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 to most americans she hasn’t really seen or done much of anything. She’s been in this place since before Christianity arrived. She remembers a time when the name of Christ had never been named among her people. She remembers a time when her family would consult with the witch doctor for any illnesses, and she remembers the first time she took an antibiotic, which she thought was just the white mans version of witch craft.
She remembers the first church being built 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 over twenty five years, and she was saved by Christ roughly twenty five 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 the first church was erected, she remembers a very large catholic church being erected in the center of town, towering over it like the monster that it is. She recalls how quickly the people flocked to it, and now at the age of eighty five she finally understands why.
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 her to go anyways, and they 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. She’s financially, geographically, and socially isolated from that kind of treatment. 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 s/75 (roughly 27 US dollars) so her church is trying to have a barbecue to raise money for it. Her church doesn’t have a benevolence fund, her family has no one from whom she could borrow the money, and there are no wealthy people in the congregation who could dig into their own pockets and offer up some assistance. This is her life and reality.
She’s blind and she’s probably going to die blind.
Dengue fever has been sweeping through the little city where she now lives, and over one-hundred and eighty people have died from it this rainy season. The mosquitos are terrible. Her mosquito net has holes in it. She says she doesn’t notice being bitten 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/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, fifty gallon garbage bags together to make a wall for a separate bedroom. It doesn’t strike them strange that she has dirt floors and a bucket for a toilet. It looks just like their house.
Her joy, though. Her joy is so deep. It’s not hard for her to live in such a place; 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. Her joy is so deep. It lives in a place that can’t be touched or effected 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, and this author is proud to say that he knows that he will see her in a better place soon, and 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 that lives in you. If you feel guilty and think that this author is trying to shame you, you’ve missed the point. This author isn’t trying to convict or shame anyone. He just wants you to know about Mercedes. He wants you to pray for this saint as she passes her last little bit of time in that broken down clay vessel, and he wants you to 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 that represents the global church, and the reality that most of them live in. She has certainly been that for me.