Nothing quite brings the human condition into sharp focus than living with millions of them and watching small excerpts of their everyday lives play out: walking the dog with pink stilettos, grubby small hands asking for money, women buying bread, dads towing along curly haired toddlers in the middle of a tantrum. And the like.
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| Crooked, but looking up |
Maybe it's the melancholy in me, but I tend to pick out the broken moments first: arguments, longing looks, prostitutes and addicts, nonverbal expressions of despair and unloveliness, innocence broken into glass bottle shards. There's not much I can do about any of it; I say a quick prayer as I pass by and sometimes stop and ask, but mostly continue on my way, feeling pretty impotent and upset at humanity and my humanity. Where is Jesus, where is His body, where is His kingdom?
And yet, some days, I see glimpses of it.
The nun walking with a heavily tattooed lady, exchanging bracelets. I never did find out whether they were sisters or old friends, but their conversation seemed interesting.
The street lady singing a capella on the Subte A-line.
The surly teen scrubbing down a section of sidewalk, and an elderly tenant stepping out to greet him in full porteño exuberance: ¡Hola nene! ¿Cómo le va, cariño? (Hey, kiddo! How's it going, dear?). Which brought a smile to the kid's pimpled face and a sparkle to the old man's.
The kindergarten class with their homemade helmets on an outing to the park.
The one time I offered to pray for a lady. She said yes, and that "you know, I have had lots of people come up to me and tell me that God loves me- I'm starting to think it must be true!"
...All that to say with an out of context verse:
"Don't be afraid- don't be silent! For I am with you...and I have many people in this city" (Acts 18:10)
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