities unrealized. Limitations involving my time in Peru have led me to think about the limitations in my life as a whole.

Time is, of course, far from the only constraint I have encountered in Peru. Sometimes, my experiences here feel like an incredibly concentrated study in failure. I struggle with the language barrier, my inexperience as a teacher, homesickness, physical sickness, cultural faux pas, and a host of other inadequacies that should be well known to any expat.

St. Ignatius spoke extensively about consolation and desolation, and in the face of my faults, my tendency is typically towards the latter. I feel angry, scared, confused and frustrated that despite my best efforts I cannot seem to achieve my goals as well as I would like. In short, I am upset that I am imperfect.

Death is perhaps the greatest sign of human imperfection. Just as none of our endeavors — as hard as we may try — will ever reach flawlessness, so are we completely unable to avoid death.

As I indicated, our reaction to this news can be feelings of desolation — sadness, fear, etc. On the other hand, we can also respond with humility. Knowing we are broken beings that can only do so much and will often mess up in the process is, I would argue, a requirement for living life honestly and realistically, as well as for being open to the idea of a graceful God. If one does not acknowledge that some of one’s weaknesses are beyond human effort to change, believing in a higher power is hardly necessary. For me, thinking about God does not mean praying for a life without failure. Instead, it involves believing that I am loved, not in spite of the ugliest aspects of my personality but including them.

This is something else my time in Peru has taught me. No matter how lousy a teacher I am or how many mistakes I make in Spanish, my friends and students like me and are genuinely glad to have me here.

Because unconditional love begets more of the same, I have found this affection to have a transformative impact on my ability to love others, resurrecting my tendency towards death into something that feels like new life.

International Day for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination

March 21 is the U.N. International Day for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination. Though my current setting leads me to think less about racism than other social ills like domestic violence and poverty, Peru, like anywhere else, demonstrates signs of discrimination. Adolescents in the youth group I accompany have spoken of the shame people from metropolitan environments sometimes thrust on campesinos or rural residents who speak an Andean language called Quechua. This is a pity, because while Quechua is extremely difficult to learn and almost exclusively oral, it is a truly beautiful idiom.

As an expat living here as a guest, I am far less comfortable speaking about discrimination in Peru than I am in my own country. Even in the U.S., however, I was much more likely to think about injustices that were not racially-based. It was only when I studied in South Africa, a country that suffered through nearly 50 years of apartheid, that I began to deeply reflect on racial discrimination and the privilege I have experienced as a white man. I was eventually moved enough to write about these thoughts.

Any writer who is honest with her or himself will probably admit to genuinely liking close to five percent of the words they put to paper. This percentage exponentially decreases as the time between the writing and the present moment increases. I tend to avoid reading papers I wrote in high school, not because I do not have the time but because they make me want to rip my eyes out.

That said, I occasionally come up with something I like. The following piece, which I wrote during my senior year in college, is one of those rare examples. It can be read below or by following this link: http://marquettetribune.org/2010/11/04/viewpoints/harper-looking-at-race-jm1-az2-dac3/

Last Friday I decided to go for a run to Lake Michigan before embracing my inner Dude and celebrating my final Halloween at Marquette.

As I stood by the Milwaukee Art Museum, staring across the water and pretending I was brooding, I noticed a man walking quickly behind me. My hand moved toward my pocket before I remembered I wasn’t carrying a wallet or any other valuable possessions. The man was black.

Moments like this are difficult to come to terms with. Like most people, I like to think of myself as an open-minded and accepting person. I am proud to have friends of different races, cultures and religions. Last year, I spent five months working and studying in South Africa, a country as famous for overcoming apartheid as it is for the vuvuzela.

And yet, the sight of this particular man, who gave me no reason for suspicion, caused subconscious fear.

My inclination — and I would argue most of our inclinations — is to push experiences like this aside and pretend they say nothing about who we are.

But this is exactly what is wrong with the way we view race in this country. We are wonderful at measuring our progress toward becoming a more equal society in terms of our achievement of tangible goals like the passage of the Civil Rights Act in 1965, the nomination of the first Chinese American to a cabinet position during President Bush’s administration in 2001 or the election of the first black president in 2008.

We are not as great, however, at noticing the nuanced role race continues to play in our everyday lives.

Take a study published in the journal Science just 11 days before President Barack Obama’s inauguration. The researchers studied how two groups of participants reacted to a racial insult made by an actor playing another participant.

While the group that was told about the interaction or saw it on videotape generally expressed discomfort and an unwillingness to work with the participant who made the comment, the group that saw the encounter in person was less likely to feel troubled and more likely to accept the participant and disregard his remarks.

In other words, we may be more prejudiced than we’d care to acknowledge.

I am not suggesting the strides we have made as a society are unimportant, nor am I saying there is no point in continuing to pursue racial equality on a large scale. What we also need, however, is to be honest and pay closer attention to what race means in our own lives, whether reflected in the offhand jokes or the prejudices we suppress. As long as we are indifferent about this, the ongoing disparity in employment between whites and blacks and other racial issues that are less enthralling than the aforementioned accomplishments will fail to grab our attention.

As I said, it is hard to accept that we all may subconsciously bear some racism. A story in Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s book “No Future Without Forgiveness,” however, may provide some comfort.

In the story, Tutu recalls feeling great pride when he was on a flight piloted by a black African man. At some point during the trip, the airplane began experiencing turbulence, and as his seat shook, Tutu was surprised to find himself wishing a white person was the pilot. This is Desmond Tutu — a man who won a Nobel Peace Prize for his nonviolent leadership in the anti-apartheid movement. If he is struggling with deeply-held racial prejudices, at least we are in good company.

So yes, we must acknowledge that we may be more discriminatory than we thought. But we also must recognize this as a problem we all share and, as the cliché goes, realize we’re all in this together. Because that understanding, more than historic elections and laws, will ultimately be the way we move forward.

The Canadian Tuxedo

It is truly a rare person that can pull of the Canadian Tuxedo. Defined by Noah Webster as “wearing denim top to bottom,” the Canadian Tuxedo usually recalls family photos from the 1990s or pop stars who have completely given up.

Besides a few notable exceptions…

George Harrison (Denim Dan),

The inmates from The Shawshank Redemption

and Keegan Harper (Denim Dave),

…most people wearing Canadian Tuxedos end up looking more like this:

A caption would do no justice.

I am pleased to announce that I have encountered another most excellent exception: Lucho, a math teacher at the Fe y Alegría High School where I work.

Lucho is the kind of guy I wish I’d had as a profe along the way. Every Monday, teachers are expected to wear suits and ties for a weekly assembly. Lucho apparently dislikes this enough that sometimes after the assembly, he will use free periods to go home and change into the track suits he so loves. When another instructor complained at a staff meeting that the male profesores were not adhering to the dress code, Lucho raised his hand and exonerated his colleagues, pointing out that he was really the only person not wearing the “right” clothing.

But Lucho really upped the ante today and deserves credit for his extraordinary accomplishment. Salud, Lucho.

Stealing a moment with the man of the hour.

Hometown Heroes

Glimpses of my previous, stateside life pop up in the strangest times and places. A couple fun examples…

Susan and I with Ghiren, who doesn’t know why we’re so excited his shirt says “Oshkosh.”

I don’t even know this guy, but he posed for the picture anyway. What a sport

 

Animaciòn

A new year is on the horizon for Fe y Alegría 44, the high school where I work. Though students will not arrive for classes until March 4, we teachers gathered yesterday to begin preparing for the year ahead.

At the top of the agenda has been forming comunidades, or communities. Every teacher is assigned to one of five comunidades–Animación (Animation/Liveliness), Bienestar (Welfare), Cultura (Culture), Disciplina (Discipline) and Proyección (Projection)–and is expected to help their team realize a variety of projects throughout the year.

I am a member of Animación. Besides helping plan Day of the Student, other teachers’ birthdays, a festival dealing with gastronomy and some other activities, I’m really not sure what my role will entail.

That said, I’ve decided to assume it is my job to keep my colleagues pumped up, or animados. Given the nature of staff meetings (I once caught another teacher pretending he was an airplane), this will be no small task. If you’re reading this, Mom, please put Jock Jams Vol. II in the mail pronto.

The Godfather

The following article appeared in the March 4, 2013 issue of America Magazine. You can find it by following this link: http://americamagazine.org/issue/godfather

My sincere thanks to Matt Malone, S.J. and the staff at America for editing and publishing this piece.

There are a few sure things in the life of an international volunteer. One is routinely experiencing the death of preconceived notions about “normalcy.” For instance, I occasionally get the feeling some of the teachers at the high school where I work find it strange that I never wear exercise pants to school. Another is the frequency of disease. I will say I have not experienced so little control over what comes out of my body and when it chooses to do so since I was a toddler.

And you can definitely count on delusions of grandeur. Though unfailingly well-intentioned, we volunteers seem to operate under the notion that our communities need nothing more than the fresh-water well or activity center only we can provide.

One of the true blessings in my first year of service in the Peruvian Andes is that the Jesuit Volunteer Corps tries to rid us of such fantasies. Time and again, J.V.C. trainers have reiterated that our goal is to accompany the people of our host culture, allowing them to change our lives rather than assuming we know what needs to change in theirs.

As clear as this lesson has been made, it is one that bears relearning. My instinct is to measure success by how many projects I steer to completion or how many students I teach to say, “My name is Gustavo; I am 12.”

This overemphasis on the action part of my volunteer experience has even manifested itself in relationships. Not long ago, my Peruvian friends Nelson and Yhasmina had their first child, a beautiful boy named Nicholas. About a month earlier, they asked me to be godfather at their baby shower.

I already knew Peruvians have godparents for a variety of purposes: baptisms, of course, but also other, more mundane rites of passage. My fellow volunteers and I once served as “haircut godparents,” which entailed snipping a few locks off a toddler’s head before he received his first real trim. That there could be such a thing as a baby shower godfather, then, was not surprising. But I had a hunch it would involve more than sending $10 bills on birthdays.

Nervous about my task, I pulled Nelson aside a day or two before the party to ask what I was supposed to do. Having attended a number of Peruvian fiestas, I had nightmares of blowing my entire J.V.C. stipend on beer for all the guests.

“Nothing,” replied Nelson. “We just want you to accompany us.”

Unsure whether Nelson’s “nothing” actually meant nothing or was code for, “You should actually do something, but it would be impolite to ask,” I baked a dessert and decided to look assiduously for any opportunity to assist on the big day.

All my Peruvian friends approach their parties with the detail-awareness of an architect and the eye of a poet, so logistically and thematically, there was very little for me to help with. Besides buying a few bottles of soda and squeezing limes to make pisco sours, Peru’s unofficial national alcoholic beverage, I felt redundant.

My only important moment came during the opening of the gifts. After Nelson and Yhasmina thanked their friends and family for coming, I spoke about how grateful I was for the honor of serving in my role. Then Nelson and Yhasmina took a present each and, before ripping off the wrapping paper, speculated about what the gift was. If they guessed incorrectly, I had to drink pisco sours from a giant baby bottle.

Nelson and Yhasmina proved to have prophetic deductive powers, so eventually the guests decided they should also estimate the color and quantity of each product. Once these changes in the rules were implemented, I drank a lot.

Overall, the party was a hit. Nelson and Yhasmina received enough diapers to delay toilet training for a while, and I staged a dance-off with Yhasmina’s 6-year-old nephew. Moreover, I realized Nelson had been sincere when he said the only thing he expected was my presence. All my anxiety about what I should contribute or whether I could afford to be a proper godfather had been for naught. Nelson clearly understood the spirit of accompaniment better than I did.

A North American Jesuit who works in Peru touched on this theme during a recent retreat I made. “The only thing you’ll leave with these people,” he said, “is the quality of person you are.”

Coming from an accomplishment-oriented U.S. culture, it is natural for me to look for concrete outcomes in work and relationships. “What do you do?” is one of the first questions someone from the United States asks when meeting a new person. It makes sense that I want to respond by talking about tangible achievements like starting a guitar class and teaching English.

But if any of the people I know in Peru remember me 20 years from now, it will not be because I organized a used-clothing sale or taught them how to say “orange.” Rather, it will be a reflection of the kind of person I was. Similarly, more than any work goals I realize during my two years in Peru, I will leave having learned from Nelson and other friends that who you are is far more important than what you do.

Brian Harper graduated from Marquette University in 2011 and now works with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps in Andahuaylillas, Peru. He blogs about his travels at www.brianharperu.wordpress.com.

 

Peruvian Doppelganger: Part VIII

Doppelganger sightings tend to slow down in the summer months (other side of the equator=opposite seasons). That said, a quick glance through my photos revealed an un-posted look-alike. Feast away…

Rufio

Roosbelt

Why this doppelganger especially works:
1) They legitimately look alike.
2) Their names are strikingly similar.
3) Roosbelt is on board and proud of his brother from Neverland. He regularly asks if we can watch Hook in class. I think that would be bangarang.