I Am....Harry

I woke up the other day feeling really in between, one of those days when you're not sure what direction to point first. I knew I had a few basic errands to run before I got down to whatever it was that I would later say was what I did that day. So that got me out of the house and on a bus to begin with. A couple of the errands didn't work out (ATM machine down, I don't remember what else) and after dropping off a sample at the lab (maybe it was pesky parasites?) I found myself headed to a sector called Tres Rios. It's a community about 10-15 minutes from our house in Curridabat by bus, and one where I had taken groups before to walk and pray for the people in the area. As I wasn't sure how I would get my failed errands accomplished, I figured I could at least think about a plan to solution everything while walking the plaza. Maybe I could meet some people and make some new friends. I boarded the bus and remembered that I also wanted some maps of the town, for planning purposes concerning our Institute project.

Upon arriving, I headed for the municipality building, not a very good translation, huh? No maps there, it was mostly a place for paying bills and taxes. I did a bit of exploring after that hoping to find the right ATM that wouldn't be out of order. No luck there, and then I had a brainstorm. I needed a haircut, and I had seen a barbershop on the main road before. Why not drop in there and see if I couldn't make contact with the community while improving my appearance? And who knows the community better than a barber, right?

He wasn't doing anything when I walked in, and the price was right, around $3.00 for a haircut. I sat down, and he got started. When I get my hair cut in the USA, I just hate it, because I don't like to talk with someone I don't know. And I don't get to know a haircutter in the USA, because it's so stinkin' expensive. But in Costa Rica, getting my haircut in Spanish, it's easy for me to just talk with someone. After the prefunctory chit chat about how I wanted my hair, I noticed a number of photos on the wall, all of soccer teams. So I asked. Indeed, he was in a couple of them, and told me about them all. In one photo, I recognized the church at Orosi in the background, and thus learned that he had grown up there. He told me he was 64 years old, but had left Orosi when he was a youth. He was mostly from Tres Rios by now, and had cut hair for many years. From there, it was all about his daughter who lived in the USA, his visits there, fishing as a boy, those mountains over there where all our water comes from, the time he was mugged in San Jose, how many times someone had broken into his barber shop and what part of the building they came in, and so on and so on.

Somewhere in the midst of this lonely-barber saga, another older gentleman came in, dressed kind of like a cowboy, sans spurs, more like someone who worked in the hay field, with long sleeves and a straw hat cinched up under his chin. He greeted the barber and asked him if he wanted some of what he was selling, which turned out to be a fruit drink. "What kind is it?" he returned. "Noni," came the reply. Affirmative, and the offered refreshment appeared straight away, along with a little salsa kind of dance, no extra charge. So I asked about noni, a fruit I had heard little about. Noni, I was told, was good for many things, just like vitamins, but they say it is especially good for "sexo". That sounded good, and I told him I bet it was cheaper than Viagra, too. That drew a pretty good laugh, an honest laugh, and I think we were hitting it off.

From there we continued talking, and presently he asked if I would like an order of noni fruit drink for myself. How could I say no, after all we had shared? He went to the door and whistled for his friend, and paid for my first noni drink in Costa Rica. It was really and odd kind of sweet, but I've tasted worse in my travels, and was able to easily get it down. Before I left, we had exchanged names, which doesn't always happen right away in Costa Rica. He is Edgar, don Edgar, and I told him my name was Darrin. I couldn't say it very well, though, and in the end he preferred to call me Harry, which does sound a lot like Darrin when you pronounce it in Spanish. I told him that as of yet I hadn't been given a nick name in Costa Rica, which almost always happens more than once when you grow up here. He did a good job with my hair, as you can see in the picture, but I did change the combing style after I washed it. I have a barber now, and I hope a good friend, and I am Harry.

Darrin

Untitled

I'm thinking of something a lot lately. In reading some good books lately on the subject, I'm kind of thinking I agree with the idea that the kingdom of God isn't exclusively what Dallas Willard refers to as a "gospel of sin management." By gospel of sin management is meant that the basic point of what Jesus came to do was to make sure that we can be forgiven of our sins and get into heaven when we die. The goal then is to be made good, and stay good until some future state that happens after we struggle through this life. In contrast, it is suggested that the "good news" that was announced as being at hand or available was in fact an interactive relationship with the king (God, Creator) that would be better than not experiencing that interactivity. If you look at the response to that announcement by Jesus, you see people falling over themselves to be a part of it. It was accompanied of course by demonstration in the human life of Jesus of what that interactivity looked like.

Into The Abyss

Okay, yeah, that's where my blog went, into the pit. I spent a few hours yesterday afternoon creating a masterpiece of a blog for our present and upcoming project, which we're calling very traditionally, International Evangelism Institute. I was kind of satisfied with it, but then the maintenance thing happened, and I didn't calculate the time change well (we're CST always in Costa Rica, so try to figure that with PDT, eh?). Before I know it, I'm getting the page announcing that maintenence of the Blogger site was underway, and nothing saved from my blog. I tried to log in, and no dice. I'm waiting on an e-mail to see if I forgot my username, which is possible. Blogs aren't like figure skating routines that you practice and can reproduce again when you need to. This is part of my job, by the way, to keep a hungry public and prayer support team informed in any way possible. I need to do one in Spanish, too, huh?

I was on the bus this AM on my way to the office. All of a sudden, people in the back of the bus were whistling and hollering. I looked back, and a seated gentleman was kind of looking like he might pass out, his head back and very white. Other passengers were yelling at the driver to stop, which he may not have heard, the bus being very packed. They were all trying to help him, and I wondered if he was headed to the doctor or something. One or two acted like they knew him, but all were very concerned. One lady gave him a chocolate from her purse, like she thought he needed a little high-suger pick-me-up. This is not the first time I've been impressed with how people here are really ready to help someone in trouble. They don't talk much on the bus, but I guess they're altruistic when the occasion calls for it.

Maybe I don't need to manage more than one blog. Maybe I should just include it in this one. That's probably a better idea, to have a mixed salad of sorts in terms of info and stories that can be found here. Anecdotes of cross-cultural living, family stories, Institute updates, recipes, complaints about my health and bowels, etc. Hey, here's a cool bit of lyric poetry that I posted yesterday on my erstwhile lost blog.



I'm so bored of little gods
While standing on the edge ofsomething large
While standing here, so close to You
We could be consumed
What a glorious day

D. Crowder

I hope to be more consistent with postings concerning the Institute for those who want to follow the progress.

Darrin

Are you a pilgrim?

I guess we're all headed someplace, in this journey of life, how poetic. August 2 marks the celebration of Our Lady of the Angels, Costa Rica's patron virgin. And pilgrims are what it's all about, for days, even weeks before. The idea is to walk from wherever you live to the city of Cartago, pretty much in the center of the country. But you want to arrive on or before August 2, when they have the mass at the basilica. They said they were expecting around 2 million visitors this holiday, in a nation with a population of just over 4 million. Here's how it works.

The brief history of the virgin (also known as "La Negrita") in Costa Rica is that the little black statue (about 20cm high) appeared to a young lady in 1635 on a rock in a forest. Afterv the statue was moved a number of times, always reappearing in the place later, a shrine was built for it. The first pilgrimage was made in the 1650's after it cured a serious illness. La Negrita replaced Costa Rica's original patron saint in 1824.

So now, if you have a sickness or a problem, or just need to be more prosperous, you can make the journey to the shrine, which will involve much suffering and inconvenience. When you arrive, however, you will have some merit with which to ask favors of the virgin, especially after you go the final distance up the aisle to the altar on your knees. If your petition is granted during the year, you'll want to repeat the journey, called the "romería", the next year to give thanks. There have reportedly been numerous cases of answered prayers and healings attributed to Nuestra Señora de Los Ángeles, and you can see many gifts and offerings to the effect housed in glass cases in the Basilica.

There are also a number of deaths and injuries attributed to the journey itself, which can be more than 180 miles if you come from the northwest province of Guanacaste. As the pilgrims crowd the shoulders of the roads (where they exist), there is great risk from inattentive or drunk drivers, and many are killed by cars each year. You can see entire families, and mothers carrying babies in the hot sun, and lots of vendors take advantage of the opportunity to sell water, food, hats, rain gear, etc. Street vendors are not permitted once into Cartago, however, and they won't accept pilgrims who come on bicycles or skateboards either. The Costar Rica Red Cross has more than 1500 volunteers ready, and the police force is increased and on alert.

One other tradition is connected with el Día de la Virgen, and that is new clothes for La Negrita. More than 1000 little dresses were submitted to the Catholic Church here, each hoping to be chosen by the Archbishop as the clothing for the virgin for the coming year. With the fitting of clothes and the gold decorations all around, only about 4cm of the statue can actually be seen. But of course the whole thing has to do with what people believe concerning the statue. While many Costa Ricans express their devotion and affirm the validity of the object of their faith, many others consider that the whole system simply allows people to live in any way they wish during the year, and then make up for it all with a visit to the virgin in August. If you read Spanish, check http://www.nacion.com/ln_ee/2006/agosto/02/ultima-cr5.html for a brief summary of this year's event.