Pomachanchi

Pomachanchi is small
but i still feel like a Jonah
overlooking Nineveh.
i hear You saying
"I have many people here"
and that makes my heart rejoice.
Pomachanchi land of Quechua
land of INKA
land of the poor
who have names
have fields
have hopes
have futures
may they be in Christ.

Pomachanchi
your women in grey derby hats
and leather sandals
woolen leggings and faded, gathered woolen skirts
bent with age from
babies
strapped on their backs
with colorful skarves woven
by someone
not something.

Pomachanchi
your men
silver smiles and woolen sweaters
riding bicycles to herd the cattle
standing straight
staff in hand
dirty feet
deep brown skin
grooved by sun and Andes wind.

Pomachanchi
your children
sun burnt and wind chapped
walk like little adults
carry reeds for thatching roofs
carry wood for burning
long skirts
soccer shorts
speaking Quechua-Castellano
wind-tossed braids
at five years old, mature.

Pomachanchi
your valley nestled between mountains
is beyond words to describe.
you are lovely.
hidden jewel
that beckons noone but those
who see in your glistening lake
and hay fields
and herds of cattle
HOPE
for sustainable development.
Hana from a Spanish NGO
Antonio from Puebla, Mexico
my paisano, my soul-friend
who feeds the poor while develping plans
that they might feed themselves.
Microcredit
orphanage
solar-powered electricity
better water
sanitation
health
JESUS.
I am sitting on the mountain of the Jesus with huge outstretched arms
overlooking this valley.
this pomachanchi.
Our team preaches Christ
while hungry children hold out grubby hands.
"who taught you to beg?"
they answer
"hambre."

Pomacanchi.
After meeting you I am not sure
I can go back to Chicago
to chase another 3 semesters of worthless books
that lead me no closer to understanding
sustainable development
solutions to the sickness of poverty
what to do with millions of helpless
than when I began.
Jesus
overlooking this small city with outstretched arms
begs a response--a discipleship
surrender
obedience
a killing of the woul-life's resistence
that He might live.
That He might live
in this village
as free--
unhindered by religious tradition
set free by the power of teh Blood.
The Power of the Blood that liberates
as it flows through the artieries of the Church
as the Church moves her hands
and her feet
and her heart
to serve without hinderance
without pretext--

the hands and feet
that do not deny the mute child
a place at the table
the hands and feet
that are swift to collaborate
with sustainable development
the hands and feet
that climb up this mountian
to pray over this
small but significant
Nineveh.

Burnt skin
dirty hair
bleeding nuckles
small price to pay
for the liberation
or a village of 6000 souls---
and 1500
in the hills nearby.
Pomachanchi.