This past weekend was Canadian Thanksgiving. I had the privilege of spending it with dear friends at Esperanza. As mentioned in a previous post, in which I tell the history of Esperanza and it’s personal meaning for me, Esperanza has had from its inception an intimate connection with the First Nations people of the area, first as the only hospital in the area starting in the 1930’s, and later as a kid’s camp and indigenous women’s retreat center, with many events and services in between - the thrust of which has always been evangelism.
After a fallow period, due to Covid restrictions and other circumstances, the facility is ramping up to be Esperanza 2.0 - back to functioning as a camp and hosting retreats (this first of which is a men’s spiritual retreat next weekend) with a fresh spiritual wind and new leadership. In preparation, we were there to continue working on some of the maintenance projects, as well as help kick off a new season with a Thanksgiving feast for the First Nations neighbors.
This past August on our first trip, the weather was perfect: hot and dry during the day, inspiring chilly ocean plunges after hearty work. The cricket-kissed nights cooled drastically, drawing us together for campfires and singalongs at the pavilion. Very romantic.
I asked Dave and Diane, the directors who live on the grounds full time, could I please just stay there? They chuckled as they informed me that the rainy season is one long torrential downpour (they must know that the rain is the vetting factor for true Esperanzians). Having lived in West Coast British Columbia now for 4 years, dealing with the extensive rainfall in Victoria for about 7 months straight, I sobered at the statement.
I grew up in Michigan and then lived in Upstate New York, where the winters are long, cold, and precipitous indeed, but I’d not necessarily describe them as wet. And while each is a beast in its own right, I think I prefer my winter water to be frozen. AKA I’ve been known to glumly whine about the rain here from time to time...to time. When locals hear me whimper, they like to point out, “We get less rainfall here than in Vancouver!” As if this meteorological factoid is supposed to make me dryer. But Esperanza is no doubt more wet than even Vancouver. Do I have what it takes?
Knowing the odds of rain in October, I finally admitted to myself where I was in the world and, in preparation for the trip, bought a decent rain jacket.
My love for Esperanza was indeed put to the test: a couple of downpour days gave us a taste of what life would be like for months upon end. And there was no getting around the chores that had to be done; we were only there for a limited time and had to work, rain or shine. Many of us were utterly soaked to the bone for hours. I myself went through two rain jackets in no time, and I think we all realized the limitations of city slickers...pun intended.
But you know something...it wasn’t bad. Perhaps being there among comrades created a bonding experience that kept our hearts warm, along with the fact that we care so much about the flourishing of Esperanza and its mission.
My personal assessment is that wilderness rain is different from city rain. Being out in wilderness rain just seems natural: obviously if I am part of mountains, ocean, forest - I am bound to be wet therein; I am one with nature. But being wet in a city - driving through sloppy traffic while your car steams up, the greasy puddles on pavement, sitting wet in a business suit for the rest of the day, standing in a line of miserable parents at the elementary school to pick up your damp kid (and that humid smell the classrooms get!), mopping up the floor for the 5th time after the customer’s muddy boots depart...shall I account more unpleasantries? (I told you I whined about it!)
Truly, being rained on out in the country is an entirely different experience: wholesome, almost...certainly endurance producing. And seeing how happy all the trees and plants are - it’s restorative. Also: there’s nothing like coming in from the storm to dry off by a wood stove.
Thanksgiving blessed us with a sharply chilly but clear day. Boats from Esperanza ferried families, mainly from Zeballos, over to the camp. There were many children and babes, young mothers, and a grandmother who was even born at Esperanza back when the hospital was there. I was gifted with the opportunity to provide musical entertainment and lead worship songs for the guests. Karl Kruze, Esperanza’s new ministry coordinator and seasoned evangelist, shared a message from the book of John that cut down to the turkey thigh bone: are we just here for the free meal? Or are we here for the Bread of Life?
Evangelism is a boat over choppy, uncharted waters. No one is ever convinced of anything because someone told them to be, nor would a true evangelist ever want to force a message onto someone. One must arrive at the conclusion oneself that this is indeed the truth, and as the one sharing the message, you aren't always aware what kind of load the delivery comes with for the other party. Christianity is not a white man’s new world religion. Yet it may sound and feel strange to other cultures, or be associated with other negative narratives.
Someone from our group commented that they were touched by hanging out with the indigenous folk because it reminded him of how similar we all are. While I’m not trying to nitpick his sentiment and I understand what he’s saying, I have to disagree. As humans we have similarities of course; as children of God - made in his image - we are created, loved, and desired the same. But our cultures, ways, lifestyles, and stories are very different. And there’s beauty in that. That is also how God created us.
The important thing, whether you are sharing the Gospel or trying to connect for any number of reasons, the best place you can start is by finding a common thread - something of shared value, and agreed-upon sentiment. This is what we hope for all people who grace the shores of Esperanza - the Spanish name itself meaning hope. We hope any soul who meets us and experiences that place can see Christ in us...and recognize how Christ shines in their life too.
One of our Mosaic Church team members told me her child had fussed that their family would be at Esperanza for Thanksgiving and they couldn’t celebrate it in the way their family traditionally did. She laughed: “Honey - you can’t get more traditional than this - settlers arriving by boat, sharing a feast with the natives!” She gave a beautiful account of the “first Thanksgiving”, where the pilgrims invited the Indians to enjoy their first harvest, which was only successful because of the native’s wisdom shared with the newcomers to this foreign soil and climate. We sang the song:
Will you let me be your servant, let me be as Christ to you; Pray that I may have the grace to let you be my servant too.
There are damaging parts of these folk’s culture that perhaps we can speak light into and serve up some soul healing with sweet cranberry sauce. Likewise, there are deeply problematic parts of our culture to which they can teach nourishing alternatives, like butter melting on a homemade roll.
Thanksgiving at Esperanza was an experience worth getting drenched for.
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