The Holy Land

Jerusalén: Altiplano, tiny town, no water. We are greeted with a kiss and a welcome. “Our government has forgotten about us,” I have to take a bathroom break to mourn a bit. But it is not all sad – this church is hope, an example of what can bring a community together. So important because it was built by the community, brick-by-brick. They tell us about this again and again, smiles so big and proud. It is wholly theirs, not the colonialists’, not white people’s – theirs. And in the midst of salty water and being pushed into the corner, there is pride. What does this tell me about community development? What does this say about the importance of independency and the need to be able to? Human dignity?

I stood admiring the alter as he came up next to me – “The altar, it has gold. This is a holy place, isn’t it?” I nodded my head because, certainly, it was. “Gold? Are you serious?” And he smiles. 

Later, the community gathered around -- mismatched clothes, floral polleras, glasses missing lenses. They knew their dire situation. No one is so naive, like we would enjoy to think. They talk back and forth. "No water. No water. No water." We shrink to the background because in that moment, what do I have to offer? I take a bathroom break, and there are tears. It's not pity, but something else I still can't place. We are equals: all so smart, all so aware, all so trying. 

The church stood in the background, casting shadows. Reminding. 

In a place where water is scarce and the community knows it could be dying, is there a lifeline? And is it this church? The little gold at the altar? The knowledge that there is something and it is mine?