Paciencia y Fe

Like a good majority of the rest of the country, I got swept up in the excitement of Hamilton this past year. I would pop in my ear buds nearly every afternoon at work and let the rap-based retelling of the life and death of America's first treasury secretary entertain me and my data analyses. I did this for months up until I was able to see the show and then decided it was time to "take a break." (If you know the soundtrack, you'll get that reference. If you haven't listened to the soundtrack, do it. Do it now).

What better way to take a break from Hamilton, I decided, than to listen to the music from Lin-Manuel Miranda's first Tony-winning musical "In the Heights"? I will spare you the reader's digest version of the show (if you haven't listened to the soundtrack, do it. Do it now.), but there is a scene in which the protagonist's grandmother sings about the importance of "paciencia y fe"—patience and faith. The song is cleverly titled "Paciencia y Fe."

It would appear from my last post that I am perhaps struggling with the whole "paciencia" side of things here in Piura. So while I continue to work that out, I thought I would reflect on the concept of faith.

Today is our last day in Piura. I am handling this fact with the same grace (or lack thereof) that I have in trips past. Last night after a dinner out with some of our favorite friends and staff, I found myself in search for a quiet yet familiar place to do some soul searching, which is how I wound up sitting in a dark corner in the back of the church at 11 PM. Now you might expect, as I did, that at 11 PM on a Friday night, a church would be deserted. Alas, you would be sorely mistaken, but in the best possible way.

When I came downstairs, I was pleasantly surprised to run into my friend Renzo, a 19 year old parish volunteer who serves Mass and oversees the activities of the parish every night until 10 PM. Not only was Renzo still at the compound with his friends Pedro and Wilder, about 10 members of the staff were also still hanging out—catching up, joking, occasionally popping into the chapel with their spouses or children. (I think I have sufficiently waxed poetic about the profound respect and love I hold for the staff here at Santisimo Sacramento. They are among the kindest, most selfless and generous people that I have ever had the good fortune to know, and to know again after 6 and 7 years). After saying hello to the staff and wishing them a good night, I proceeded to the completely not-empty church, where I was blown away by the number of people attempting to do the same as me: find comfort, context and courage. Only one door is left open at nighttime, so I was treated to a constant procession of individuals, pairs and families walking past me to pray—a stream of faithful that never slowed until it was time for me to go to bed.

If faith is defined as a complete trust or confidence in a higher power, the faith of the Peruvian people with whom we have interacted is all encompassing, awe-inspiring and the perfect anecdote to my own anger and questioning.

I may not always understand the plan that God has for me, my family, my Peruvian friends-- new and old-- but I can believe that in our trust in God, we can be lifted up ("Alabanza"-- another song from "In the Heights"-- seriously, listen) and find that which we most seek: paciencia y fe.