I followed closely behind the young Filipina missionary, stepping carefully around and over things I'd rather not remember let alone describe, following a path alongside open sewers, trying not to gag from the indescribable stench. Closing in on either side were rows of squatter shacks built from cardboard, tin, and miscellaneous wood scraps. No electricity here, and the only water was carried in from a truck a quarter mile away in 5 gallon gasoline cans. We were preceded by a crowd of barefoot children, laughing and shouting and seemingly oblivious to their squalid surroundings. Through the holes that passed for doors in the shacks I could see dingy, filthy interiors that were little different from the exteriors. From the shadows inside we were being carefully watched by many pairs of sullen, suspicious eyes. We were in Barrio Magdaragat, a "village" of roughly 20,000 people that lived beneath the shadow of Smoky Mountain, Manila's (then) 10-story-tall garbage dump. Everyone here, including the children, made their living by scavenging through the daily garbage for anything that could be recycled and sold.My guide stopped and called out a greeting in front of a shack that even from the outside was different; there were curtains on the windows, and flowers in a jar on the bare plywood dining table. We stepped inside and my mouth dropped open: It was spotlessly clean and bright, sunlight pouring through the window. Inside, I was introduced in Tagalog to a beaming young woman, then my guide turned to me and explained that this young mother was part of our mission's ministry in Magdaragat, and part of a small church that had been planted there in the middle of the garbage dump. The difference between this home and all the others I had passed was astonishing. Here was a brilliantly shining testimony of the real and tangible difference God can make in a person's life.
Last Sunday, continuing our "Are we really going to talk about... " series of sermons, pastor Gregg's subject was poverty. Since his trip to India, the poverty he saw there is what defines the worst of the worst for him. For me it is Manila's garbage dump. Yvonne and I spent three years with a mission that had several ministries there (and elsewhere), and since I was the mission photographer, I got to see abject poverty more often than I cared for.
What will always stand out to me, though, was not the feeding programs for children, nor the training programs for mothers, or the vocational training programs, the homes for lost and abandoned children. What stands out to me is the difference between the people who had Christ in their hearts and those who didn't, though each lived in identical circumstances.
By all means, let us do what we can for the poor. But let us never forget that real power for transforming lives is not found in poverty relief programs - as good and necessary as they are;
the truly transforming power is Jesus.
(personal note: when we left the Philippines we were planning to return but our plans changed. I left behind thousands of slides and negatives that I would love to have, but don't. I'm very grateful for photo-sharing sites like Flickr; the photos there picture it exactly as I remember - except for the smell.)
