JCF Philippines Mission Trip 2014
Have you ever experienced something a little beyond words? My time in the Philippines is as such. During the last week of March, I had the honor of serving with the JET Christian Fellowship on the islands of Leyte and Biliran in the Eastern Visayas of the Philippines. In Novermber 2013, this area was ground zero to the worst storm recorded in history – the notorious Typhoon Yolanda.
We adopted a rural elementary school, ran a fun English camp, distributed new school supplies and food, entertained with the JCF mini-show, and fellowshipped with the locals. The destruction we saw was devastating, but the resilience of the Filipinos was remarkable. How do I explain the complexity of our experience? How can such joy exist in a place of such tragedy? I could lay out our itinerary and explain what we did, but that seems insufficient. Here, language seems inadequate. So I’m going for a different approach – a collage of images and memories and the short stories that accompany them. I hope that as you enter these shards of my memory, you can see what I saw and – more importantly – feel what I felt.
Welcome to Tacloban
Oh my God. I was speechless as I stepped onto the runway, the whining of the jet engine stole my words. It wasn’t hard, however, to find our luggage from the pile made on the concrete floor of the open terminal. I gazed around as I grabbed my bag. The place looked like it had been bombed. Mangled iron twisted about from the ceiling like broken fingers – remnants of what had been a roof. The walls, with gaping holes like missing teeth, left little distinction between inside and outside. A security guard slouching in a folding chair waved us through the front entrance. There were no doors. Dan started handing out candy to a couple of barefooted begging children as we loaded up the jeepney. Within minutes, a small crowd of children emerged from the surrounding slum. There were no homes. Just ratty shacks donning tarps from just about every charity I had heard of. The begging hands quickly consumed all the candy, and it was time to roll out.
our faithful Tacloban jeepney
The roar of a departing jet, only about 100 meters away, swallowed up the sound of our jeepney’s little engine. I hung my head out the side of the vehicle to watch as we raced the plane. Tropical air whipped at my face. My eyes squinted as they followed the jet lifting off over the sea, running toward the dark skies. The sunset and heavy clouds cast an ominous light on the dirty streets. Everything was destroyed. Trash was everywhere, collecting in corners and muddy puddles of rainwater. The buildings seemed to lean against each other with staggering limps. Any attempts at reconstruction thus far seemed like mere patchwork, like band-aides on amputations. I watched in amazement from the back of the open jeepney as we bounced along the bumpy road, feeling like a shell-shocked soldier on his first day of deployment. We passed a squadron of Korean troops building a new elementary school from the ground up, with rifles still slung on their backs. We were allies now. The enemy was daunting, but our mission was clear – to fight for hope and healing for these people. Lock and load.
Welcome to Tacloban
The night’s rain had given way to sunny and hot morning skies. With our matching green t-shirts, we piled in to the jeepney to head off for our first day of work. Stop number 1 – the mayor of nearby Tolosa. With a big smile and handshake he greets us as we present to him a Japanese flag bearing scribbled messages of encouragement. We talk and joke for a bit as our pictures are taken. “You know they say Filipina women are quite strong,” he tells us with his colorful accent. Then, with a gesture toward the broken city outside his window, he delivers the punch-line, “Just look what Yolanda did to my beautiful town!” We all laugh heartily, although a bit nervously on our part. He humbly thanks us and sends us on our way to stop number 2 – San Vicente Elementary School. The jeepney slows down as we leave the paved road for a bumpy dirt path running through brilliantly green fields. The scenery is stunning.
We pass a small team of local villagers pulling weeds along the road. “Hello!” They joyfully wave at us with big smiles on sun-soaked faces. We return the waves and smiles. Finally our jeepney comes to a stop and we hear a chorus of high cheers. I step out of the jeepney and my eyes well with tears. Before the colorful walls of San Vicente Elementary School is the most beautiful welcome party I have ever seen. With pieces of paper the first graders had spelled out “welcome visitors”. It’s backwards, but it doesn’t matter. From the windows and doors of the school, children smile and wave and call out to us in their small voices. There actually are no doors or windows, just openings, but it doesn’t matter. The roof of the school had been torn off by the storm, the structure is in bad shape, and even the palm trees are still having a bad hair day, but it doesn’t matter. It’s the most beautiful school I have ever seen.
A peculiar aestheticism
I was beginning to get used to seeing destruction, it was everywhere, but I wasn’t quite prepared for this. Our jeepney parks and we quietly step out in awe. That doesn’t belong here. Jutting its nose over the seaside road was a huge freight ship. The surrounding slum seemed to welcome the ship with typical Filipino hospitality, as it was clear that people were now living in the vessel. As we walked through the muddy streets toward the back of the ship, we passed by a group of children delightfully playing a game with their flip-flops and a rusty soup can. Everybody smiles. Everybody waves. And it was all strangely… beautiful. Bright colors were everywhere – from the crippled temporary structures to the clothes on the people peeking out from them. Smiling faces and laughing children greeted us. It didn’t make any sense. How can such devastation have such beauty? How can such poverty have such abundant joy? There was something strangely fascinating about the Philippines in the wake of Yolanda that I couldn’t quite comprehend, like a peculiar aestheticism.
Dance with my Father Again
It was a success. In a matter of hours we had planned a two-hour variety show to entertain the school children and their families. We sang, we dance, we played bingo and gave prizes, we smiled, we laughed. Then we cried. It was after our show was finished, when we were celebrating our accomplishment and soaking in the rewarding smiles of the children, that a teacher took the mic and told us they had prepared some performances for us as well. It was after we cheered in amazement as a 6th grade girl stunned us with a traditional Filipino dance. That was when it happened. An 8 year-old girl with a small but beautiful voice took the stage and began to sing. The crowd fell silent as she hit the high notes of the chorus: “and I can’t wait to dance with my father again.” It can’t be can it? Later it was confirmed. Yolanda had taken her Father.
Show my pictures in Japan
We knew we would have to say goodbye to these kids, but that doesn’t make it any easier. All afternoon we played and danced and laughed with these precious children. As the sun began to set, a small group of my favorite boys began to cling to me even tighter. It was time to go. As I staggered toward the jeepney, trying not to fall on top of the kids hanging from every limb, Jonedson fought for my attention. His departing request was simple but profound. “Johnny! Pictures!” He pointed toward the pocket concealing my phone. “Show in Japan!” I was a little confused. “You want me to show your pictures in Japan?” I asked. “Yes! Yes!” As he jumped with joy his brilliant smile blurred in my vision. “Haha ok, Jonedson. I will.” We gave our last goodbye hugs and last secret handshakes before the jeepney engine sputtered to life. As we rode into the sunset, a parade of running children raced after us with big smiles until their little legs couldn’t keep up and their waving hands faded in the distance. I thought about what Jonedson said the whole way back. I get it now. These kids just wanted to know that they are not forgotten. A bunch of foreign English teachers living in Japan coming all the way out to their rural village in Tolosa just to play with them – that was the best gift we could have given them. So it is my great pleasure to share with you the delightful smile of my friend Jonedson. Let it be known that he is one awesome dude. Let it be known that our God will never forget him.
from left to right: Jonedson, Johnny, and Jonjon
Kampai!
Royal and I couldn’t help but laughing. Is this real? Here we were in the beautiful island of Biliran, sitting in a seaside shack constructed of bamboo. Outside was the sound of water gently lapping on the rocky beach and the rustle of leaves from the coconut trees. The local village had just welcomed us with a feast of their delicious home cooking. We could still hear the machetes hacking open freshly felled coconuts. “Here, sir. Enjoy!” They smiled as they handed us each our own coconut. Through bouts of joyful giggles we raised our refreshing, all natural beverages and gave a hearty Japanese drinking cheer, “kampai!”
as fresh as it gets
I Finally Found Where I Belong
It was a perfect finish to a perfect day. The villagers took us out for a naval tour of the island on their raggedy boat. We swam and marveled at a beautiful sunset over the island before returning to shore. After another delicious Filipino feast, a few of us rinsed off in a stream then drowsily made our way to the church building to hang out. It wasn’t planned, but as I grabbed the guitar and Dave and I traded off singing worship songs, a small group gathered on the concrete floor to worship with us. As I sang I watched our girls peacefully paint the nails of some local village girls. A neighbor came over with his own guitar and took a seat next to us to follow along. Then Dave started singing a new song. Everything seemed to stop for a moment as we sang along.
I finally found where I belong,
I finally found where I belong, in Your presence.
I finally found where I belong, Lord,
It’s to be with You, to be with You.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yUsZ9LHNM40
It was one of those moments that could’ve lasted forever. That feeling of being so close to God, of being in His presence – where we belong. Perhaps that was the explanation to the unexplainable joy we encountered on those islands. These people, who had lost everything, were overflowing with hope. After spending 8 months in Japan, it’s hard to explain the joy in seeing a cross raised on a hilltop, or people still gathering in the many damaged church buildings, or the slogan of “Jesus saves” proudly painted on the front of a jeepney, or the “graduation prayer” written on the blackboard of a classroom, or a sign boasting “God is good” erected outside a slum shack. “Blessed are the poor in spirit… blessed are those who mourn…” these words of Jesus never made sense to me, but here I was seeing it everywhere, and it somehow made perfect sense. It’s an upside-down Kingdom we are ambassadors of – “the greatest among you shall be your servant.” “Whoever seeks to preserve his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life will keep it.” But maybe it’s not the Kingdom that’s upside-down, but this world we live in. In the Philippines, we were given a small glimpse into the redemptive power of God’s Kingdom here on earth setting things right. Now I pray that the island nation I currently live in can also somehow experience this upside-down joy. From island to island I went, and from island to island I’ve been blessed. I hope the joy I’ve received I can also share, from island to island.
KonnichiWhatsup 