O POOREST COUNTRY, THIS IS NOT YOUR NAME: REFLECTIONS ON HAITI
Click below to listen to the audio recording. The sermon was opened by Laura, followed by reflections of three SPF members: Claudia Petrie, Garrett Smith and Brynn McGlinchey. (No text is available for Garrett Smith). Laura concludes the message.
John 1: 38-39, 43-50
Laura
In the early mornings, Haiti awakens loudly.
You hear roosters crowing, goats bleating, giggling children walking hand in hand on the way to school. There’s the tired clop, clopping of a worn horse carrying a man to work,
and a Haitian mother calling loudly in Creole, “Get up, Get up!”, “Reveye! Reveye!”
In the background, there’s also a light wind whipping palm fronds and the enticing smell of robust coffee made by our Haitian cook, Gladys. Her welcoming smile shines with kindness.
I listen and watch out my back window at Kay Haiti, the hotel where we stayed in Des Chappelles.
The air is cool now, though by mid-day it’ll reach the mid-90’s.
Out the front door of our hotel, the mountains rim the Arbitonite Valley. And the blue sky and fluffy clouds are right out of a postcard.
It’s hard to translate the experience of being in Haiti. A postcard paradise it is not.
But as we’ll share this morning, it’s some landscape rich in children, in art and culture, voodu and Spirits.
Haiti holds a brutal history of enslavement (as one of the largest slave colonies in the Caribbean)
As well as proud narratives of revolution, liberation and freedom.
Haiti is a four-mile dusty walk in the heat past sellers carrying bags of rice to the marche, along with coconuts and tasty bananas.
It is a landscape too, where hunger is on nearly every face and etched on the skeletal shapes of the cows in a distant field.
Where food insecurity is the daily bread and 78% unemployment is the norm. In Haiti, 1 out of 2 Haitian adults cannot read.
This morning, we are going to share our reflections on the pilgrimage we took together and share the reason we said Yes to the invitation!
The reason many of our young people return again and again.
The reason Becky and Ted Crosby have dedicated themselves to the Haitian community in Des Chappelles for the past 19 years.
Traveling to Haiti with the Crosby Fund for Education is to answer a great summons. To witness a love story between friends. A great love
And, a great need to make a difference in the lives of another.
“Come and See”, Becky told me.
“Come and listen”
“Come and learn”.
As Jesus was beginning his ministry back in the day, he invited those to follow him whom he knew could make the journey into the human heart —
no matter how wild, miraculous and dark.
“Come and see”, he said to those first disciples in the gospel of John.
Come and listen.
“Follow me.”
Come and be changed.
Fourteen of us travelled to Haiti over April break. 9 high schoolers and 5 chaperones. I’m so grateful to have accompanied our amazing young people, some of whom are here this morning to share their journeys into the Heart of Haiti.
Writes the Haitian poet, Danielle Legros Georges,
O poorest country, this is not your name.
You should be called beacon. You should
be called flame. Almond and bougainvillea,
garden and green mountain,
villa and hut,
girl with red ribbons in her hair, books under arm,
charmed by the light
of morning,
charcoal seller in black skirt,
encircled by dead trees.
You, country, are merchant woman and eager clerk,
grandfather at the gate,
at the crossroads with the flashlight,
with all in sight.[1]
Haiti Reflection Claudia Petrie
Hi, my name is Claudia Petrie. For a long time, I’ve been fascinated by service and I’ve gotten some incredible opportunities to travel to Paraguay and South Dakota for service trips, so when I heard about this trip to Haiti, I begged my parents to let me go. Even though I had to miss a week of school, and am currently still trying to catch up on work, I can easily say that it was totally worth it.
I was really nervous at the start of the trip because not only did I not know anyone else who was going, but I also didn’t know what to expect when we got to Deschapelles. However, my nerves quickly vanished and I felt very welcomed by everyone there.
The one moment from this trip that stood out to me the most was when we spent an afternoon tutoring English students at the Crosby’s Education Center. I was tutoring a girl in her English reading and pronunciation, and when I asked her what her age was, she told me she was 21. It was then that it hit me: I, a barely 17-year-old girl, was tutoring a 21-year-old girl in English. It was shocking to me that young people in Haiti don’t get the opportunities that those of us in the United States do when it comes to education, and I kept thinking about how much I take my education for granted. We also visited a literacy class that day, and I remember how excited and proud these older Haitian men and women were to be able to go up to the blackboard and write their names for us. For them, it was a huge deal to be able to write their own names, and almost everyone in the class wanted to show us that they could do it. It once again hit me how important education is to these people, as some of them have to walk miles in order to come to classes, while I complain about having to wake up at 5:30 and drive to my school each morning. The value of education in Haiti compared with the availability of it was saddening, and upon coming back home, I’ve found myself a lot more aware of my own complaints about school, along with those of my friends.
When I first got back, it was hard for me to answer the frequently asked question of, “How was Haiti?” because how do you put into words a trip as incredibly moving as this one was? I’m still working on a response to the question, but writing this reflection has helped me sort out my thoughts a little more. I think overall, the big takeaway from this trip for me was that we can’t take our education and opportunities for granted, so I want to thank Becky and Ted for giving me this opportunity to travel with them, and for sharing Haiti with me. Thank you.
Garrett Smith (no text available)
Haiti Reflection Brynn McGlinchey
Good morning, my name is Brynn McGlinchey. This was my second time traveling to Haiti with the Crosby Fund and I was beyond excited to go back. Throughout this past year, I have been constantly thinking about Haiti: the students, the artists, and the friends I had made in Deschapelles. I missed waking up to the sounds of roosters and cows outside, saying bonjou and bonswa to the people on the koridor, and playing UNO well into the night.
I went into this second trip thinking it would be easier, and in many ways it was. I knew my way around Deschapelles, I was able to reconnect with friends, and I was more adjusted to the Haitian culture and way of life. But at the same time, this year was much more emotionally difficult. Having already experienced many of the activities, I made an effort to observe more of what was happening around me and interact with people in a more meaningful way.
I have been helping Becky with selling Haitian art since the fall, so I was very excited to return to see the artists. Estime Miradeau is one of these artists, who lives with his wife and nine children in Deschapelles. One day, we walked over to his house to watch him create one of his amazing metal pieces, and interact with his family and other friends. As we watched Estime draw out his design, we handed out lollipops, paper, and crayons to the younger kids, and showed the older ones how to make string bracelets. One of the older girls pulled out a pink comb and began to braid one of our traveler’s hair. As I watched this unfold, I asked Becky how old the girl is. Becky told me she is 17 years old and she is Estime’s oldest daughter. She has helped to raise all of her younger siblings, and has never gone to school.
I understood that education is not free in Haiti, and I knew that Estime’s income, which solely relies on his art sales in the US, goes to feeding his family. But nevertheless it was shocking that, standing right in front of me, was a girl, my age, who has never been to school. For the rest of our time there, as we threw Frisbees, handed out clothes, and looked at Estime’s metal work, I just kept thinking about the fact that I am 16, and have been in school for 12 years, while this girl is 17 and has never been to school for a day in her life.
I was feeling slightly discouraged as we went to the Crosby’s Education Center later that afternoon for English tutoring. I couldn’t get this girl and her situation out of my thoughts. Before we began tutoring the high school students, Becky wanted to show us the adult literacy classes. Looking around, the students ranged from people in their twenties to people in their seventies. After we greeted them, one by one, some of the students stood up and walked to the chalkboard in the front of the class. They took a piece of chalk and slowly wrote their full name out on the board. When they were finished, they read their names for us, and the whole room gave them a round of applause. I was only expecting a few people to want to write their names in front of strangers, but one after another, people continued to stand up. You could see from the way that they walked to the board, to the care they took with each letter, to their huge smiles as we clapped for them, that each student was so proud of their ability to write their names. It was incredibly humbling to witness the gift of literacy in action. Before this moment, I had never really thought about the fact that I have been able to write my name since the age of four, while some people never learn this in their entire lives.
After we finished with one side of the room, we moved to the other side to watch more people write their names. As we greeted this class, a woman stood up. She was probably around 70, and looked like she was dressed for church, wearing a floral skirt and a big hat. She walked over to one of our travelers, grabbed her hands, and began speaking to her in Kreyol. At first, we were all confused, until our translator told us she was saying “God Bless you all.” When she looked straight into my eyes, even though I couldn’t totally understand what she was saying, I could feel her love and gratitude. She was finally learning to read and write, and she wanted to thank us for being a part of that. When she moved on to the next person, I looked around with teary eyes, and I could see that everyone understood the significance of what had just occurred. For me, every name written on the board, every student who may have walked miles to come to class, and the woman in the church hat, represented hope. I was hopeful for the adults’ education, but also hopeful for Estime’s teenage daughter, that she may someday also have the opportunity for education as an adult. A day that started with the realities of the life of a girl who can’t go to school ended with the important lesson that education does not have an age limit.
Back at home, not a day goes by that I don’t think about Haiti. At school, as I write my name at the top of every paper, I am grateful for my education. At home, I am thankful about all of the luxuries like electricity and sanitation systems that are readily available. As I eat a lollipop after a tennis match, I remember the little girl who began to suck on her lollipop before I could even take the wrapper off for her. These memories are bittersweet reminders of a week that went by way too quickly, but also of things I have to look forward to when I return to Haiti. I truly hope that all of you have the privilege of traveling to Haiti someday. The friends you will make and the experiences you will have will be everlasting.
Laura – Conclusion
Nelson Mandela preached, “As long as poverty, injustice and gross inequality exist in our world, none of us can truly rest.”
It is clear as you enter the garden of the Crosby Center for Education in Des Chappelles and walk up the steps onto the expansive porch,
that Ted and Becky haven’t rested for many years.
The Center is a remarkable beacon of abiding hope in this beautiful and hungry land. As many of you know, the Center opened officially this past January.
The afternoon we visited the literacy clinic was buzzing with life, students coming and going, greeting us and one another.
We met Harold, one of the 9 teaching staff at the Center and a college graduate and a proud recipient of the scholarship program. He was there pairing us up with his older students in their teens and twenty for reading and tutoring in English.
Harold is now passing on what he has learned, mentoring and changing lives each day…
In two other classrooms, senior citizens displayed their newly practiced skills writing their names in cursive. We clapped and cried as person after person volunteered to go to the board.
It was an unforgettable moment. The dignity found in being able to write one’s name for the first time as an older adult. The freedom it meant to be able to sign one’s name in this community built on dreams and tireless generosity.
I have called you by name; you are mine. (isaiah 43.1) says the prophet Isaiah said.
After a one-week sojourn like this one, it can be a challenge to return and pick up our lives again. Some of us wonder, “How shall I live my life now”?
It isn’t possible to unsee after seeing…that is the theology of accompaniment, the journey of faith.
In the same way, who among us here at First Congregational will ever be able to forget these 48 days of offering sanctuary to Malik, Zahida, and Roniya.
We are changed in the journey of accompanying one another.
We are changed in the experience of being in community with one another.
And witnessing to the stolen freedom of our guests.
Nearly fifty days in the wilderness
and in this time of sanctuary, it’s hard to say who is
benefiting more.
As a community of faith we are rediscovering what the theology
of accompaniment truly means. We are re-membering the call of discipleship and
the abiding gift of friendship found in a dark world.
When we answer the summons to Come and See
We are invited into relationship,
into the heartbeat of a God who comes as One of us.
Let us keep Seeing,
Keep choosing to be the kindom of God for one another.
Whether it means traveling to Haiti or learning that grace-filled lesson right here.
Nathanael said to Jesus, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”
Philip said to him, “Come and see.” (John 1.46)
“O poorest country, this is not your name.
You should be called beacon. You should be called flame.”
[1] Danielle Legros Georges, The Dear Remote Nearness of You (Barrow Street Press, 2016)