In case you missed this article at Christmas time, I´ve reposted it below. It was posted on Mennonite Mission Network´s "Beyond" website here and was also published on Mennonite World Review's website here.
In Ecuador and Colombia, as in the United States, the Christmas season is a time of celebration, joy, family gatherings, and gift-giving. People’s enthusiasm for the arrival of Christmas is sparked by the sight of Christmas decorations, the sound of villancicos (traditional Christmas songs), and the smell of typical Christmas cuisine like pristiños (fried sweet dough with honey), and higos con queso (figs with cheese). Congregations light advent candles to await with hope the birth of Jesus, and children wait excitedly for the gifts that Papa Noel will place under their Christmas tree. But while it would seem that Christmas signifies a season of joy for everyone, December’s arrival means the loneliest, hardest month of the year for others.
In Ecuador and Colombia, as in the United States, the Christmas season is a time of celebration, joy, family gatherings, and gift-giving. People’s enthusiasm for the arrival of Christmas is sparked by the sight of Christmas decorations, the sound of villancicos (traditional Christmas songs), and the smell of typical Christmas cuisine like pristiños (fried sweet dough with honey), and higos con queso (figs with cheese). Congregations light advent candles to await with hope the birth of Jesus, and children wait excitedly for the gifts that Papa Noel will place under their Christmas tree. But while it would seem that Christmas signifies a season of joy for everyone, December’s arrival means the loneliest, hardest month of the year for others.
Over
the past four years, I’ve listened to Colombian refugees in Quito,
Ecuador, continually express how the Christmas season is the most
difficult time of the year for them. For many refugees, Christmas means
feeling the weight of being alone, far from loved ones during family
gatherings and traditions. For others, it means only imagining the
tastes of fried cheese balls called buñuelos, a sweet custard called natilla, and roasted pig called lechona,
typical Colombian Christmas foods, while swallowing the tough reality
of not even having food to eat or a table to sit around. For parents, it
means not being able to give even the smallest gift to their children.
And for children, it means wondering why they won´t be receiving gifts
like they always have.
In my work with refugees, I´ve realized that sometimes simply creating spaces for people is a powerful way to change the human experience; spaces where people feel a sense of belonging, where they can re-create traditions and create new memories to begin to heal their wounds and trauma. Does it erase the past or bring things back to normal? Frankly, no. Much of the damages caused by war and displacement will never fully be restored, but improving the present is a worthwhile task and can give hope for the future.
This year, the team at Quito Mennonite Church’s Colombian Refugee Project, where I’ve served for the past four years through Mennonite Mission Network, decided to create a Christmas celebration space for refugees in an attempt to provide some enjoyment in the midst of tough circumstances. Add to that space a healthy-sized guest list, some Christmas decorations, a touch of Colombian Christmas music, a splash of typical Christmas foods, a pinch of games for kids, and you have yourself a recipe for what we experienced as a few hours of Christmas joy, in what otherwise would have been a bland and tasteless Christmas season for many.
We shared a delicious meal together, talked about how the natilla tasted just like Colombia, sang traditional songs together (complete with an improv band), laughed together, and learned to know each other better. The children even went home with a small gift. Together, we made the Christmas season a little bit more joyous for everyone, even if it was just for a few hours.
For the first time in four years, I saw some Christmas cheer among the faces in the crowd and heard positive comments from people who were thankful for a space to belong and celebrate. And that for me was a great Christmas gift.
We, all of us, have the opportunity to make someone’s Christmas a little brighter. So, this Christmas season, what spaces will you create? Will you decide to open your eyes to see those around you that experience Christmas as loneliness, despair and hunger? May we all be aware of those in our communities who are in need of our presence, our friendship, and our generosity, those who are waiting for us to create a space for them. But, just as loneliness, despair and hunger know no boundaries or holidays, may we, too, live each day with our eyes open to see, and our hands ready to create spaces for the children of God who have been pushed to the margins.
In my work with refugees, I´ve realized that sometimes simply creating spaces for people is a powerful way to change the human experience; spaces where people feel a sense of belonging, where they can re-create traditions and create new memories to begin to heal their wounds and trauma. Does it erase the past or bring things back to normal? Frankly, no. Much of the damages caused by war and displacement will never fully be restored, but improving the present is a worthwhile task and can give hope for the future.
This year, the team at Quito Mennonite Church’s Colombian Refugee Project, where I’ve served for the past four years through Mennonite Mission Network, decided to create a Christmas celebration space for refugees in an attempt to provide some enjoyment in the midst of tough circumstances. Add to that space a healthy-sized guest list, some Christmas decorations, a touch of Colombian Christmas music, a splash of typical Christmas foods, a pinch of games for kids, and you have yourself a recipe for what we experienced as a few hours of Christmas joy, in what otherwise would have been a bland and tasteless Christmas season for many.
We shared a delicious meal together, talked about how the natilla tasted just like Colombia, sang traditional songs together (complete with an improv band), laughed together, and learned to know each other better. The children even went home with a small gift. Together, we made the Christmas season a little bit more joyous for everyone, even if it was just for a few hours.
For the first time in four years, I saw some Christmas cheer among the faces in the crowd and heard positive comments from people who were thankful for a space to belong and celebrate. And that for me was a great Christmas gift.
We, all of us, have the opportunity to make someone’s Christmas a little brighter. So, this Christmas season, what spaces will you create? Will you decide to open your eyes to see those around you that experience Christmas as loneliness, despair and hunger? May we all be aware of those in our communities who are in need of our presence, our friendship, and our generosity, those who are waiting for us to create a space for them. But, just as loneliness, despair and hunger know no boundaries or holidays, may we, too, live each day with our eyes open to see, and our hands ready to create spaces for the children of God who have been pushed to the margins.
