We felt an earthquake.
Templo Metropolitano Allianza’s strong and sturdy two-story building started to sway. We had just come from lunch break and were chatting in the room with all the girls’ mattresses on the second floor. To the left and to the right, it swayed. Not rapidly back and forth. Slowly either direction, but very forcefully. We had been told this might happen, and we tried to maintain a calm composure as we began to run. Down the shaking staircase. Out of the building. Away from telephone poles. Into an open area.
We watched the taxis all stop in the streets in unison and people jump out. We watched sparks fly from the power lines. We watched the fear of the Ecuadorian people as they held each other. We watched them grab phones to call their loved ones. We watched them run to their homes. We watched a woman have a panic attack. We watched the ground shake.
After it passed, the big-eyed Americans were left grinning. The guys had the “THAT WAS AWESOME” look on their faces. The girls were not quite there, but processing that we just felt and survived our first earthquake was also reason for a smile. However, any hint of an upturned lip was a stark contrast to the faces of the refugees staying at this church.
The usual warmth and hospitality they exuded had morphed into stone cold stares, and you could see in their eyes that the quake had taken them to another time and place. April 16th. The day their lives changed forever.
In that moment, with that realization, there was nothing we could do to make it better. Our excited grins turned into looks of sympathy. They all busied themselves grabbing water and fanning one lady with tears streaming down her face. We stood there helpless, and decided to walk to the mall down the road.
We, again, had failed to grasp the reality of their traumatic situation. People were running from the mall. Lights were being switched off and doors locked down. The mall was closed for business. Schools were closed for the next three days. Several condemned buildings in “Zona Cero” from the first earthquake completed their collapse to the ground. One man died.
As we sat together trying to make sense of our thoughts, my teammate Kim said “Can you imagine going through these things without Christ?” No. I could not. Because what is hope without Christ? With Him, we have hope, and our hope is certainty. We know we have the Protector on our side. The Provider if we lose all our possessions. The Healer if we are injured. Eternal Life if our time on earth comes to an end.
It did not take long for that same Spirit of Hope to revive the refugees here as well. Things resumed to “normal” for them, and they served us dinner that night right on schedule. Their resilience is truly astounding. I know these poor people have been shaken to their core. In spite of what these precious hearts have endured, they have not ceased in selflessly serving us since the moment we arrived.
It has been true every month, but maybe here the most. We are outserved. We gave up our homes for a year to provide the hands to weed their gardens and clean their streets, move furniture from condemned buildings and assemble water filters. They lost their homes with no choice in the matter, and their hands willingly cook us three hearty meals a day and wash our dishes. They host church services filled to capacity, provide a soccer ministry several nights a week, have life groups and youth group and prayer meetings in full swing, function as a center for distributing donations, and have continued their weekly outreach ministry to residents of the local garbage dump.
We came here under the pretense we would be assisting with earthquake relief, and that has not been the majority of our work. At times we have been disappointed with our daily ministry assignment to pull the church’s weeds when we see the more dangerous and urgent work we could be attending to at Ground Zero. But to quote one of my favorites, Ben Rector, “Life is not the mountain tops. It’s the walking in between.” These are real people with real emotions. Their current reality is not a photo-op. We have this hunger and thirst for adrenaline. We want a great story to tell about grabbing the puppy right before he was crushed by rubble. These people are are hungering and thirsting for normality. We are here for the walking in between.
Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. No earthquake can change that. If we can walk alongside them encouraging them in this stability and remaining steadfast despite hardship, we are doing something right. No matter how insignificant pulling weeds may feel. It needed to be done on April 15th, and we can still take care of that today. Earthquakes can change a lot from a satellite view, but there are just some things that stay the same.
