Newsletter! - Sarah in Mexico

Loved not for what I do, but for who I am…

Ubuntu: I am because you are.
“Africans have this thing called Ubuntu. It is about the essence of being human. It embraces hospitality, caring about others, being able to go the extra mile for the sake of others. We believe that a person is a person through another person, that my humanity is caught up, bound up, inextricably, with yours.
When I dehumanize you, I inexorably dehumanize myself. The solitary human being is a contradiction in terms and therefore you seek to work for the common good because your humanity comes into its own in belonging.”
-Archbishop Desmond Tutu

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.’ So, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.”
2 Corinthians 12:9

I celebrated my 23rd birthday last week, and was humbled and overjoyed by the way my friends and co-workers gave of themselves, their time, their food, and their joy to celebrate with me. The week of constant fiestas made me so keenly aware of the abundant love that surrounds and uplifts me—here in this place and across the world. In the spirit of gratitude for my life and the love that sustains it, I’m choosing to reflect in this month’s newsletter on the way my experience in Mexico has drawn me into authentic relationship, and instilled deeper belief in a God who embraces the world and each one of us with unconditional love.

One of the things that has been very clear to me throughout the year is the way this call has challenged my traditional way of living and being in the world. I come from a culture that keeps me on the go, that encourages me to seek, do, and buy more, that affirms me when I try harder, work longer, get better, and climb higher. It’s more, more, more, and it’s do, do, do. While I recognize the self-centered, exhausting, and unremitting cycle of our culture’s pace and expectations, I also know I find a part of myself there. I am a doer. I love to be active. I make lists and devise plans. I enjoy taking on many projects and doing them well. This is part of who I am and always will be, but it’s a part of me that I see with new eyes after the past ten months. Coming to Mexico as a missionary has turned much of that “Sarah Rohde” on her face, and I’m grateful for the learning that’s spun out of that.

My job description, more than anything, is to accompany my brothers and sisters in Mexico in their journeys, struggles, and joys. In the first several months, this meant quite literally showing up, sitting, observing, smiling, nodding, and asking questions when it felt appropriate. As I’ve become more familiar with the communities I serve and people with whom I work, I’ve found more occasions for participation and more responsibilities to undertake. My work with the organization, CIDHAL, has allowed me to facilitate a discussion group with young women from Mexico, Spain, Canada, and the U.S. on various issues and themes related to justice and feminism. My work in the indigenous communities has given me opportunities to lead cooking classes, assist in workshops with children for the prevention of sexual abuse, help the women with their pottery and sewing projects, and document weekly meetings and decisions. To this day, though, my most important work still consists of being present, of listening to others’ stories and sharing my own, of visiting homes and attending important events, of receiving generosity in whatever form—a conversation; an invitation to a family birthday party; a traditional, all-natural, totally despicable and unsuccessful remedy for diarrhea; a smile; a tortilla doused in pork fat and cheese; a church service; etc.—that my Mexican friends here are so itching to give.

This work has in many ways freed me—and forced me—to step out of a familiar identity and leap into new, unexplored parts of who I am. When I think about my identity in the past, I’m aware of how quickly I jump to the things that I’ve done to describe myself: I’ve been a student, musician, leader, camp counselor, traveler, teacher, accompanist, and writer. I’m also aware of the control I carried over the things I did and the way I did them. My perfectionist self liked to be good at things right off the bat; therefore, I chose to audition for choir and not for basketball; I majored in religion, Spanish and music, not in accounting or chemistry; I preached often in chapel, but didn’t even consider the debate team.

These activities and actions certainly do form a part of me, but I wonder if a focus on these roles has also distracted me from knowing myself at a more raw level, and created a veiled sense of worth or entitlement. Defining too much of myself by the things I do, achieve, and accomplish probably fosters—albeit unknowingly—a belief that I deserve certain attention, affirmation, and love. Because I’ve done all these things, then I should get… This is not to say that we shouldn’t put forth awards and accolades to celebrate each other’s gifts and excellence, but what concerns me is when we find our sense of being and worth more in what we do than in who we are, when we believe love is something we deserve, rather than the greatest gift we’ve been given.

No one in Mexico knows of the Concordia Choir. No one knows I graduated with honors. No one knows of my involvement in Bread for the World. No one has heard me play the piano. While I yearn to recover these parts of myself, to again be known as a leader, a musician, and a go-getter, I also love what I’ve learned by stripping away these titles and identities. It’s made me see, feel, taste, and touch more closely something I’ve always believed to be true: that love is sheer gift. Such an affirmation forms the bedrock of our faith, as nothing we do makes us more worthy of God’s love and grace. It’s who and whose we are that makes us worthy. And such knowledge can’t help but stir in me a spirit of immeasurable gratitude and deep, deep humility.

It hasn’t been the easiest lesson for me to learn or believe. As I struggle to put my thoughts into Spanish, I often think to myself, “Ugh, if they could just hear me speak in English, they’d have so much more respect for me.” When I go get the tape recorder (la grabadora) instead of the stapler (la grapadora), I just want to whip out my diploma from this reputable liberal arts college as proof that I’m smart and capable. When I try to dance salsa and am this crazy, Norwegian blonde that has obviously only danced to 4/4 time, I want to escape back to comfortable ground, where people look like me and get me. But these are exactly the moments that have turned my world upside down, as it’s there that I’ve discovered the most real, authentic love. While I have thoughts of “If I could…,” “If I were…,” If I did…,”—this idea that doing and being more would make others love me more—my siblings in Mexico show me another way.

Before my Mexican friends know what I do, own, or study, they see who I am. Part of that is noting the difference in my skin and eye color, and knowing I’m a U.S. American; the other part is seeing me as just another human being who has stories to tell, laughter to share, tears to shed, mistakes to make, pain to bear, joy to spread. It wouldn’t be fair to the experience to say our differences have been washed away, but I would say that such extended time together has invited us to work through our pronounced differences and realize each other’s authentic personhood. We are all imperfect beings. We all have lessons to learn and knowledge to share. We all need to love and be loved. We are each living out a different story, yet it has become so real to me that our stories are deeply interwoven, interdependent, and inextricably bound to one another. This whole process of seeing humanness more completely, of discovering myself in the face of another, and of knowing love without conditions and expectations has been one of the most powerful experiences of my life.

Friends and family, it is my hope and prayer that you always know you are loved not for what you do, but for who and whose you are.

Peace and love,
Sarah