Feature Articles

Letting Go and Allowing Something New
By S. Jean Miller

This past summer S. Jean Miller had the opportunity to visit with a homeowner in one of the affordable housing communities in Nicaragua.

Charity ResourcesIn MemoriamSeton Enablement Fund

Sometimes we have the opportunity to “go back” to view what happened while we were away. I have always believed with St. Paul that preaching the Gospel means going, finding and sharing the “Good News,” then leaving so that new insights, leadership and community can move forward in whatever way God’s presence and the community’s gifts evolve.

Of course, I have left ministries with a big dose of curiosity about what happened when I was no longer “taking charge” or getting in the way of local leaders. With great determination I was able “to let go” only by moving out of the area.

This summer I was asked to “go back” to the Border with Mexico to accompany a group of Cincinnati Summit Country Day students on an immersion experience. There I would revisit Tierra Madre, a sustainable housing community. This was the most difficult of all my ministries because it demanded new learnings about land, long-term leases, credit reports, mortgages, neighborhood development, electric systems, sewage systems, straw bale construction, renewable energy, roofing materials, thermal floors, solar water heaters and overall sustainability were all overwhelmingly foreign to me.

S. Jean Miller ministered in Nicaragua in the 1980s; her experiences led her to alternative construction techniques and the straw bale sustainable housing project known as Tierra Madre, located in New Mexico.

Really there was almost nothing I knew about this project. I had never owned a house, had a mortgage, read a credit report or, as a child, built anything other than castles out of blocks. However, after years in Latin America, I did know something about bringing people together around “their” needs for “our” education in new sustainable development. Slowly dreams were shared, community was built, educational skills were attained and houses appeared in the desert.

When some of the 47 houses were built and the community residents were able to run their sub-division, I left so that their leadership would get stronger, houses would continue to be built and a sustainable community would be completed.

Returning to Tierra Madre allowed me to see what can evolve when the community of residents brings new ideas and plans. In 2008 when the housing market fell apart, nine houses still needed to be built. That caused the community to pause, and relook at needs and priorities for the people in the area. They returned loans and re-envisioned the new reality. In 2012 dialogue is taking place with government agencies and new ideas are being designed for rental housing for seniors, the new need in the area.

The other gift I received this summer was the opportunity to “go back” 20 years later to Nicaragua as part of a site visit for the Seton Enablement Fund. To show you how Nicaragua has lived in my heart all these years I want to share in poetry three important moments.

The first was written in February 1985 in Manzanillo, Mexico, a place where talks between the U.S. and Nicaragua had just taken place.

Mourning

Manzanillo, Manzanillo
Why did I come here?
The beach? There are many.
Soon beaches of Cuba, I’ll see.
Why then, oh, why here?
The time, the space, could it be?
My deepest soul says, no.
To grieve, is the why most profound.

Manzanillo, Manzanillo!
To grieve, who could believe.
grieve for dialogue closed, for minds set
grieve for children’s deaths, for mothers’ pain
grieve for youth cut short, for life never born
grieve for a David confronted by a Goliath.

Manzanillo, Manzanillo!
A Mexican City where Nicaragua I touch
A port where oil spills blacken sand
Like the name Manzanillo colors the future black
Here in this place, the Giant
covered his ears,
turned his back
on a new society.

“No, no I won’t hear,
No, no I don’t believe,”
screamed the Giant
as truth pierced the lies.

“I want my power no matter the cost.
So I’ll leave Manzanillo,
to lie evermore,
convincing your neighbors
you are the foe.”

And David stood alone at the table
here in Manzanillo,
I weep
for them both, here in Manzanillo.

Then some months later in October 1985, during a time of threatened invasion of Nicaragua by the U.S., I wrote:

Nicaragua

“Nicaraguita, Nicaraguita,”
as the peasants call you.
So small, yet strong,
So young, yet wise as age,
So new, yet old as the Gospel
You stand poised, ready
as David to meet Goliath.

Where do you hide your fear?
Fear of the Giant’s lies,
Fear of friends’ betrayal,
Fear of greed and hate that launch
bombs, arms and chemicals,
Fear of children’s blood and
loved ones death
Fear of your own death.

Is there only one fear
hiding in your heart –
fear of the end of revolution?
Can the thought of the end
of “living for the other”
conquer all other fear?

Did you learn this
from a man named Jesus?
What made you take
him seriously?
Why do so many Christians
fail to do so?

“Nicaraguita, Nicaraguita”
I fear for you tonight
I fear for your children, your homes,
your lands, your revolution.
Sadness penetrates my being
The Giant, my government
stands poised to trample
on weakness, so they think,
on youth, so they think,
on a copy, so they think,
on a call that gives courage
to lay aside all fear but one,
fear that the Gospel may die.
I beg that your voice,
be heard, as it is,
A call to defend
a world more human,
a world more caring,
a world where Giants become equal
a world where the Gospel may live.

Finally written in 1991 when the Sandinistas had just lost the elections and Violetta Chamorro was coming into power. The title Atardecer, Amanecer means will the sun set or will the sun rise.

Atardecer, Amanecer
Keep the sun from setting!
Hold the beauty of color!
Stop, stop, stop!

Don’t bury the dream
Let the light shine
Struggle, struggle, struggle!

A moment of beauty
Ten years of hope
Glimmering, glimmering, glimmering!

Night hides the sun
Obscures truth and beauty
Remembering, remembering, remembering.

Egoism overshadows revolution
Crushing good, shattering dreams
Purify, purify, purify!

Keep the sun from setting!
Hold the beauty of color!
Atardecer, atardecer, atardecer!

Peace hovers nearby
Dawn of peace appears
Amanecer, amanecer, amanecer!

Revolutionary peace must survive
Cemetery peace must die
Struggle, struggle, struggle.

Will day really come? Will death be overcome? Unite, unite, unite!

Twenty years later the Sandinistas have returned to power, older, wiser and with the question, “Was the bloodshed of the past worth it?” The answer to that question seems to have taken off some rough edges, created new visions and broader collaboration among the Sandinistas and with other groups. The poor are once again at the center of the goals and there is a new awareness of Earth and her needs on the agenda. I came home with a renewed hope for the people of Nicaragua and a real gratitude for my early years there.

Returning to Tierra Madre allowed me to see what can evolve when the community of residents brings new ideas and plans. Returning to Nicaragua allowed me to see that hope creates new dreams. My return to two loved ministries reminded me of Langston Hughes poem:

Dreams

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

Thanks for two dreams that continue to evolve and give hope.