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| It's no secret that my politics don't neatly line up with most evangelicals in the US. I'm usually overly vocal about it.
Recently, though, the influence of my highly a-political fiancee has been influencing me. "We're not citizens of this world," he tells me, "so it doesn't do much good to get so worked up about it."
I'm going through The Jesus I Never Knew again with some of our Bolivian staff, like the fifth time I've read it. And I came across a passage in which Yancey describes me quite well, while exploring the concept of the Kingdom of God.
Sheep among wolves, a tiny seed in the garden, yeast in bread dough, salt in meat: Jesus' own metaphors of the kingdom describe a kind of "secret force" that works from within. He said nothing of a triumphant church sharing power with the authorities. The kingdom of God appears to work best as a minority movement, in opposition to the kingdom of the this world.
For this reason, I must say in an aside, I worry about the recent surge of power among US Christians, who seem to be focusing more and more on political means. Once Christians were ignored or scorned; now they are courted by every savvy politician...
...This trend troubles me because the gospel of Jesus was not primarily a political platform...We dare not invest so much in the kingdom of this world that we neglect our main task of introducing people to a different kind of kingdom, one based solely on God's grace and forgiveness. Passing laws to enforce morality serves a necessary function, to dam up evil, but it never solves human problems. Jesus did not say, "All men will know you are my disciples...if you just pass laws, suppress immorality, and restore decency to family and government," but rather, "...if you love on another."
See, maybe I don't exactly fall into the political category of "the religious right," but sometimes, my methodology looks similar. I lean towards politics that provide justice for the poor, safety for the environment, peace rather than war. I vote for justice.
Justice, of course, I'll always care about. And fighting for it, in non-violent ways. But I can't hope to legislate love. Only Christ can work that in us.
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| So here's the story! Wednesday night we celebrated Mache's mom's birthday. Because it was late and the next day was a holiday, I spent the night at their house. At breakfast with his sister, Mache suddenly disappeared. His sister gave me a DVD, saying "Mache left you this!" 
The Amazing Race Cara demanded that I follow clues and challenges to find Mache. My first challenge was to follow the same route we walked on the night we got together.
 AND I COULDN'T RETRACE THE ROUTE! You have to realize that we walked around his neighborhood, at night, among 200 identical brick apartment buildings! Because I couldn't complete the challenge, I got a PUNISHMENT CARD...
...which demanded that I do the next challenge twice! The next challenge was to climb a rock route we climb a lot. Doing it twice was ridiculously hard, but I knew what awaited me at the end of the road =).
My future sister-in-law was my guide and companion through the whole "Race."
The next challenge was to find a c ertain plaza and call a random number. The Anonymous Voice on the phone gave me an address...
...which ended up being his cousin's house. There I had to get a certain score on some Wii games.
I failed that challenge too!!! But I still got the next clue! (And a Punishment Card that demanded that I buy Mache dinner sometime).
My last clue was the way to my love.
When I found him, he was standing in front of 5 boxes, which I opened with 5 tiny keys I had gotten after each challenge. Each box had a rose in it, and a word... "Will...You...Marry...Me?" In the last box was the ring! Carola had crept behind us in the bushes to take these last pictures =)
So we're engaged!
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| I used to hate the constant radio-play of Christmas music, sometimes starting the day after Halloween by the most audacious. But since I've been in Bolivia, I crave Christmas carols.
Bolivians don't sing many Christmas carols.
The few on the radio here resemble the jingly nonsense played on American radio, and have about as much to do with the birth of Jesus as smoked ham.
The other night, a group of English-speaking missionaries got together to celebrate Christmas in our mother tongue. And we sang and sang and sang. Everything from Christmas hymns written in the 1700s to "Happy Birthday to Jesus." They satiated my soul, unconsciously spiritually dehydrated.
I wrote my parents about the experience the next day, and my Dad wrote back that his relationship with Christmas hymns also changed when he moved across the ocean: "I don't know why that the truths of those carols stood out even more there. Maybe because life in Ethiopia looked more like the actual life in the Christmas story."
I cling to the depth of the lyrics these days in Bolivia. For example, the second verse of "O, Holy Night":
Surely he taught us to love one another
His law is love and his gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
The shocking reminder that Christmas is a liberation story takes my breath away. Never when I'm in the middle of a crowded mall, hearing "Jingle Bells" for the forty-sixth time this week. But here, walking passed an alcoholic passed out on the sidewalk and the three year old begging for his own Christmas present. Liberty is suddenly of utmost importance.
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.
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| It's painful being far from family these days. Far from friends. The only gringa in a city of a million.
But yesterday, during a sermon on Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist, I felt a wave of unexpected blessing.
I was reading the passage on John the Baptist's birth, and realized for the first time that John should have followed in the footsteps of his priestly father. His dad was pious and respected, chosen especially for sacred duties the year Johnny-boy was born.
When mute Zechariah wrote, to the neighbor's astonishment, "His name is John," he was doing more than straying from the Family Book of Baby Names. He was releasing his son from all family expectations. From a distinguished career, from taking a good wife, from living respectably. He was surrendering his only child to whatever God decided to call him to.
It must have been embarrassing for John's parents, and even a little painful at times. How Zechariah, with his ritual and calm temple traditions, must have cringed when John started screaming fire and brimstone and dunking people in the Jordan. Or did Zechariah jump into the river next to his son?
How Elizabeth must have cringed when John left his indoor bed and home-cooked meals for deserts and locusts. Did she sneak him falafels when the Biblical writers weren't looking?
What did they think when he was killed at the whim of a teenage go-go dancer?
They must have known it would be hard from the moment Gabriel scared the voice out of Zechariah. The miracle child, of course, never gets an easy life. Isaac, Samson, Samuel, Jesus himself. The anointed ones always get dropped directly into the drama.
While the parents somehow continue to trust the irresistible whisper of God in their child's life. Support them against the neighbors' and second cousins' astonishment. Or, like my parents did last year, join their crazy kid by singing carols in dark brothels on Christmas Eve.
God bless them.
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| It's been a while since I've sat down and breathed.
No commitments.
No emails that have to be answered.
It's slightly disconcerting. Especially with WIFI. One feels that one should be productive. Instead one gets up at 9:00 to eat a breakfast alone that could have fed 10. One showers for approximately 42 minutes. And one finds oneself wandering Facebook like one has never done before.
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