I recently came back from a trip to the region of Ixcán in Guatemala. This is a very remote place that experienced some of the worst of the Guatemalan war. I was there to deliver a class on contextual Bible reading and theology to some local pastors and church leaders. In the next few weeks, I will share stories, reflections, and the theological insights that I learned through my experience there, for the pastors and leaders were my teachers, not the other way around. The account today touches on one of the representations of the Guatemalan collective woundedness.1 If you want to learn more about this idea, check out my book A Human Catechism.
My alarm wakes me up at 3:30 am. My eyes are glued shut. It takes me a couple of minutes to force myself to wake up. I sit for a few minutes on the edge of my bed. I get ready, and I sneak my way through the house to make sure I don’t wake up the girls. Then, I drive to the spot where my friend, Jaime, is going to pick me up at 4:30 am. We get there at the same time. I park my car, and I move my bags to a white pick up truck. When we get in the car, Jaime introduces me to the leader who is helping him to put together a certificate in contextual Bible study through a local seminary. His name is Walter. Then, we start our long drive to Ixcán.
We drive for about four hours to our first stop. We have breakfast and get better acquainted with one another. Our conversation on the way is about the challenges we face in doing theology in the context we live in. It is a highly conservative context in which people are afraid of something different. We also talk about how we came to do what we do. We tell stories.
We share a few similarities with each other in our ministry and theological journey. The three of us have worked with missionaries from the US throughout our lives. We are undergoing constant de-learning and re-structuring of our faith practices. And, we have been members of the same denomination at different points in our lives. We also share about the challenges we have overcome to see ourselves as leaders who have something to contribute to our country. We also grieve with one another the ways in which we have been hurt by missionaries who wouldn’t trust our skills, knowledge, and desires, missionaries who did not listen to our context.
On our way there, we talk about and agree on four commitments and desires that will shape our time with the pastors and leaders. First, in order to do contextual theology we have to let go of previous ways of theologizing that foster violence. There are ways of reading the Bible and thinking about our context that justify the violence we perpetrate. The idea of a violent view of God will shape our behavior in ways in which we do not fully understand. This happens because our violence informs the way we understand God.
Secondly, we agree that our society is deeply wounded. We have hurt each other by what we have done and said to one another. That is why, we ought to bring our pain and suffering to sight to do contextual theology. It is the only way to start healing from our collective wundedness. Our context needs our lament. It demands that we let our tears flow to soak and prepare the soil where the seeds for healing will be planted. We have a long way to go to bring our pain to sight. We are in the long and narrow path towards healing, and it is not easy to walk through it.
We also talk about how contextual theology demands a commitment to reading the Bible with the most vulnerable of society. Reading the Bible with implies community and friendship. It demands that we come together, even with those we disagree with. It is a process that cannot follow a pre-established formula, for our context is constantly evolving. We read the Bible from a different perspective every day. For that reason, community is what will keep us grounded. It is what the Ruah—The Spirit of God—will use to speak to our lives and context. It is through community that God breathes new life and possibilities as hope enters our heart and shapes our desires.
Finally, our conversation takes us to admit that contextual theology has to be transformational for each individual and their immediate context. If we read the Bible from the perspective of and with the most vulnerable, we need to be committed to the transformation of people’s environment. Things shouldn’t stay the same. Change has to sprout from the way we read the Bible.
Our conversation doesn’t stop. It shifts. Walter tells me that the Ixcán region is an extremely complex place. Before the trip, I researched as much as I could about this town. It is the region of Guatemala that experienced horrible things during the war. People suffered and died there. They carry deep wounds and trauma. Today, it is still a contested location. Drug lords control the area. Human trafficking happens throughout the region. Shameless sugar cain and palm oil corporations destroy the jungle and natural resources, and coerce impoverished farmers to sell their land. Walter affirms my findings and expands on what that looks like in everyday life. He, then, proceeds to explain that we will be working with pastors from different denominations and backgrounds. He pauses for a second and explains that this specific group of students is formed by survivors, former army soldiers, and former guerrilla fighters of the Guatemalan war. I get nervous. I know that their experience of the war will shape the way they read The Bible. The trauma they experienced informs and forms the way they lead their communities. And, the lack of spaces for healing and reconciliation has created a distrusting and violent culture among colleagues. For a moment, I think that I may be way over my head on this teaching gig. Jaime interjects jokingly by saying: “What? did we scare you Joelito?” Then, I relax because Jaime and Walter remind me that we need to let the text and the Spirit speak to us. I breathe with more ease. I am with two seasoned leaders, and they have carefully listened to the context.
Talk about front line ministry. I'm looking forward to rest of your testimony in this.