Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh . . .

But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep.

Luke 7:20f (NRSV)

Haiti is the poorest country in the western hemisphere.  At least, that is what the statistics tell us, the statistics about Gross National Product and life expectancy. The most common reason for childhood mortality in Haiti is diarrhea. “Diarrhea?” we in North America ask, “but that is so easy to prevent: washing hands with soap and warm water goes a long way.  And it is so  easy to treat: you just need some water and salt and sugar.”  Yes, but the water has to be clean, and to be clean it has to be boiled, and to be boiled requires energy, wood or charcoal, and what if the hills have been de-nuded, so that wood is hard to come by?  And one has to know the formula (2 coke bottles of clean water, so much salt, so much sugar) in the first place.  And even knowing the formula is not going to do a great deal of good if a child’s  body is weakened by malnutrition.  Diarrhea is but the “final cause” that emerges from a web of circumstances that reveal just how complex is the nature of poverty. According to a  development worker we spoke with, socio-economic class in Haiti can be defined by what kind of water people drink.  The poorest drink whatever water is nearest, perhaps unaware of the dangers it may carry or unable to muster the resources to get anything better.  The middle class, with enough education to know the importance of clean water, work hard to obtain it.  The upper class can afford to buy bottled water.

This is a little of what I had learned over the last few years, from being in relation with a Christian health and development organization working in Haiti to “change conditions which make people sick, hungry, unemployed and afraid.”  And now it was Monday morning, and I had just returned, late the night before, from the culminating experience of all this learning: a week-long tour  to the island itself, to witness the work of change.   We had spent, literally, years preparing for this trip, studying, along with our teenagers who made the trip before us, Haiti’s history, present circumstances, and the issues faced by international development agencies working there.  As part of our preparation, we tried to articulate what we hoped to learn.  I realized that my bottom-line question was "what do people in Haiti do with the Beatitudes and "blessed are the poor"?  I tried to explore this while there, though I didn't feel I got very far. Such a question cannot be answered in a week, surely.  Can it be answered in a lifetime?

Monday morning, according to routine, is the time I usually look at the Scripture readings for the upcoming Sunday. Mostly out of curiosity, because I was far too groggy to do any serious work, I decided to look at the lectionary to see what I would  be preaching about in a few days.  I was more than a little surprised to discover that it was the Beatitudes.  I had thought I would take a few weeks, or months, or maybe a lifetime  to ponder the meaning of the trip, but the lectionary was throwing me headlong into the work of “making sense” of text and experience.   I could not ponder this passage without vivid images from Haiti crowding in on me.  I let them crowd.

There are a lot of similarities between Haiti and the Galilee.  Both peoples have known slavery  (the current population in Haiti are descendants of people brought over as slaves from West Africa after all the native peoples of the island were killed!).   Both peoples have been treated like political footballs kicked around between bigger, stronger nations.  Both peoples are poor.  If Jesus spoke these words to poor Galileans, he would certainly speak them to the people of Haiti.

One of the times we saw most clearly how conditions that make people sick, hungry, unemployed and afraid were being changed  was on a visit to "Joli Trou," a  rural community in the north of Haiti.  To get there from Cap Haitian (a former resort town where luxury cruise ships still stop, but only for some off-shore bathing, not telling their passengers the name of the island they can see) , we piled into some pick up trucks, forded a river in two places, bumped along on a one-lane dirt track to arrive at a meeting place: an open air space with benches along four sides, and a roof held up on wooden poles.  Gathered were about twenty-five people from the community:  members of the elected health committee, women who were receiving small loans so they could initiate road side businesses and feed their families, volunteers  who encourage people to take ownership of their communities’ health needs, and then, the "queen" of the group (our name for her), Viergena D, the health agent.  Viergena had been a volunteer for four years.  Through that work she had learned enough to pass an exam to be hired as a health agent.  As a health agent, she walks the territory that holds about three thousand people, encouraging them to come to the health posts, get vaccinated, learn about basic health practices such as how to treat diarrhea, and the importance of breast feeding.

These people welcomed us and began to tell us about what they have been doing: they had decided what they needed was a small dispensary within walking distance of everyone in their community. They chose a piece of land, about twenty-five by a hundred  feet, and asked for donations from the people.  They have currently raised almost the whole amount needed to buy it (about $450 Canadian; 300 US).  Given that these people are living at a subsistence level, most earning LESS than that amount in a year, this is impressive.  Once the purchase is finalized, their plan is to build a permanent building, where a nurse can do physical examinations for prenatal and postnatal care, vaccinations, and hold classes.  We asked the question that seemed obvious to us: once you have the building completed, how will you get the resources to run it: medication, a nurse?  At this point, we experienced the full force of Viergena's vision.   She said: "Look where we have come from.  We started from nothing.  We have elected a health committee.  We have decided together what we need.  We have raised the money we will need.  We have found a piece of land.  We will build that building with our own hands, with contributions of stones and cement and gravel.  We will do this together.  At each step of the way, things have worked out; we have to believe that things will continue to work."  In other words, she doesn't know exactly how they'll get medications, how they'll get a nurse, how it will all work, but she lives in hope. Hope strong enough to quell many doubts.  Hope strong enough to make nay-sayers quiver in their boots, or sandals, or bare feet (which is more likely the case).

Here's the question: is she poor?  Is she blessed?  Not that long ago, the international  development community defined poverty by caloric intake.   But the demarcation line has become more complex: it shifted  to call attention to other basic human needs, such as shelter and clothing.  It then expanded even further to include quality of life: access to and control over not only “basic needs” but also education, good health, some sense of security.  It expanded yet again to include the ability to influence decisions, in other words, a sense of having some agency in relation to the forces that affect their lives.

This community of Joli Trou is obviously "poor" by some of the above categories.  While some look like they're getting sufficient caloric intake to stave off the symptoms of malnutrition, many are not.  What we would call “premature death” is a frequent visitor:  children from diarrhea, adults from tuberculosis.  Yet even by the definitions used by development organizations, this group of people seems to be shrugging off the definition of "poor," because they have a sense that they can act for their own good.  They are learning how to care for their bodies and for their children; they have a sense that they can work towards well-being.  They are “empowered.”  From a development point of view, this has all the looks of a success story.

But there is something here that developmental theories cannot explain, or maybe would love to explain, and for this one needs to move from developmental to theological language.  This community seems to have hope. Where does this hope come from? One could pour money into such a community and not produce the kind of hope we witnessed in Joli Trou.  One way of "explaining" it  would trace its origin to North America, to the  money  that enables staff to pursue a vision, to hire health workers, who teach and organize, and encourage people like those in Joli Trou.   According to this explanation, the source of their hope is North American aid. But I doubt it's that simple, nor is that what Viergena herself said--she didn't say they'd turn to their sponsoring organization for the nurse and medication. There is something more, something “other” at work here.  The staffmembers of this organization are almost all Haitian themselves, and though their salaries largely come through North American help, they could have chosen more secure, more lucrative,  less challenging “career paths.”  They are moved by faith and love and hope. With humour and creativity, they embody a Christ-like love. Once in a while, Viergena wears a kind of baseball cap with JESUS in big letters across the front.   Encircling and holding this whole enterprise is surely the mysterious energy provided by faith in the God who comes alive and close to us in the life of Jesus. Their hope is a spiritual gift.

When it was time to leave, we wanted to say something to Viergena.  We thought she'd probably understand the French words "bonne chance," but that didn't come close to expressing what was called for.  So we asked our host, and  he suggested the Creole words "kinbe fem"  which means "stand firm," "hold on."  That was just right.   We said the words, but it was obvious to us that “kinbe fem” was something they already knew how to do. “Kinbe fem” is  the ability to let their hope and faith in God  shape their circumstances.  Whereas they could be overwhelmed, bitter, angry, and taking a victim stance, they choose to remain open to possibilities of goodness, open to the goodness of God.  Maybe that’s what “blessed are the poor” means.  Maybe it means “blessed are you who let your faith in God shape your circumstances.”  Maybe they see  Jesus standing among them saying:  "Blessed are you.  I know you have no shoes.  I know your children take turns going to school.  I know you cannot find money to buy charcoal, but  you are deeply loved; yours is the kingdom of God. And I know you are hungry, but  you will be filled.  And I know you weep.  I know you have funerals far often than you would like; but Stand firm.   Kinbe fem. Hold on."  And so they do.

This reading of the Beatitudes as “kinbe fem” is compatible with biblical interpretation of the word “poor.” The people of Israel, for most of their history, considered themselves as "the poor," for they were constantly threatened politically; they were an enslaved people; they always struggled; they had to work hard to make a living.  For most of their history, they were the poor.  But they did not interpret this to mean that because they were financially poor, they would be saved.  The word "poor" in Aramaic is almost identical with the word "humble."  The two have always been closely connected.  Poor always had the sense of "righteous poor," those whose outer circumstances lead them to depend on God, and who look to God for everything.  “Poor,” then, doesn’t mean victim, subjected, afraid to act.  It means one who turns to God, one who knows one’s need for God.  Such people will be blessed, for they will find God’s goodness in the midst of their circumstances, and God’s goodness will give them energy to persevere.

It would be possible for us (rich North Americans) to walk away from Joli Trou smiling, and satisfied to see such hope.  Nothing was specifically asked of us.  But what if they had replied back to us (and why not?) “kinbe fem to you too.”  What would that mean?  When Jesus said “blessed are you poor,” he stood as a man with no place to lay his head, among those who were literally poor, and he commended them for their faith.  If by  “poor” he  meant righteous poor,  then presumably his “woes” were for the  unrighteous wealthy, those whose circumstances lead them to turn away from God in smug satisfaction, in self-sufficiency, in pride.  If there is a “kinbe fem” for those who have ended up with wealth, then surely it means something like this: stand firm against the temptation to self-satisfaction.   Stand firm against the pride that leads to complacency.  Stand firm against the seduction that you are the owner and origin of your wealth.   In other words: stand firm in letting your hope and faith in God shape your circumstance, which in your case is wealth. Stand firm in letting hope in the coming realm of God shape your wealth.  If we were impressed by the strength of the people of Joli Trou, no less strength is demanded of us. We need to stand firm in a different way than our Haitian friends.  We need to stand firm against the seductive power of wealth.  We need to stand firm against comforts that distract us from the “one thing” that we really need.  We need to stand firm against a kind of sloth that leads us to believe we have all we need, or, worse, a piety that leads us to wrap our arms around our wealth, and with closed fists, beam up at God and say “thanks for the stuff,” assuming that the “stuff” is a reward for righteousness.

If the “kingdom of God” is a place where we are perfected in faith and hope and most of all  love, maybe the “developed” world, distracted by many “things,” has a handicap we’re almost unable to see. We have something to learn from our friends in Haiti about standing firm in love.  If we are willing to name ourselves as in need of hope to see our circumstances rightly,    then “kinbe fem” can be said in two directions, with equal intensity, and equal challenge. We are united in the path of hoping, holding on, “seeing” what is good.         

C. Stewart-Kroeker Hamilton, Ontario   September 30, 2002