ENTRY 5: LOS ANGELES/NEW ZEALAND

I’m sitting in LAX and feeling reflective. Today ends almost three weeks of discomfort. Discomfort physically, emotionally and spiritually. It seems it has never been more than a day before we are uprooted again to experience something completely foreign to our lifestyle in New Zealand.

This morning I was outside Grauman’s Chinese Theatre again. I’ve been really enjoying the opportunity to place my hands and feet in the prints and see who I match up with. It seems me and Tom Hanks share an anatomical bond unlike that of any other star on the patch. I also manage to out-size all of the Harry Potter kids, and Judy Garland from the Wizard of Oz. As I was walking around a gentleman approached me who was filming a documentary on Hollywood for some project that Nicolas Cage is working on. I answered a few easy questions before he floored me with something out of left field; ‘What is your Hollywood dream?’. Suddenly I had flash-backs to childhood dreams of film-school and ‘making it’ out west. I turned to the camera and gave a very mature answer out about how those kinds of dreams are ridiculous and childish. The truth is that at the core of me I knew that if I didn’t believe in these kinds of dreams I wouldn’t have stood there for hours trying to stretch and squash my palms into the spaces made by ‘greater’ men and women than me.

As I reflect on my childish dreams I remember a guy we talked to waiting in line for Splash Mountain at Disneyland. He was one of those hardcore geeks who probably made his buck out of developing a new Napster or Myspace or something. He had a particularly bizarre affinity for Disneyland. He could remember how old he was when he first rode Thunder Mountain, how many snow-monsters there are on The Matterhorn, and could also tell us which animatronic figures were most recently added to The Pirates of the Caribean ride. For him, the return to Disneyland was a return to his childhood. Like hearing a favourite song, being there evoked an emotion in him that nowhere else could.

The thing that strikes me again and again about California is a creepy nostalgia that hangs like a cloud over everything. This entire place, from Disneyland to Hollywood Boulevard, is simply a poor reflection of what once was. The glitz and glamour that once held downtown Hollywood is now replaced by dirty shop frontages, homeless war vets, and sleazy sex shops. Where Disney was once a place of timeless myths and stories, it now has product placement as far as the eye can see. It’s amazing, don’t get me wrong! But it’s not what it was.

Then there’s Rojo Gomez, Mexico. I wish I’d known enough Spanish to ask the children there what they dream of. I wonder if their mothers dreamed of life being as hard as it is. I wonder what dreams they still have that seem to keep them so joyful amongst all this hardship.

I think the dream is heaven.

Maybe this is what Walt Disney set out to create in 1955. The ‘Parade of Dreams’ down Main Street declares, ‘Welcome to our family time, welcome to our brotherly time’. The ‘Small World’ ride presents a picture of all races and peoples united in song. Sounds pretty similar to the imagery of ‘every tribe, every tongue and every nation’ in passages like Revelation 5:9. And then millions flock to the forecourt of Grauman’s Chinese theatre to place their hands in the imprints of those they idolize and deify. Not too dissimilar to Thomas, who would not believe it was really Christ crucified until he placed his hands in his wounds (John 20:25).

The ‘City of Angels’ is drenched in a desire to see heaven. To see God’s kingdom come, to see the beauty, mercy and compassion of a world where Love wins. It’s painful to watch people with so much wealth miss the mark, while the poor in Rojo Gomez and El Nino seem to understand it better than any of us.

Bless.

Thanks to those who have followed this for the last few weeks. I'll continue to post as I digest thoughts from the trip. Unfortunately blogger's pics aren't working at the moment, so I'll put some more up when I get back.

ENTRY 4: MEXICO/USA

I’m in a dodgy corridor in Hollywood. There’s a horrible Classic-hits station playing at the moment which seems to have only ‘Walk this way’ and ‘Back in Black’ on rotation. The youth hostel which promised wireless internet has failed on yet another of its key selling points. Despite a little frustration over the many things this place over-promised and under-delivered on, I am happy to be in Hollywood. Already I’ve seen a few landmarks which were etched in my mind since age six or seven when I saw them on TV specials. Of particular significance was Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. This was the original release site of Star Wars on May 29, 1977 (scarily, I did know that date off the top of my head). Now begins the authorial nightmare of evenly dispersing the content of the last week in the slums amongst the comparative glamour and sophistication of downtown Hollywood. Hmmmm, where to start…. How about where I left off nearly a week ago? Hmmm?

The Silver Ferns have an interesting warm-down technique after a match. They move from ice cold buckets of water into blistering heat. Back and forth they go for some minutes. Apparently the variation in temperature helps to keep the muscles active without risking bruising or tearing. This seems an accurate description of what the last week has been like in my journeys from Mexico to the US and back again. From the desolate slums of Rojo Gomez, to the pristine and affluent inner-city of San Diego – Back to the poverty-stricken streets of El Nino, and then to the hustle and bustle of downtown Hollywood. I’m not sure there’s any way I could have so perfectly taken in the contrast between the two lifestyles. Grass and vegetation in the slums is non-existent, yet only half an hour across the border suburban lawns sprout lush crops of green grass. I’ve spent time in crowded homes which stench with the smell of many people, yet in the same day walked through air-conditioned shopping centres which seem to stretch for acre upon acre. What a strange life we lead in the western world.

To tell you the truth, I didn’t feel like Mexico had changed me at all until I stood in a San Diego shoe store a few days ago. A pair of Nike’s were on sale for $49 US. I was only inches from buying them… but poverty is hard to ignore now I’ve seen its face. As much as I’d love to ignore it, I knew this product was soaked with the sweat of kids just like the ones I’d spent time playing with in El Nino and Rojo Gomez. It’s startlingly difficult to work out how to live ethically in a western culture after an experience like this.

Now at 2am in this LA Backpackers, I can’t help but think that Hollywood is the perfect metaphor for our western culture. The glitz and glamour you’ve seen on TV stretches all of a hundred metres at most. Walk a little further down the Boulevard and you meet the real America. Struggling both inside and out with spiritual and physical impoverishment. The people of Rojo Gomez and Baja are blessed that they will never see this. We are cursed to see it every night during primetime.

I don’t really want to say much more about Los Angeles. Just trust that we’re doing everything we’re supposed to while you’re in a town with this many theme parks and beaches. I think for the rest of this trip I’ll just use this blog to reflect on some of the stories from the past week. There’s a lot to tell.

Be in touch.

ENTRY 3: MEXICO

Tomorrow we head into the slums. For the past week we’ve always had the reassurance that comes from the comfort of knowing that at the end of each day we can return to our well-to-do hotel room on the ninth floor of the Rosarito Inn. A few hours from now that all changes as our life becomes a little more similar to those we came to serve. I’m incredibly excited about the experience. While the last week has been amazing, it has felt largely like preparation for what is to come. So many things have fallen into place to make this next week happen that convince me it is anything but coincidence. Incredible connections with local pastors have meant we have accommodation and projects that will carry us through to Thursday when we head back over the border into San Diego.

Tonight we fare-welled the rest of the Global Tribe team who will head back to New Zealand tomorrow. What an amazing crew of people! They came from Miramar Baptist, The Rock, Blueprint, New Plymouth, and from the various states all across the USA. They have been an incredible support. To see them off we went out to dinner. Good times.

Yesterday saw us finish the school classroom we’ve been working on. By the time I arrived the room was largely finished, just a little plastering to do. We celebrated the event with many students and teachers during a fiesta held early in the evening. Hundreds of kids lined up for yet another meal of tacos, a piñata competition, and various shenanigans involving water balloons. The kids have without a doubt been one of the most moving things about this trip. They have a child-like faith which is infectious to their whole community, and are some of the most photogenic people on the planet as demonstrated by the image nearby.

I was incredibly honoured to be asked to lead the dedication of one of the new houses on Wednesday evening. James (a zeal kid and one of my closest mates) got the privilege of handing over the keys to their new owners. Awesome!

Something key for me on this trip has been re-embracing a child-like understanding of who God is. I so often become bound up in the complexities of church doctrine and theology only to find I’ve missed the point entirely. Anthony Walton (Global Tribe CEO) put it perfectly on our first night here in Baja when saying (paraphrased),

“Come here simply to serve, if you come to serve your pride can’t be bruised and your ego can’t be damaged. Humbly lay yourselves down for these people and consider them more significant than yourselves.”

On our first day here I took a photo of a piece of street art. I never realised the significance of what God was doing until a couple of days later. The verse at the bottom of the painting reads this:

Mark 10:13-15
“Some people brought their children to Jesus so that he could bless them by placing his hands on them. But his disciples told the people to stop bothering him. When Jesus saw this, he became angry and said, "Let the children come to me! Don't try to stop them. People who are like these little children belong to the kingdom of God. I promise you that you cannot get into God's kingdom, unless you accept it the way a child does."

Bless you all. I may well be away from any contact for a few days.

Will post again as soon as possible.

ENTRY 2: MEXICO

There was a full moon over Mexico tonight. We were singing songs of praise in the late evening to a group of ex-addicts at a rehabilitation compound near the centre of the Tijuana slums. What an incredible experience. The Mexican people are the warmest I’ve met. Between our very basic knowledge of each others languages I managed to have a few chats with some of the addicts. I met a 75 year old woman who, having her latrine fall apart, took it upon herself to dig her own long-drop ten feet down into the hard-baked Mexican clay. Incredible.

Any fears I had about being able to handle the intensive building project we’re working on have been quickly relieved. It turns out I share my father’s nouse for all things hands-on. This week we have been building two houses, and a classroom at the local school. I’ve spent most of my time working on the yellow house (as opposed to the blue house). It’s directly next door to the home the chosen family currently occupy; quite a surreal visual to take in. Their old life and their new life separated by less than a metre. On one side a ramshackled monstrosity of spare parts and corrugated iron, on the other a sunflower yellow villa. Quite often Orlando, the father of the family, comes over to visit and check out our handy work. He seems often on the verge of tears. In a strange way this is really what spurs me on.

I can honestly say I have never worked as solidly or as constantly as I have the last two days. Not because I feel pressured or guilty, but because this is so blatantly something that Jesus cares so much about. There is that verse which says ‘The Joy of the Lord is my strength’. I have really come to know what this means. Despite being absolutely physically exhausted, I feel a joy and a passion that overcomes my sore legs and aching shoulders.

In other news, yesterday I met a new friend in the form of an enormous Tarantula spider hiding under a pile of lumber at the construction site. Very impressive. I never thought I’d see one of these puppies in the wild. Before you all think I’m incredibly brave I would like to point out those are not my hands holding him.

Finally, God has totally hooked us up for our second week in Mexico. The main crew leave this Saturday while James, Mason and myself hang on to do further work. An American house-building team are short three members on their team for this weekend. Also, a woman has recently lost the roof of her house in freak winds so there’s good chances we’ll work on this for a few days as well. Add to this the fact that our accommodation next week will likely be provided by the home of a family right in the heart of the Tijuana slums. Amazing. I’ll keep you posted as this all comes together.

To finish, another verse I’ve been pondering on:

Matthew 10:39

“If you try to save your life, you will lose it. But if you give it up for me (Jesus), you will surely find it.”

I think I’m finding a little more of that ‘life’ over here.

ENTRY 1: MEXICO

Sitting ten thousand feet above the Pacific Ocean puts a few things into perspective. Below me, an enormous crashing ocean, above me the stars and the heavens. Sitting in my little section of Row fifty-five at 3am NZ time, I can't sleep and I start to think about the power of the sea beneath me. I'm not a good swimmer, and I know that the waves could roll over me, break me and dash my life in a second. At that moment early in the morning above the Pacific, I finally understood the writers in the Bible who talk about God's power being like a mighty ocean or a mountain.

What power! What glory! And yet God chooses to use us as feeble humans to work out his plan for this world. What an incredible honour! God's power must be so much more than the oceans he created, and yet he places his representation on this world in the hands of broken and desperate people like ourselves. Despite being completely underqualified for the job, Despite lacking the skill-set and the maturity to handle it, God calls us his workmanship, created for good works in him. If God offers this power to us, then what have we to fear?

And yet, several hours later I faced the first challenge of the trip. Heading down the Freeway between Los Angeles and the Mexican/US Border was one of the scariest experiences I've been through in a long time. Our very Kiwi driver has a nasty tendancy to drift to the right from time to time, resulting in the best part of half a dozen near misses with American motorists. I found myself having to ask whether I believed the God of the oceans could be the God of the freeway.

Luckily he was, and arriving at the border was an incredible experience. On the American side were all the familar Capitalist landmarks. McDonalds, Dennys & Walmart. Once through into Tijuana the glass-frontages were now replaced by concrete walls and tin shacks. Graffiti covered nearly every wall. This theme continue today as we visited the slums we'll be working in to have a fiesta with some local families. Tacos and fresh Guacamole were on the menu. Awesome! I got the chance to exercise my brief understanding of the Spanish language, and managed to find out the names and interests of a few kids. We played with trucks together, and one young guy was a particular fan of Spider-Man. We got our web-swing happening together :) Wild!

The most amazing thing about this trip so far has been seing how God provides for people in the slums here in Mexico. I expected to break down in tears when I saw the conditions they were living in, but the truth is that as I ate with these families I could only notice how joyful and welcoming they were. God's joy is REALLY their strength. They offered us everything they could, and the community does the same when any member is in need. It's not uncommon for families here to give the little food they have to another household to make sure they don't starve. They know that a spiritual poverty is far greater than a physical one, and are happy to go without knowing that God will provide. Incredible.

That all I can really add for the moment. Something to end with...

JOB 1:21

"We bring nothing at birth;

We take nothing with us at death.

The LORD alone gives and takes,

Praise the name of the LORD".

Indeed.

OUTRAGE AND FRESH UNDERSTANDING...

In 1994 the American and Mexican governments came to the North American Free Trade Agreement (or NAFTA).

The agreement was the hope for Mexican people of freedom from the poverty that gripped much of the nation. The hope was that as a fair trade agreement came into effect, Mexican farmers and producers would now be able to trade with American distributors - thus bringing greater wealth to the impoverished Mexican, and providing new produce to the US. The effect was very different. As with every other 'lesser-nation' in the world, the US used the opportunity to increase subsidies to local American farmers, thus allowing them to sell their produce at prices Mexican producers could never compete with. Over one million Mexicans were cast into poverty, and families who had farmed there for generations had to leave their blocks and pursue low-paid jobs in the cities - thus providing cheap labour for American manufacturers who now had freedom to work from within Mexico.

As a long-time fan of Rage Against the Machine I always admired their passion, but felt that sometimes their means were a little barbaric. Zach de la Rocha often talks of the Zapatistas; a revolutionary Mexican army who often demonstrate with great violence and intimidation. Now, heading to Mexico in just over a week, the message of the Zapatista's means something more to me. As I read the key demands of the liberation front I am astounded,

"The Zapatistas' demands are simple, but provide a powerful critique of the distribution of wealth and power in Mexico; work, land, housing, food, health care, education, independence, freedom, democracy, justice and peace."

It's funny how much these words resonate with the truth, hope, justice and righteousness mentioned in Ephesians 6, or how about the call to offer shelter, feed the hungry, heal the sick and clothe the naked in Matthew 25? Do I agree with the actions of the Zapatistas'? No, definitely not. But do I believe it is a suitable reaction to the more subtle form of conquest and genocide the US administration has carried out through NAFTA? Yes, completely.

I never understood it much when people claimed that if someone had too much of something, someone else must go without. Now I understand. The Mexican people have in no way chosen their lot. If the American administration is aware of the task they are executing, then this can only be considered most cleverly constructed conquest in history. From Mexico to Haiti, and Sierra Leone to Iraq, The US is taking poorer nations, not by brute force, but by the subtle weight that gradually pushes each nation and it's occupants to their knees.

I cannot describe the outrage that I've felt tonight as this all begins to lock into place for me.

I wonder how for so long we in the Western world have allowed this to continue. Perhaps because even as I write this, the warmth of American clothing comforts me while the hum of capitalist-driven news television lullabies me to sleep in the background. My heart is paralysed with indecision and an overwhelming feeling that there is nothing we can possibly do but pray that Jesus will work a miracle in Mexico. That, and feed the hungry, clothe the naked and welcome in the stranger - all of which I can't wait to do when we touch down in Tijuana on the 22nd.

why i'm going...

Ever since I can remember I’ve been surrounded by images of poverty. So much so that I can’t remember the last time one of these images evoked even so much as an uncomfortable shuffle from me. Like static on the radio, it seems the faint crackle of poverty has whispered in my ear for so long that I don’t even hear it anymore. I think this is the case for most of us in the western world. It blows me away that we can watch so much death and destruction on the news and then comfortably slip into bed only a moment later, safe in the knowledge that it doesn’t affect us.

The sad part is that while their struggle may not affect us, the greed and waste of our western lifestyle is having a profound effect on them. Wherever someone has too much of something, someone else must go without. 21 years of attempting to understand this through the lens of the media has only left me further numb to the crisis than ever. The truth for many of us is that we’ll never really understand until we see it with our own eyes.

So this September, with teams from across New Zealand and the world, that’s what I intend to do. To find out the names of the people behind the statistics, to see what life looks like for those outside the frame of a news camera, and to have my heart broken for the cause of those who are so often forgotten about.

While many may claim a charitable goal for going with Global Tribe to Mexico, the reality is that this is as much about ourselves as it is about those we go to serve. The houses that are built will make a difference to the families who they are gifted to, but then the problem of poverty still remains. As we board a jet and head back to New Zealand we have merely treated the symptom, not the problem.

For me the importance of a trip like this lies in the fact that as we return to New Zealand we come back with hearts and minds that truly understand what Jesus talked about when he said he came for ‘the least, the last, and the lost’. As we return to our homes the real work begins. No longer able to plead ignorance, we must use this new understanding to make sure that we are really known in years to come as the generation who put poverty to rest.

In his 2006 address to the national prayer breakfast, Bono said, “I truly believe that when the history books are written, our age will be remembered for three things: the war on terror, the digital revolution, and what we did—or did not to—to put the fire out in Africa.”

While the focus is different, the message is the same. Trips like this are about raising armies of young people willing to fight the fire of poverty with a real understanding of what we’re dealing with.

In its most basic form, a wake up call is what I’m after.