I want to introduce you to someone, but I’d rather not just tell you her name. That will tell you very little.
I’d like to introduce you to her personality, her lifestyle and the grace of God in her life. I think you’ll walk away from this whole thing with a greater knowledge and deeper love for her if we go about it like that.
She was born in a jungle village in the northern zone of Loreto, Peru. She’s seen a lot and done a lot, but compared with most Americans, she hasn’t really seen or done much of anything.
This place has been her home since before Christianity arrived. She remembers a time when the name of Christ had never been named among her people.
Her family once consulted the witch doctor for illnesses. She also remembers the first time she took an antibiotic, which she thought was just the white man’s version of witchcraft.
She remembers the first church going up in her small town, and today it seems so odd to her that it seemed odd to her then. She’s been walking with the Lord for more than 25 years, and Christ saved her roughly 25 years after that first church was built.
The fires of the gospel didn’t sweep through her small town like the scorched-earth northerners making their way south.
In fact, shortly after that first church went up, a very large Catholic church rose in the center of town, towering over everything around it. She recalls how quickly the people flocked to it, and now, at the age of 85, she finally understands why.
Her Life Now
Her husband walks about a mile back and forth to church several times a week. A mile at his pace is an eternity.
She used to make it to church more often, but she’s recently gone blind. Shortly thereafter, for whatever reason, her legs began to go as well.
Now you can see her roughly every other Sunday as she tries to fumble and feel her way to the bathroom during the service. Her husband made her a walking stick, but she refuses to use it.
She has no money to go to the doctor. Someone paid for the visit anyway, and the doctor told her she needed to see a specialist.
So, it’s done. That’s it.
Never in a million years can she afford a specialist. Her finances, geography and social isolation put that kind of treatment out of reach.
The doctor did tell her, though, that she needs to take vitamin A. Maybe that can help with her eyes, he says. She doesn’t have the money for vitamin A.
It costs around 75 soles, roughly $27, so her church is trying to have a barbecue to raise the money. The church doesn’t have a benevolence fund. Her family has no one from whom she could borrow it, and there are no wealthy people in the congregation who could dig into their own pockets and offer some assistance.
This is her life and reality.
She’s blind, and she’s probably going to die blind.
The Place She Calls Home
Dengue fever has been sweeping through the little city where she now lives, and more than 180 people have died from it this rainy season.
The mosquitoes are terrible. Her mosquito net has holes in it. She says she doesn’t notice them biting her at night, but in her state, it’s not likely that she would.
The “door” to her “bedroom” is a sheet hung between her two cardboard and garbage-bag walls.
She isn’t some really poor person on the outskirts of town.
Her neighbors don’t think there’s anything strange about taping black, 50-gallon garbage bags together to make a wall for a separate bedroom. Dirt floors and a bucket for a toilet don’t strike them as strange either.
It looks just like their house.
Her Joy
Her joy, though.
It runs deep.
Living in such a place isn’t difficult for her in the way we might imagine because she’s never known anything fancier. Sure, she’s seen and heard of nicer homes, but never has she lived in such a place. Nor her mother or father, nor her daughter or granddaughter.
That joy lives in a place that can’t be touched or affected by rustic toilets or dirt floors.
The highlight of her week is hearing God’s Word preached and singing with the saints in her city. Take that away from her, friend, and you’d see a woman broken.
It’s getting harder and harder for her to commune with the saints, and one can easily see the toll it’s taking on her.
Her Name Is Mercedes
Her name is Mercedes, and this author is proud to say that he knows he will see her in a better place soon. She will see him with perfect clarity at the feet of the Father, and they will worship together for all of eternity.
If you’re reading this and you feel convicted, that’s between you and the Holy Spirit who lives in you.
Maybe you feel guilty and think this author is trying to shame you. If so, you’ve missed the point. This author isn’t trying to convict or shame anyone.
He just wants you to know about Mercedes.
Pray for this saint as she passes her last little bit of time in that broken-down clay vessel. And think about the reality that is life for the majority of your siblings in Christ.
Mercedes can be for you a name and a person who represents the global church and the reality that many Christians live in.
She has certainly been that for me.