Email: Lynn Hasselbarth

Dear Friends,

On arriving in Peru, I observed quickly that much is shared here. This is partly due to limited resources, but I believe there is also an ethic of reciprocity that lies deep within Peruvian culture.

This was evident during my first week in the office of Paz y Esperanza, when I realized if I was going to bring a mid-morning snack, I’d best be prepared to offer some to those around me. I noticed others offering a morsel of bread, a piece of banana, a cracker or two, even a lick of ice cream, to anyone who passed their desk.

Somehow, limited portions of food seem to satisfy more than I would have expected, like the accounts of Jesus feeding 5,000 with five loaves of bread and two fish. At the breakfast table with my host family, we often divide a ripe avocado among the four of us and share juice from the same glass jar. There always seems to be just enough.

I’ve learned to say Te invito (“I invite you”) when sharing something to eat. With this simple phrase, I found a key ingredient necessary for assimilating into my surrounding community, or at least into Paz y Esperanza. I am learning to replace my somewhat isolating fend-for-myself attitude with a more communal philosophy.

I do admit, however, that greed and hunger have taken over at times, causing me to avoid sharing. I’ve never felt as ridiculous as when I stood in the windowless closet-sized bathroom of our office, hoarding a banana all to myself, while my co-workers went without.

This awkward moment of abundance, secretly eating food in the bathroom, somewhat reflects the awkwardness of Christmas. Families with means privately celebrate in the comfort of their homes, eating wonderful foods, amidst lights, decorations, and gifts. Yet, right outside so many people have nothing.

“An authentic Christmas is a conflicted Christmas, una Navidad conflictiva.”  This was the theme of the sermon preached by my host father, which he delivered at the annual Paz y Esperanza Christmas church service.

My co-workers and their families gathered for an evening of thanksgiving, sang songs, ate paneton—a traditional fruit-filled bread sold only during the holidays—exchanged our final “secret friend” gifts, and honored the hard work of each of the offices. Meanwhile, outside the church doorway, a crippled man sat with his hands empty, mouth agape and dry, asking in a mumble for a couple centavos.

What do you do? How do you act, when passing such a person in need, while carrying a giant gift basket filled with fruit preserves and fresh dairy products? “It is a question of fair balance between your present abundance and their need,” wrote Paul in his second letter to the Corinthians.

I feel this tension on the streets of Huánuco, just as I do in my hometown in the States. However, this year I feel more involved in shifting the imbalance of the Christmas season, even though I did pass by the man on the street, as we left the festive environment of our office holiday gathering.

In previous years, I participated marginally—by sending a check to the regional food bank or shopping for a nice sweater to give a young woman my age during the “Joy Gifts” collection at my church. While these actions provided something, I maintained a distance between myself and those in need.

Last week, God gave me an alternative.

On a Saturday afternoon, I helped put on a giant Christmas festival for 60 children and teenagers and their families, most of whom are participants in the TAMAR Collective, the support group for survivors of sexual abuse. I had spent the morning decorating the empty church building, inflating 100 red and green balloons, and taping a giant paper Christmas tree to the wall with the words “Feliz Navidad TAMAR.”

Later, as families began to enter, I was asked to have each parent and child sign their name on the welcome sheet in order to keep track of how much money to provide each family for transportation back to their homes. One woman stared blankly at the sheet, and I realized she didn’t know how to write her name. Another volunteer rushed over with an ink pad and we took her fingerprint in place of a signature.

Over the next three hours, the church filled up as the children enjoyed a story-telling clown, a skit put on by local students, a tree-decorating ceremony, and the presentation of gifts, which included an article of clothing donated from Switzerland and a pocket radio.

For me, the most special moment was singing “Me Diste Una Razon” (“You Gave Me a Reason”), a popular Christian ballad, with several young women from the TAMAR Collective.  Since October, I have spent a couple hours with the group each Saturday, making crafts, celebrating birthdays, and having an informal time of fellowship.

As I stood among the ladies in front of our large audience, my eyes left the page of lyrics and floated across the faces of each of these young women. Incredibly courageous and very much full of spirit, these young women have endured more than I can imagine.

The least I can do is say Te invito, “I invite you,” and offer these ladies my time, my energy, and provide some diversion from their otherwise stressful lives. And wish them, with all my heart, a Feliz Navidad.

For more reflections please visit my blog.

Lynn